Superstar India

by Shobhaa De

  When a young woman in London was fired from her job for sporting a nose-ring, Britain went into a tizzy trying to drum up a huge controversy over her dismissal. The average Joe on the street was quizzed about India and its position in the world today. Most interviewees were totally ignorant and continued to identify ‘Asians’, as one big brown blob, cooking curries and working as janitors at Heathrow. Pakistanis and Indians were clubbed together, along with Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans. The fact that thirty years from now, there will be more Asians across Britain, with whites becoming a minority, has still to hit home.

  Ditto, for a survey in America, which revealed similar perceptions. India? Oh yeah—elephants, IT-guys, motels and cab drivers. That was it!

  What this clearly indicates is a huge big gap in India's efforts at projecting itself worldwide. I keep coming back to this distressing lacuna because I'm pained to confront stereotypes and clichés in an age where we should be well on our way to asserting a fresh, modern identity that matches our potential and ambition. While camels, snakes, bullock-carts and begging bowls undoubtedly provide better photo ops, isn't it tragic that we have ourselves done very little to move beyond images that have been recycled over and over again? When imagination fails, pull out a naked sadhu on the banks of the Ganga. Or a woman labourer in tatters breast-feeding a scrawny infant in the shadow of a glittering shopping mall. Come on… get with it. These are our realities, for sure. But they aren't the only ones. Is that so tough to accept?

  Don't such obvious contradictions exist in other countries, other cultures? I'm sure the Greeks, for example, are sick of Zorba, Mykonos, feta cheese and the Parthenon. Or the Italians who have to deal with the pizza-pasta-Pavarotti-mafia-Armani-wine typecasts. But at least those images are attractive and glamorous. Besides being as representative as such images can be.

  The French adore the Eiffel Tower and celebrate it as a symbol of France's elevated position in Europe. The French have managed to successfully dominate many diverse areas with complete aplomb. One myth (the Great French Lover) was nearly shattered after extensive surveys disproved the belief. But that's before Sarkozy got into the act and pulled off his shirt to compete with Putin. Sarkozy's love-handles were photo-shopped by obliging editors, but the image of a dashing rake was established, when the danger was of being typecast as a cuckolded husband. This is what twenty-first-century image-fixing is all about. India needs to photo-shop its love-handles. And in order to do that, we need dedicated, clever, imaginative spokespeople to go out there and radically alter boring, outdated perceptions. Enough has been said about our 5,000-year-old culture. It's time to talk about the ‘now’—the next five, twenty, fifty years. Especially the next five, which are likely to be crucial—a do-or-die half-a-decade during which we either get our act together as a nation, or allow ourselves to fall into a self-dug, bottomless pit. Our sadhus and snake charmers aren't going anywhere. Let them stay, by all means. We love them. They are us. But we love so many other wonderful, crazy, amazing things equally. The Taj Mahal is our pride and joy, a symbol of our singularity. May it remain that way.

  It's hard to get away from ‘The Monument to Eternal Love’. The Taj Mahal is imprinted in every Indian's consciousness. Like the Statue of Liberty is for Americans. Most people are not aware of their precise history. Why? But that does not hinder an upsurge of nationalistic euphoria when a controversial reference crops up. For me, the Taj is like a recurrent dream. It pops up on my mind's screen at the oddest of times—given its heart-breaking beauty, it continues to affect me profoundly like few other monuments I've seen the world over (the Sphinx, in particular, left me totally cold). I keep coming back to the Taj, since it has become an under-utilized asset, like several others in our country. Apart from last year's campaign to get it on the ‘Seven Wonders of the World’ list, that gullible Indians fell for wholesale, the Taj has not been marketed to its full potential. When you say ‘Egypt’, the Pyramids pop up automatically. When you say China, it's the Great Wall. These are reflex actions—that's how strong the imaging has been. But when you say India…?

  But when you say ‘India’— what pops up?

