The Auscillating Indian: Year 2019: A Tale of Two Countries

We are heading or rather rolling fast towards the close of 2019. This year will go down as part of a critical, whirlwind phase in my life. It has sent my happily, cocooned and quotidian existence from a cluttered, noisy and native habitat to an alien, silent, cold (read bone-chilling freeze zone) and barely populated city, across the Indian Ocean. 2019 was the year I moved from India to Australia- from one capital Delhi to another, Canberra. Eight months down the line, I am immensely proud of the way I have adapted from a very well-habituated life to one that continues to spring surprises. I have certainly made a substantial transition from being a senior professional at most organisations I have worked with in the past 14 years to turning student and learning at the basic professional level at an age when most people have achieved stability in their workplace. It’s been a highly schizophrenic professional life, almost a double life one might say as I continued to contribute as a journalist/blogger to Inchin Closer which takes an in-depth view to the crucial relationship between two of the world’s largest economies India and China. I also regularly lend my services as a copyeditor to numerous clients, including multinational companies of trillion-dollar worth. One of the perks of working with such companies is frequent trips to the US if that is something one enjoys. However, my move to Aussie shores meant I have had to let go of such an opportunity once this year so when it came up again barely five months after I had moved base to Canberra, I could not refuse. So there I was hardly settled in one foreign country with bag and baggage and packing away for a month to another! Thankfully, my trip to San Francisco mid-year was welcomed with pleasant weather and wonderful sunsets. I am also grateful that the largely official trip gave me the time to explore the local sights and sounds, experience Silicon Valley culture and check out the local attractions given it was my first trip. Generous colleagues and hospitable old batchmates came to my rescue to ensure I had a very pleasant trip indeed and am tempted to go back again.

This brings me to answering a question I have often been asked now that I have seen a slice of life in both the US and Australia. How are the two countries different or similar? Why would I prefer living in one and not the other? Are all foreign countries welcoming to Indians? Is it possible to lead the good life in both? Let me try and reflect on some of these very relevant queries. It’s an open secret that everyone in India who aspires to become an “NRI” first thinks of the US. For millions of Indians settled there, the progressive mindset, growth opportunities and good money have been enough reasons to make the move. For someone who has never really been that ambitious in life, these were not enough to make me follow suit. I have been very happy in home territory and while I like travelling, settling in a foreign land and calling it home was not something I could relate to.

 
So why would I or someone move to Australia? The clickbait for me was my only sister living here who has been a living proof of how one can live away from one’s motherland and still nurture a sense of belonging in another geography. Australia is a country for those who are seeking peace and an easygoing life in a fairly liberal and naturally bountiful setting. Australians are not born to live corporate lives or work their youth in to making billions before they retire at 40. They have an innate tendency to veer towards nature- toddlers will be seen taking to the waves at three, every youngster will know kayaking or play footie, their daddies will be shooting a racket ball out of the court come spring and every grandparent will own a garden they can nurture in their twilight years and a sprawling alfresco area where they can take in the beach or mountain view depending on which city they live! So much so that it is very common to see Australians settled for years in the bustling cities of Sydney or Melbourne to migrate to quieter and slower cities or regions in their middle years for a better, more engaging family life. The hunky-dory ‘Aussie’ life is such a lure that whether you are a migrant from Britain or Afghanistan, it is reason enough to make you come here. This often gets construed as ‘laziness’ or a ‘laissez faire attitude’ for identifying people Down Under. This is a common misunderstanding as Australia has some of the best liveable cities in the world (Melbourne and Sydney are ranked at second and third places in the ‘The world's 10 most liveable cities in 2019’) and scores high at 11^th position in the World Happiness Report which is a survey of 156 nations by the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network. This is simply because people here choose to opt out of the rat race before they regret wasting the best years of their lives in running after a pipe dream.

