For being a foreigner, Ashima is beginning to realize, is a sort of lifelong pregnancy-a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts. It is an ongoing responsibility, a parenthesis in what had once been an ordinary life, only to discover that the previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding. Like pregnancy, being a foreigner, Ashima believes, is something that elicits the same curiosity from strangers, the same combination of pity and respect.
An excerpt from Jhumpa Lahiri’s “The Namesake”
The reason why I chose to quote this excerpt is because many a time I feel closely aligned to one of the main characters in the book-Ashima. An emotional Indian who cannot change her ways in a foreign land and who constantly longs for the familiarity of her world back in India. I often wonder why the likes of Ashima and me, fail to realize the bigger picture and wish to cling on the ‘previous life’. It was just the other day that a friend of ours swiftly and with utmost ease slashed my “Indian bubble” with what felt like a sharp gleaming Samurai sword-Swoosh!!!!!
He said, “What India are you talking about? The country where politicians are allowed to contest from jails?” That was the first swoosh.
“The country where you and say Amitabh Bachhan are not equal in the eyes of the law? No one is equal in the eyes of law there.” That was the second swoosh.
“The country where everything works on bribes and more bribes and still more bribes?” Third swoosh.
“The country where if a woman drinks it is normally looked down upon but no one fails to eve tease and commit other heinous crimes?” Fourth swoosh.
“The country where there are frequent power cuts, where basic necessities for survival like water, energy etc are rare commodities and now even rarer due to the politicization of that as well?” And then I lost count of the swooshes thereon.
Suddenly I felt like someone had gagged me. My mouth felt sealed and I had difficulty building a defense that could swoosh him into silence equally. And then I just said “Agreed. But unfortunately that’s how it is and whatever said and done its home and its where my heart belongs.”
I know it fails to sounds convincing and I am infact angered coz I know that we live in a less than perfect country. But when I think of India I somehow don’t think of the corruption, struggle, inequality and the endless list of vices but I just think about home. I think about Chennai. I think about family, street food, familiar localities and well to put it simply, just my way of life for the past 26 years. In a nutshell – I just think of my cocoon and blur the rest into oblivion. And thus no matter how perfect the foreign soil may be, it brings on a feeling of alienation, a sort of despondence or like Ashima said “a sort of lifelong pregnancy-a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts.” The bigger picture? Guess I just swooshed it with my local Indian sickle.
“India is the cradle of the human race, the birthplace of human speech, the mother of history, the grandmother of legend, and the great grand mother of tradition. Our most valuable and most astrictive materials in the history of man are treasured up in India only!”
Mark Twain
