The middle of an academic’s winter break is the perfect time to be saddled with irritating errands. In this case, I had been commissioned to stay home on a Friday afternoon so a SatTV (fake name) technician could fix the problems we’ve been having with our Hindi-language channels.
SatTV is essentially a hive of incompetent technicians. A previous technician had come a month earlier. He spent five minutes looking around, cursed the installation guy that had preceded him, and declared there was nothing he could do. Though Yahya too would also accomplish nothing in the three hours he spent in my house, he was at least more interesting to talk to.
When he told me his name, I said, “oh, like the famous Pakistani general” (fortunately, I did not say “dictator”). He was impressed, it seemed, by my knowledge of history, and it started us on a good footing. He said he was from Sialkot, and industrial town in a Punjabi speaking area. Yahya himself was Punjabi, though to my relief he seemed perfectly happy to speak in English — his English was confident and effective, though lacking in the grammatical niceties that come with years of English-medium schooling. To begin with, he came to the U.S. fifteen years ago, to work as a chef. Yes, a chef: he said he had studied at a culinary institute in Lahore, and then worked as an executive chef at a “five star hotel” there before coming to Philadelphia with his wife.He said he steadily worked his way up to executive chef at some posh French and Italian restaurants in Philly itself — I knew their names — at which point I started to wonder whether he might not be pulling my leg. I tried drawing him out a little about his approach to cooking, and he said just enough to convince me that he wasn’t entirely BSing me, but not enough for me to quite believe that he’d really been the head chef at the places he named. Eventually, he tried to open his own restaurant — an Italian place, of all things — but it failed (“why you got a Pakistani chef for Italian food? It don’t make no sense”). He kept on laying it on: he talked about real estate investments he’d made, and described a pattern of heavy borrowing that struck me as ingenious, and perhaps a bit nuts. It was the opposite of everyone I knew from my parents’ generation: instead of saving every penny, Yahya had put himself up to his ears in debt in order to make things happen financially. It sounded like he’d succeeded, though there was always the nagging question: if he’s done so well with real estate, why is he here, fixing my Satellite TV?
Yahya said that since he’d left he hadn’t ever gone back to Pakistan, which seemed sad, though it also made a certain kind of sense given the kinds of jobs he’s had (very little paid leave). He said he’s just been too busy with work, and things in Pakistan are messy. And anyway, his kids (teenagers) have absolutely no interest in going to go sit in his family’s house in Sialkot for a month or two. I tried to convince him that he should take them anyways, but perhaps with a difference: take them to Pakistan as tourists, and travel to the country’s most interesting places. As we talked about other ways people might stay connected to home (movies, literature, current events), I increasingly got the sense that for Yahya and his family, Pakistan is essentially in the past; the links have been allowed to wither. It made me wonder about his kids — how could they really understand their parents without seeing where they came from?
In the end the various tests he’d been running to make our Hindi channels work properly on both TVs failed. He shrugged, and apologetically noted that, while the main satellite (standard US programming) gives a very good signal, SatTV’s international channels come from a recently-acquired satellite whose signal is often a little dicey. It struck me as a good metaphor: home is a signal you can’t always get. If it comes in, great, but if not, what can you do, really?
gives a very good signal, SatTVÂ’s international channels come from a recently-acquired satellite whose signal is often a little dicey
Did you finally have SatTV working for you?
Or you gave up on it, like some people do for their land of origin, be it India, Pakistan, Bangladesh.
How much does it cost, the channel? Curious.
A better link about Sialkot:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sialkot
Nice post Amardeep. Why did you file it under “fiction” ? Just wondering.
Kush, it’s $29.95/month for six channels, though one of them is “MTV Desi,” which is oriented to second-gens.
But this story is more about Yahya than my own family’s television habits — and I got the feeling he’s turned the “channels” off, as far as his own life goes.
At first it can seem like the kids are the ones who end up missing something in their lives. But the beautiful thing about today (particularly with our “age of information”) is that they can build those ties themselves. There was a great article about a year ago (in People I think…in fact I think it was blogged about on the Mutinty) that discussed Asian kids whose parents had assimilated significantly into American culture. The gist of the article was that most young Asian-Americans go through a period of trying to fit in with their all-American peers but eventually develop and cultivate an interest in their ancestral cultures. So young people start to learn languages, read litereature, learn traditional dances and cooking methods, etc. Even Sepia Mutiny is an example of how we can connect with our roots and either learn or relearn about our culture.
SemiDesiMasala, yes — when Yahya’s kids go to college things might change a little for them.
And BrownFob, a few details were changed here and there.
Awesome post Amardeep!
My mom’s from the Alsace region of Germany and I’ve been there a few times, and it always expands my own understanding of my mother and my roots to walk the family vineyards and breath in the air. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t take my family to Germany for a few years to reconnect with that part of our heritage. The thought’s both exciting and scary.