Americans on the other hand, are enterprising, charged with a zest to make the most of what their peak years can offer and grab at every opportunity to prove their worth. These are two kinds of people, and I don’t think one can judge one to be superior to the other. It is a choice that people make either way and as long as they feel up to it and are happy going with it, so be it. One may find the Silicon Valley too staid and San Francisco a bit too glamorous for one’s taste. Canberra for a lot of people smells of bureaucracy and politics but I choose to believe there is more to the city than meets the eye. Yes, it is wintry for over eight months of the year but it is also hilly, green, simple (almost country-like in its lifestyle) and packed with all the advantages of an urban landscape. High standard education, low crime rate and a thriving family life are good enough reasons for me to have made the move. I have no idea if this is where I will be for the rest of my life as I have learnt not to plan too far, too soon from past experience. So find your own reason to migrate to a country and find out why it best suits you in the first place, rather than seeing how it generally tempts or has tempted others. Personally, I feel Australians and Americans overall are very friendly and exhibit a healthy respect for diversity but while an Australian may have a fabulous sense of humour and enjoy a good joke over a frothing mug of beer, an American is more likely to put up a stand-up comedy act and make some money out of it!

The Pihu Diary: Fit and Five!

When I look back at the day Pihu was born, I can only remember the element of surprise at her arrival before time. She took us by storm and made a dramatic entry, one we had planned but were not exactly prepared for. Since then until now, she has only managed to pile on the surprises. From holding a banter at 1.5 years of age in her mumbo-jumbo baby tongue, to grooving like a self-styled diva at her favourite dance numbers at 3. It is beautiful how a most regular conversation with her already appears so mature and thought-provoking. When people talk about enjoying parenthood, I guess this is what they really talk about- the journey from a pint-sized milk guzzler to a prim and proper five-year-old who wants to be elegant and at the same time, be super-active, how fascinating it has been! Makes you almost overlook the cumbersome responsibilities that come with being a mother to a pre-schooler. How to keep a pro-active kid engaged, how to tell her she’s too talkative and you have to get back to work, how to feed her healthy meals without a fuss, how to restrict her screen-time, how to get her dressed in a jiffy knowing the more time she takes finding what she wants to wear means less time for your bath…these are the daily struggles we all have to come to terms with and then some more.

Pihu recently made the transition from India to Australia with us. Everyone back in India wonders how she coped with it but to be honest, she has hardly been a concern in that sense. It has almost seemed like she was waiting for this and here is where she belongs. She has never missed her home, our relations or her own small bunch of friends and trusted teachers back in India, ever since moving here. Like recently she asked me, “Mamma, do you think my friends in India miss me?” I replied, “Of course they do, love. Do you?” To which she paused for a moment and responded, “Well, sometimes.” And that was it. Is it that her wonder at all things Australian has taken over her memories of 4 years? People even wonder at the Aussie accent that has crept in to her English these days but I feel that’s her natural way of adapting to her circumstances and immediate school environment.

The fact that at 5, she is amazingly independent and balanced is indeed a relief. It gives me the confidence of venturing out for work knowing that the strong bond I have established with her by staying at home these last three years have been worth it. She is now most comfortable with me but allows room for me to go to work without her feeling like being abandoned. I know most working women have to leave their kids at as early as 3 to 6 months to get back into work mode so Pihu has been lucky that way. It also means I have been lucky enough to be able to become indispensable to her and make her understand that I am a reliable, loving and omniscient presence in her life- who she loves being with. When she now acknowledges my presence in her life saying, “You’re the best mamma ever,” at least I know I have done something right to deserve that compliment.

At merely 5, Pihu is a sprightly child with a zest for life that reflects in the easy way she has adjusted to her new school, friends of different races and communities and a school curriculum that’s completely different (read ‘no studies’) from the one she has left behind. Pihu’s father recently narrated an incident that happened while we were watching a touching film about a college professor called Alice who suffers from Alzheimer’s in her 50s. “Why is everyone sad around her?” Pihu asked him pointing at a scene where the children are gathered around her as she tells them what ails her. “Because she is growing old and weak, and she wants to tell her children that.” He added, “One day I will get as old as her and then I may not be able to take care of you anymore.” To his surprise, Pihu got all teary-eyed and replied, “I will take care of you Papa.” So dear Pihu, those are brave words from a 5-year-old, but do rest assured, that we will never smother you with such expectations. Hopefully, we will be able to equip ourselves as much as possible so as to never overwhelm you with our responsibility because that is not what we are bringing you up for. But do keep surprising us with your antics, your amusing banter and your thoughtful gestures because it makes our lives that much fuller. Happy 5 my love!