  Beggars and snake charmers. Is young India bothered by this? I wonder. Young India solely invests in itself. The impression given is one of extreme narcissism. Selfish and self-seeking, their world begins and ends at the belly button. Talking to a Parsee friend who left India twenty-one years ago to ‘make it’ in America, I declared with great aplomb, ‘This is a great time to be an Indian, living in India. Come back. All is forgiven.’ There was a longish pause. Then the friend added, ‘Really? I wish I could believe you. It's sounding great right now. But how long is this going to last? I don't have the guts to give up everything I've established here and try my luck back home. I miss India desperately… but I'm scared to return.’ The loneliness and longing in her voice were unmistakable. I could visualize her easily in her adopted country, just about managing to hang in there, earning a modest income and coping with a useless husband. The India she remembers no longer exists. She may be shocked if she ever decides to pay a visit. She may be delighted to see the sweeping changes that have taken place in her old neighbourhood but I doubt it.

  Nostalgia is a strange thing. I've noticed this about all those Indians who left in a huff, looking for a better, even superior life in the West. At the time they were convinced they were the smart ones who'd taken the right decision at the right time. When they did visit, there was an annoying smugness evident in their attitude. Disdainful and supercilious, they'd turn up their noses at virtually everything in sight—in fact, the very things they'd grown up with—and paint a glorious picture of their new life in America. It was always America. Rarely England, Europe or Australia. And certainly never Africa (forget the Indian traders who went there centuries ago—hardly anybody in the past sixty years bothered to). The America-returned would speak in phoney yankee accents and feign ignorance when it came to recalling common names of fruits, spices, vegetables they'd eaten most of their lives, till hopping on to the flight West. It was bizarre. And what was worse, we let it get to us! There was self-doubt and a crisis of confidence, as we asked ourselves: Are we dumb? Gutless? Are those guys smarter than us?

  Today, the scenario is radically different. It is the deserters who are looking wistfully at their homeland and saying to themselves: we're missing out on the whole boom! But it's too late. Well, too bad. The dollar's weakening position doesn't make their decision to flee look good. They review our Sensex and kick themselves for not having kept the faith. Most of them have their earnings tied to Dow indices. In recent times, the dollar has not travelled well, leading to compromises and cutbacks. Nobody back in India waits any longer for these folks to unpack their suitcases and pull out slabs of chocolates and other goodies that were unavailable in Indian stores till a few short years ago. A bottle of Scotch? Keep it! The duty-free shops at our own airports offer better options at sharper prices. Imported watches? Thanks, but no thanks. We can pick up the world's best in stores across India. Perfumes? Electronic goods? T-shirts? Hey—why don't you guys help yourselves to what we have on offer and take them back with you?

  Childish? Yes. But also human. For thirty of our sixty years as a country, we suffered from a sense of inferiority. Nothing we did or produced was deemed good enough. We started to think our standards were far too low to impress outsiders. Besides, the awful ‘Third World’ tag was nearly impossible to shake off. ‘Third World’ instantly demoted us. Made us feel inadequate and small. This was followed by a less direct but equally offensive ‘Developing Nation’ label. Perhaps we over-reacted to both. Maybe they were accurate and apt descriptions that we had to accept, however unpalatable they were.

  This has changed. And changed at a speed that's leaving us breathless. To put it all down to the Silicon Valley syndrome would be to ignore everything else. India's IT story was but a part of the bigger picture. I remember going to New York five years ago and feeling like a country hick at times,
particularly when dealing with the desi IT community there. It was in their eyes and body language. The unspoken message read: Poor you! Look at us. This is the place to be. We can conquer the world. We are Americans. Not Third-Worlders.

  I also remember meeting a beautiful Bombay socialite who'd once been the toast of the town, celebrated for her good looks and fine marriage. She looked sheepish when I ran into her in a fancy Park Avenue store where she worked as a sales assistant. She'd uprooted herself from her comfortable south Mumbai apartment, applied for a green card, and decided to seek employment at whatever level, in order to stay in the US. And what was the big attraction? She wanted her children to become US citizens and get the benefit of schooling at state universities offering attractive scholarships. If she'd only known that in under a decade, those kids would be nagging her to come back to India!