At the same time, I think that period of cultural assimilation and integration is not always a bad thing, no matter how much heartburn it causes parents. Speaking from my own experience (and trying very hard not to generalize), I find that young people who are either second-gens or who came to this country at a young age are often heavily pressured to “choose” one identity over another. This results in people who feel they must either identify with every facet of what they perceive to be “Desi” or turn their backs on the culture completely. As you say, many of the kids who “leave” their culture come back and start exploring it again on their own, but they are at something of a disadvantage. On the other hand (and again, this is completely based on my own experience) the kids who stick with a “pure Desi” outlook often feel confused or isolated when trying to make their way in larger American society.
I wish there were more cultural forums that acknowledged the unique problems of young people who want to understand their parents’ culture without being told that they are inferior because they don’t choose to live it.
Is the strength of one’s connection to the desh directly proportional to how well ones had made it in America? Because, when we leave, aren’t we leaving for a better life? And judgement is not a nice thing to face.
Haha, man I have to take action to resolve our BATTLE OF THE NEAL(E)S
Battl(e), you mean?
Thinking about this more, I remember one time I was riding the SEPTA train in Philadelphia home, and an Indian woman sat next to me and noticed I was studying Hindi. We got to talking about why I was learning Hindi and did I find it difficult and where she was from.
Nearing her stop she sighed and said “I wish I could convince my daughter to learn Hindi like you are.”
“She doesn’t know any Hindi?”
“No, and she doesn’t want to learn. I’d love her to go visit family, but she says she’s too busy with school and looking for a job.”
I can’t judge though, I’m not fluent in German either, much to the consternation of my Oma.
There’s even been a few times where I’ve tried Hindi with people my age and they almost always laugh and say “Oh, I don’t speak any of that. That’s all my parents.”
I liked this post-!
I always found it interesting how working class desis who couldn’t afford amenities still were able to save money to go back to the homeland. At the same time, I’ve always thought that people that could afford to go back to the homeland regularly, weren’t necessarily “more cultured” but “privileged.” My little sisters haven’t been to Bangladesh since they were 5yr. old, and I hardly think of them as assimilated or less cultural then those that have been back recently…
The fiction label was cute, btw.
Amardeep, I have a soft spot for quietly bullshitting middle aged desi men. They are so cool in a cute way. Of course, I fully intend to be one too, in about 12 years from now, and frankly, cannot wait.
Nicely written too!
I think this is just one particular individual you happened to meet, who may not be as ‘into’ his homeland as some other people are. I have met many Pakistanis who are obsessed with Pakistan, just as I’ve met Indians who are not really ‘into’ going back to India (or even thinking about it that much). In my own extended family, some of us are into our language, culture, etc. and some don’t care. For that matter, some people are into maintaining links to extended family, some aren’t. For someone like this Yahya, if he has his parents still in Pakistan, I’m surprised if his links have really withered. For people who have no close relatives back home, the links often do get weaker. As for 2nd gens, although there are exceptions (including me and maybe many of us on this site), most are not really going to maintain strong links with the ‘old country’.
I’ll put it this way…I have two close friends who grew up in India. Sometimes I ask them if they miss India…they all say they miss family but nothing else. If family was here with them in America, then India wouldn’t tug at their heartstrings at all. They don’t miss their houses, the streets they grew up on, the markets/bazaars or any of that. They don’t miss the physical place, the atmosphere or the milieu. But again, that’s just them…others may (and do) feel differently.
Amitabh:
Exactly. This depends from person to person. Personally, I miss the whole gamut….my family, my hometown, the house in which I grew up, my friends, my chilhood memories, roadside dhabas (eating joints), care-free driving (!), Rs 2 chai and samosa, warm weather, aloo-tikki, neembu paani, movies, temples ….the list goes on.
I do make up for all this (atleast try) in my month long trip to India every year.
yes, it varies, this attachment thing. As brown_fob said, its often the quotidien elements that resurrect a true sense of belonging. It is organic – the ambient sounds and voices and rattle of Indian life. And for someone whose whole family is in India, it is an absolute necessity that I visit regularly. I would hate to have my nephews and nieces know me on anything less than an informal basis which such visits facilitate. Its a continuum, and it takes a fair amount of effort to maintain. Time and money permitting. But it has been worth it, so far.
Odd. I think its professional as well. One a personal level its mixed. On a professional level (finance, investment banking), anyone with any ties with India wants to move back.
Some people are sentimental, some aren’t. Personally, even though I didn’t even grow up in India, I appreciate a lot of the things brown_fob listed (#17), and strangely enough I do miss India (for a lot of those reasons) if I haven’t gone there in a while. It’s the mahaul. Granted, I’m very privileged in a lot of ways when I go there, so my visits do not approximate the actual experiences of living or growing up there for most people.
The family ties are cool too. When my cousins’ kids call me ‘chacha’ or ‘mama’, it’s a great feeling.
I don’t know if this translates at every level, but it’s an interesting thought. I guess based on my own family, sometimes I wonder if they miss India or if they miss the idea of home, family, and the context of India. My dad couldn’t afford to return for over 20 years (during which we heard all about how much he missed/loved the des), and when he returned he cried tears of bitterness, disappointment, and loss. Perhaps the time delay had something to do with it, but having spent so much time in the U.S. he could no longer see the India of his childhood through the same lenses.