The Auscillating Indian: The Adventures of a Blessed Book-Lover

As an avid reader who wishes she could curl up with a book for the whole day and call it a career, books are the third ‘b’ in my dictionary, after bed and breakfast. I was drawn to books as a four year old (a legacy I have passed down to my kid) and fortunately, that habit has only grown with time. Books changed my life. They drew me in in a way no person has and has made me the person I am. Even before I understood the word ‘passion’, I was snatching and stealing moments away from my classroom as an eight grader to sneak in to the hall downstairs which housed a single, rickety, wooden cupboard with books of all kinds. It was my school’s definition of a library (mine was a humble missionary school after all) and yet, the treasures in it had me drooling for hours. Suffice it to say that by the time I had passed out, there was not a single popular title I hadn’t read. My idea of a brilliant birthday gift was a box full of books and a library subscription. My first whiff of a library was the one in my college at St.Xavier’s and what an Alibaba’s cave it was! Often photographed and shot in as a spectacular heritage library in numerous films, ads and songs, the St.Xavier’s library is grand, ornate with its Gothic façade and construction, (it’s all stone and wood), and has that whiff of old, worn books fingered and handled by lakhs of students, year after year. From a library dedicated to purely reference books for study and course-related research, it also has a smaller area dealing entirely in the realm of fiction literature and this was usually where I was caught in my break time, borrowing, browsing, reading or just getting lost in the melee of literary magic around me, as I walked through every aisle. 

It propelled me to take up a course in English Literature which further urged me to take up two more memberships- at the British Council and American Library in South Mumbai. Excuse me though, I was no nerd and soon the glamourous world of the media gave me little mindspace or time to even browse through bookstands, forget actually read. It didn’t stop me however, from building my own book case in my room stacked with gifts, hand-me-downs from childhood and purchased books to make up my own personal collection of literary gems- you will find everything here from a Linda Goodman’s Love Signs to Evelyn Waugh, JRR Tolkein and chick lit. It means I can wake up to the glorious sight of books whenever I am in Mumbai and that is enough to make my day. I know I am a bit crazy, one of the highlights of my life has been going for the Jaipur Literary Festival when I was three months pregnant just so I could tick it off my bucket list.

It was only after a colleague mentioned that there were online libraries these days where for a minimal subscription, I could order online and read books at my own pace, that I discovered how technology had indeed made being a bibliophile easier! So librarywala.com in Mumbai and friendsofbooks.com and libraryathome.com when in Delhi have ensured I always had a surplus quota of books to feed my reader’s lust. When I was moving to Canberra then, apart from letting go of a lot many other things, and one that I delayed till the end was ending my library subscription in Delhi. My constant worry among other things foreign, when settling in another land was how was I going to fill the need for books in my life here? Thankfully, my generous brother-in-law’s Bayside library card and my loving sister’s assurances of everything being taken care of got me through the welcoming doors of the fully automated, and friendly interiors of Rockdale Library in Sydney. With a humongous floor dedicated to literary fiction, and a kids’ area where they can lose themselves in a bookish wonderland of sorts, I could not have asked for more. So of course my whole family is now enrolled as members of the library, memberships to Government libraries being free in Australia with the added bonus of picking up your monthly supply of films, music, audio books, non-fiction, newspapers, journals, magazines and even internet time. Kids even get regular invites to storytelling time in multiple languages which I believe is the best way to initiate them in to reading and developing an awareness about different languages in the world.

The natural next step was to find my way to an ACT library after coming to Canberra and my need was answered in the form of the Woden Heritage Library. Now all I have to do is hop in to a bus and get there in 10 minutes, to leave my kid free to browse the kiddie section while I do my own book-hopping.