  Yes, they're all heading home. I meet thirty-somethings who've decided to take their chances in India, rather than rough it out in a foreign country. These are graduates from top B-Schools in the US who had once dazzled their own classmates back in India, with stories of making a killing on Wall Street. Greed took them to America. Greed is bringing them back. This is where the money is. This is where they'll try and repeat their earlier winning tactic. Any which way, they seem relieved to be back in the family fold, eating daal-chawal with aunts, uncles, cousins. Celebrating festivals, re-establishing old ties (somewhat frayed in the interim). They've gone desi with a vengeance, taking to lounging around in khadi kurtas, while their kids discover the wonders of eating sticky, traditional sweetmeats at Diwali, and bathe using lotas, not showers. The ‘Returnees’ are reluctantly admitting that life in India is definitely more comfortable and comforting. ‘After a point, we couldn't cope with the loneliness. Making money provided a high. It was a great lifestyle and all that. Vacations in the Hamptons, weekends in Paris… but we still felt homeless and lost. Like we could never really belong. It was tough getting back after all those years overseas. But it's the best decision we could have made. We are happy. The kids are happy. The money is good…’ Welcome home, you ingrates! From ABCDs to NRIs (Non-Recognizable Indians), it's been a long journey.

  Jo Jeeta, woh Sikander?

  And to think we mocked poor Manoj Kumar when he made all those icky films more than thirty years ago! Remember Purab Aur Paschim or Roti, Kapda aur Makan? This formula was cloned by the likes of Subhash Ghai (Pardes) and Ashutosh Gowarikar (Swades). But the message in all the films from this genre was essentially the same: West is West. Home is best. Simplistic but to the point, if one could overlook the ludicrousness of some of the set pieces in the films that exagerrated the Evils of Western Societies in a gross, vulgar and juvenile manner, contrasting them with the pious simplicity of life in India. Utter nonsense, of course. But how the envious masses loved to believe this to be true! It was the only consolation at the time for people unable to travel overseas and see the realities for themselves. Today, India is on roller-skates. Or jet-skis. Everyone is travelling abroad, or so it seems at any of our international airports. Bookings for 2009/2010 are underway, passports are being issued adopting less time-consuming procedures, foreign exchange is not doled out reluctantly, like it was gold, and the Great Indian Travel Show is well and truly on the road.

  This is a terrific move, for Indians are naturally curious people, ready to learn, mix, absorb, share. Unlike some of their Asian cousins, Indians enjoy experimentation and are entirely open to new experiences. They bring a robust quality to their travels, something the world is not entirely prepared for! No wonder Indians make it to the top ten nationalities the travel trade lives in dread of! Loud, demanding, untidy and inconsiderate of local sentiments, Indian tourists, frankly, make a nuisance of themselves wherever they go.

  Nothing dampens their enthusiasm. And nothing deters them from approaching complete strangers with unreasonable requests. One of the most popular gambits is to ask blondes in summery dresses to pose for pictures with them. This gets embarrassing for the unsuspecting blonde who volunteers for the first snapshot. Soon, she finds herself surrounded by eager mobs pouring out of tourist buses, with Munnas, Pappus and Sweetys eagerly awaiting their turn to be clicked with a gori. What starts off as a polite gesture from the blonde, ends up as a nightmare. Especially if rowdy groups of men, guzzling beer, decide they want the definitive pic to flash back home. What better than a close-up with a blonde stranger? This is the stuff desi male fantasies are built on. ‘An Evening in Paris’, with a blue-eyed seductress, while downing beer from a can! It can't get better than that. Imagine the reactions of all those horny, jealous men in the office? Imagine the potential of milking the picture to fan their dirty fantasies! (‘So… what exactly did you do with the gori? Did she do it for free, or did you have to pay? How was it with her? Kiss-viss kiya ki nahi, yaar?’). Sick!