My reasons for visiting India almost every year since 1999 is same as brown_fob. There was a period in 90s when I did not visit that often (as a graduate student, I was limited by finances).
I have to hear the noises and cacophony on the street, argue with scooter rickshawallah, and freely say “maderc***” loudly to anyone I can.
LOL. So true. I haven’t been able to visit India since I came to the US(rnd 2 yrs-thru a combination of reasons). I miss the thet language like crazy. Mostly I make up for it by watching Omkara over and over.
Very nice post Amardeep. Ive returned to India (albeit to a city I’d never visited) for work. It’s been a challenge for me, having grown up in the U.S. My initial conclusion is that India never was home for me, and my nostalgia or fantasy of connecting to my Indian heritage was just that. Not a bad thing to realize, especially as much of what I had presumed to eb Indian culture is in fact being lost.
very nice post amardeep and mirrors my thought process – the only grouse i have is – dude, you need better titles – this was so unassuming i’d completely left it off my list until i clicked the link out of sheer boredom (one can have only so much pop culture before one starts dry heaving and clicking randomly out of frustration)
random thought #1: out here in toronto, sri lankan tamils have done very well in the food industry. in fact, peek behind the kitchen doors of everything from an italian eatery to an english pub – and you’re quite likely to find at least a sous chef with tamil origins. there’s a reason – just cant remember why.
random thought #2: the trinis i’ve met in toronto and the punjoos i met in kenya were way more ‘ethnic’ than i will ever be. the punjabi i heard in kenya, even my mum (who grew up in punjab) was hard pressed to understand. for example – i had never heard of an onion (or pyaaz) referred to as ‘ganda’ until kenya. i would be very surprised if you’ve ever referred to an onion as the same. the takeaway being that emigres, in their zeal to preserve their culture, freeze their perception of the homeland to the moment they remember last.
random thought #3: my experiences show that the cultural weaknesses of a society are best reflected in its emigres. my takeaway is that a society, given the opportunity, will evolve to a state where it will self-correct for the sake of preservation, perpetuation and progress. it is axiomatic to me that the british influence in india, as with the american influence in the mid-east will create more pain than can be compensated through benefits. sometimes i wish the world followed star trek rules of non-interference but for the purpose of preventing genocide – forgive me trekkies if i’m off but i believe i can ascribe the quote to old mottaihead* is somewhat weak.
*p.s. I was delighted to spot baldie as a russian spy in the bbc version of tinker, tailor.
pardon the errors in #25. i am usually much better than that. mrs varghese would give me two unmoderated tight slaps if she saw such passagery.
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That is a very desi word for onion. Pyaaz (of Persian origin) has replaced it in most urban contexts at least. I think in Marathi people still call it that? Anyway, the way things are going, soon even pyaaz will be replaced by the word ‘onion’. I think a lot of words (like ‘kursi’) are being replaced by their English equivalents in this manner. In India, I actually heard someone say ‘water drink karo’ (instead of pani piyo)!!
!!! you’ve actually heard that. Whoa! Respeck!
rolling my eyes… yup. been there. my cousins make fun of me because i sound so professorial when speaking in hindi. to me it is a matter of pride to not mix up languages. plus – like a recent canadian study suggests – people who are truly bilingual are less likely to stave off dottiness for anywhere from 4-7 years.
In Marathi, people generally use the word “kaanda” instead of “pyaaz”.
I’m not sure exactly why, but this was my favorite post since I started reading Sepia Mutiny a few months ago.
If you wait too long going back becomes a very scary prospect. I have only been back to India twice since I left in ’93, and the last time, 2 1/2 years ago was after 9 years, 9 years in which the country has seen massive changes that I had only heard about. I still feel at home in India in general, but I was completely thrown when I went back to my hometown, Hyderabad. I felt like a fish out of water in a city where I’d been more at home than anywhere where I’ve lived before or since. Not only because the city had changed–more buildings, bigger buildings, more roads, more people–but because everyone I knew had moved away or moved on, and I expected things to be the same as they were when I was sixteen.
After that, I decided I was never going to let more than three years go by without a visit.
I can understand how, if you stay away long enough, going back seems impossible, and I hope that never happens to me.
I miss it all. I miss the milieu more than anything else. The worst part about going back only to visit is that you get only a little slice of Indian life. For a tropical country, Indian life is remarkably seasonal. Things you can have only on separate visits, unless you stay a whole year: The anticipation of rains after the summer. Mangoes. Roasted corn on the cob with lime and chili. Indian Christmas parties with those little slices of fruitcake with marzipan on top, wrapped in wax paper. Divali. Haleem. Ganne ka ras. Weddings. (yes, there’s a season for those too).
hairy_d:
Language and culture are ‘metamorphisizing’ with time….and same is true with Indian culture, hindi language or punjabi language. I also try to speak “pure” hindi whenever possible and take immense pride in it. But at the same time, I do not blame a person (living in India) whose day-to-day conversation is frequently punctuated with English words and phrases. That’s the way things have evolved there….and it reflects the Indian society in general. We should be able to embrace it in our stride.
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