One should be thankful for all the pleasant surprises God springs our way and to my utter delight, a resident in my suburb has meticulously used the bark of a tree stump to put up his own home-grown library with titles that I have not come across. I recently picked up Kate Forsyth’s The Wild Girl, unable to resist temptation a few days after seeing the book lined up. It was a wonderful read based on the real foundations of the Grimm’s fairytales. It imagines how they all came to be, woven together by the Grimm brothers- Jakob and Wilhem against the backdrop of the Napoleanic war-ravaged German kingdom of Hesse-Cassel and a moving love story between Wilhem and Dortchen Wild, his neighbour who contributes the best of these fairytales through recitation. For trivia lovers, The Wild Girl was named The Most Memorable Love Story by Australian readers in 2013. Now that I have read the book, I can understand why.

I cannot thank the gentleman or lady who has put up this mini-public library for opening up a new possibility of reading for avaricious readers like me who are always hungry for more. Back in Delhi, I read about how volunteers were placing books at visible corners at metro stations where people can read, return and exchange books whenever they can. Gestures like this bind a community of like-minded readers to make the world a better place, one book at a time.  Another reason to be thankful these days is the cosy Community Library Nook with a book share system at the shopping centre in my neighbourhood. Now what more could I ask for?

And now our watch has ended…so let us all kindly move on!

(The following post contains spoilers. Please don't read ahead unless you have watched the last season of GOT)

At last count and at the time of writing this blog post, over a million people have said to have signed a petition to remake Season 8 of the world’s most popular TV series- Game of Thrones #GOT. Apart from the sheer audacity of people to demand such a thing of a fictional product and the ridiculous hope that someone at HBO is listening, I am miffed at how people have so much time on their hands and so little on their minds to be affected this way! So today’s post is to try and help these people to understand why the show has given us plenty of reasons to be joyful, grateful and hopeful. Joyful because we were hooked to our screens lapping up this entertainment for a decade now and no one forced us to watch it. We did because we enjoyed watching it- period. I don’t know about you but I have been over 30 years on planet Earth and I am grateful I saw something of this scale and prowess in my lifetime. Such shows don’t get made everyday and now I am hopeful that someone in this lifetime treats me to something of this stature again.

I was a late bloomer as far as the GOT fandom is concerned. It was only after three to four seasons had gone by that I finally started catching up by binge-watching the show in fifth gear mode. I was hooked with Episode 1, and successive seasons got me craving for more drama, more treachery, more evil and more vengeance. We can go on about the moral degeneration of our times and how we are lapping up content that does not shy away from violence, sex and even misogyny but the truth is, 18 million people across the world have been hooked on to this show like no other show in our generation. To limit the reasons for viewership to just these is to denigrate the efforts and creativity of its makers and its literary source, courtesy George R R Martin.

Yes, the show went beyond the books. Yes, the producers twisted the plot to suit their themes and independently wove around its endings as they thought fit. And yes, the show did look rushed especially this last season. Now consider the millions of dollars spent in production of this show. The man hours each person connected to the show, from technician to actor spent on making it is unbelievable. The making of just ‘The Long Night’ in this season took 55 long nights. For ‘The Bells’, an entire set was erected to look like King’s Landing and then burnt to the ground because obviously the makers couldn’t go back to Dubrovnik and burn up the city to show the destruction Daenerys inflicts on Cersei. Real people risked their lives to make the burning look as real as possible. The magnitude of the show is unheard of, let alone bringing it to life. I thought I had watched the most spectacular battle scene ever when I saw the Battle of Helm’s Deep in the cinematic version of The Lord of the Rings. So why are we behaving like a bunch of ingrates with the way this season has turned out?  

Dany’s character arc: Sorry to break everyone’s bubble but Daenerys’ whole premise to justify her right to the throne was convoluted, right from the start. Her sudden bloodthirst for the throne is passed on from her brother Viserys when he dies failing to claim it for himself. If she wants to break the wheel which proclaims that every direct relation of the king must not automatically have a right to the throne, how is she tracing her own lineage to the Mad King as the reason why she should be sitting on it? How can she justify manipulating her husband Khal Drogo to fight for the throne when he is completely happy raiding villages with his khalasar? How can she conveniently refute the fact that she walks over many dead bodies, burning and killing at will only so that she can get to the throne? How can someone liberate slaves and yet harness their lives to the single-minded and selfish purpose of wanting something for oneself? How can she conveniently shrug off the fact that her nephew is the rightful heir to the throne while he is still alive and kicking? So much for her faith and loyalty to House Targaryen. There was always an unreasonable, warped, childlike ‘Id’ complex Daenerys suffers from. It just got heightened as she came close to reaching her goal so all those people who missed all those telltale signs, stop whining and accept you just bought in to her ‘Mother of Dragons’, ‘Breaker of Chains’ act.