  Two Japanese tourists got raped in Agra. That was the chilling headline. And my heart sank. Again. Glib, Japanese-speaking local guides abducted those trusting Japanese women, held them at a remote destination, where they were repeatedly raped. The women managed to escape and were bold enough to report the matter to the police at Delhi's international airport. The men were caught. But this was not the experience of other tourists to India's number one showpiece. Press stories of ‘lepchas’ (unlicensed guides) ‘marrying’ Japanese girls have been doing the rounds as well. The Taj keeps coming back into my narrative, because of the immense symbolism attached to it. The minute one puts out a negative story about the monument, it generates world-wide interest of the worst kind. As we say, ‘Badnaami ho jaati hai’.

  Right now, India is in a Hum Kissi Se Kum Nahi frame of mind. We want to show off and twirl in the spotlight. We cannot afford to tarnish our image even a little. We need to fix such problems, and to do so firmly. I don't know about those unfortunate Japanese ladies who should have known better than to take off with unknown men in a strange country. Perhaps, they were in search of an exotic adventure. After all, a report on the same day rated Indians at an impressive No. 3 position in the countries surveyed for the topic ‘Adventurous Lovers’. Naïve tourists frequently fall for such nonsense and decide to conduct their own personal surveys! We, who live here, know better!

  The day these two stories appeared in the press, my eyes fell on another, really provocative picture of a Caucasian female tourist dancing with a Rajasthani musician. The woman was dressed in brief shorts and a cropped top, her left leg entwined with the dhoti-clad musician's, extended right one. It was a great picture taken by a sharp photographer from an international agency. I'm sure it ran in countless papers around the world. But my first thought on seeing it was: Heaven help the woman!

  Cross-cultural signals can get horribly misunderstood. Rajasthan is one state in our country that prides itself on its ultra-conservatism. It is here that the inhuman practice of ‘sati’ is still admired in the villages, and a ‘Sati Sthan’ has been created in memory of Roop Kanwar, a modern-day victim who supposedly insisted on being burnt alive on her husband's funeral pyre. I don't believe a word of this humbug story. And even if true, it is revolting in the extreme.

  In such an environment, half-clad women dancing with local men are plainly offending sensibilities here! Ghungats are the rule and even the foreign-educated ‘Royals’ aren't spared, as I observed during a weekend in Jodhpur, at the launch of the world's Fashion Bible. In such a surreal setting (the backdrop for the spectacular fashion show was the even more spectacular palace hotel), the contrasts between customs were that much more exaggerated. I wondered, for example, what the lowly labourers who'd constructed the elegant set, fixed the hi-tech lighting systems and arranged the banquet tables, made of an evening that saw glittering models (Indian and foreign) dressed in very little, with even more glittering socialites displaying diamonds and décolletage, in the audience. The few female Royals present were discreetly clad in trademark chiffon sarees, heads demurely covered. That the same ‘Royals’ promptly change into international designer gear
the moment their airplane lifts off for foreign shores is a charming comment on our complex society—so open, on one level, so closed on another, and so confused on a third!

  I watched clips of the India @ 60 celebrations in New York City, and wasn't at all surprised to see a gigantic model of—yes—the Taj Mahal. A similar one was seen floating down the Thames a month earlier. And I wondered how we could capitalize on the monument's phenomenal brand equity to boost our own. Just as Rajasthan is stuck in its sand-dunes-and-camel-fairs imaging, or Kerala can't move away too far from the backwaters-and-ayurvedic-massage-shacks USP, we as a nation must surge ahead with the easy bounce and confidence of our young cricket heroes. The Taj is amazing. No debate. But there's more to India than an ancient mausoleum. However, if it's the Taj they want, it's the Taj they'll get. But first, let's fix up the Taj. Position it the way it deserves to be positioned.