The feminist angle: The show went through an early phase where it did objectify and use women to serve the purposes of men. Then moved to raising them up on a pedestal as characters like Catelyn Stark, Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Cersei, Yara, Lady Olenna, Ellaria Sand and Daenerys started emerging as women growing from strength to strength, becoming important decision makers and equal plot turners. I think since then it has steadily upheld its feminist banner by having female protagonists and antagonists share maximum screen time, to a point where all the principal male characters look like support staff- right from Jon Snow, to Tyrion Lannister, Varys and Jaime. What better than having Sansa Stark rule Winterfell as an independent kingdom, Arya Stark turning explorer and go beyond Westeros to discover errr….America may be and Lady Brienne taking on the mantle of the Kingsguard, from a so-far male bastion?

The rushed deaths: Anyone who thinks prime characters were being tossed out of the show like nine pins hasn’t seen episode one or has clearly forgotten it. It ends with Ned Stark losing his head! This show’s storyline is anchored by the numerous deaths and how those events influence a succession of plotting, planning, scheming and sorcery.

Life comes full circle: The whole story based on the books, traces the tragic seperation of the Stark children as a family, how they all find hope in their toughest times. The TV series goes a step beyond and takes on from there to depict their phoenix-like rise from the ashes and how they all become invincible in their own way to reclaim what is theirs. The final culmination of who sits on the two most important thrones (and even beyond the Wall)- Winterfell and King’s Landing is a resounding victory for all the Starks. Jon Snow who became Lord Commander after Jeor Mormont retains his position in the end and is a severe and yet complete sort of justice, bringing him back to where it all began so he can come to terms with his fate. The Starks are who the story started with, they were always vital to the plot and were the best candidates for the posts we see them assigned to. Our sympathies, our hopes and our determination to see them safe and victorious has been rewarded through the show’s ending, so what are we really complaining about?

At the end of this long investment of our time and patience, we as viewers need to feel relieved that we can now go back and challenge ourselves to find better ways of spending our time. I think a show like this has tried to do the impossible already by animating these characters that haven’t even reached conclusion in the original books on which they are based. To try and please every one of its 18 million fans is a tall order and was never meant to be achievable. I choose to remain on the side of those who salute the show for all it has accomplished in the span of ten years. Take a bow, D B Weiss and David Benioff and all the people behind the show. You deserve credit. Take the criticism with a pinch of salt. It shows you have touched people in a way they can’t even come to terms with!

The Auscillating Indian: Caught up between two countries

Pic courtesy: Matt Evans (Visit Canberra)

Now that I have started this post, let’s get the negativity out once and for all. I never wished to migrate- leaving my motherland for a foreign shore was not part of my wildest dreams and I have had a few wild ones, trust me. I never wanted to move out of Mumbai either. I did that too of course, never to move back. So yes, life hasn’t really worked around the way I saw it, a decade ago. I was in fact, quite the self-appointed ambassador of staying rooted, sharing a sense of belonging with one’s city. I love Mumbai- the pulsating vibe of the city still rocks my boat. Every time I visit now, it embraces me like I had never gone, like an old relation who saw you fly the nest but can’t really get enough of you everytime you visit. So I remember sitting by the seaside with a good friend who wanted to move to Delhi back in the days when I was still in ‘Me Mumbaikar’ mode. I was forthright in my cause of trying to steer her away from the plan, emphasising the fact that the city would never accept her sense of freedom and space. Everyone who knew me could bet I would never move a limb to the blasted capital, with its extreme weather, the profusion of North Indian culture, the widely prevalent class divide, the issue of women’s safety, the so-called conservative outlook of the middle class and so on. There was enough to actually dislike the city. And then I moved there myself, surprising anyone who remotely knew me. And now I seem to have shocked more people in coming to terms with my migrating to Australia.

I have always been very nationalistic. Not the trigger-happy variety who think we should just kill every person who does not like my country, swearing my patriotism at every Indian flag I see or even the ones who believe they have done their bit by standing up for the anthem every time it plays in a movie theatre. I like to associate myself with the country which is tolerant amidst all its multicultural hues. I devour all kinds of Indian music, performing arts and cinema. I am similarly obsessed with reading good Indian authors writing in English. And with time, I came to accept even Delhi as my home simply because there was enough of Indianness around me to keep me grounded, secure and satiated. The opportunity for moving abroad was always open right since I was student. Then why let go of the seemingly comfortable life one has, and move bag and baggage, kid in tow to a place where I had no assurance of ever feeling that sense of belonging again? At an age when couples are usually falling in to the gentle rhythms of the daily grind- read marriage, children, permanent jobs etc. I was busy booking tickets to an island country, nearly 8000 kilometres and time zones away from India.

On the contrary, age has a lot to do with the decision of moving out. Unknowingly, I have been mentally listing down the things I see myself wanting for the future, and it wasn’t long before I found a place that ticked all the boxes. Especially after the birth of my child, it became essential to plan out her upbringing to give her the best she can get. Whenever I caught her coughing on the choking Delhi pollution on her way back from school, I asked myself, is this how she will struggle through her childhood? When I saw parents bar their children from playing unsupervised in the neighbourhood park, I wondered if this is the claustrophobic way I want her to be raised- always having to look out for her lest she become prey to crime against women in a country that is gaining a disturbing reputation for it. When I saw the reason why young parents were heaving their way through jobs in the private sector so that they could send their children to good English medium schools, I wondered if earning a fat pay cheque only to pay through your nose for that private school fee, tuition and day care was finally worth it- all for the price of not being able to be there for the actual upbringing of those kids they were spending a fortune on. Even after motherhood, women in competitive jobs are expected to be superhumans, clocking overtime and then rushing home to get supper in order, day after day. It is the ultimate balancing act I shuddered to undertake and am in awe of every woman who is managing to keep it all together. And after everything, I was confronted by my own need to want to have it all- a decent income that is enough to keep my financially independent status, time to nurture my child’s journey in to school, college and finally adulthood and even then, have time to relax, rejuvenate and rejoice in what I love to do for myself. Read a book, hell, may be even write one. Paint. Take a walk in the park (without wondering if a mosquito will bite me and bring me down with malaria!) Swim. Did modern urban life in India give me space and time to accomplish all this? Was I ready to give up good money, a great support system (relatives, grandparents and household help) and materialistic comforts, to seek more from life?

My husband and I over the past few years, have been discussing how we spend the better years of our life raising a family and nursing a job full of drudgery, only to end up with BP and a thousand other health ailments in the latter part of life, when you really actually get down time to call your own. We would fondly joke about taking off to the hills as soon as our daughter was old enough to take care of herself. So I wondered, what if we could combine the beauty of living amidst untamed and unspoilt nature with the best modern utilities of everyday life? For someone for whom God is in the details, I was up scouting for cities that met that match. And that’s how we found Canberra- a city that gave us ammunition enough to bid farewell to my first love- India.

With its bountiful natural beauty, quiet and private urban lifestyle, safe and secure domesticity, four striking seasons, wide roads and twenty minute commute around the city’s length and breadth and the best education prospects Australia could offer, this was the best place to move to as a young nuclear family. Add to that the surplus offers of working casual hours and still being able to earn a decent buck, no angst of fighting a rat race and work discipline of rising early, closing early and we had the means to earning our freedom post 6 pm.

The promise of good nutrition via healthy food products, parks and play areas at every corner, state-of-the-art housing within one’s budget and an education in a public school that empowers my child without costing a dime- plenty of reasons why my daughter has taken to the city like fish to the water. Speaking of water, we recently went out for a drive and within ten minutes, hit a happily gurgling river and camping site with kangaroos hopping about, curious to check us out, albeit from a distance. With its abundance of crystal clear lakes, endless expanses of green landscape and spectacular twilights over the valley, I know I am now breathing easy. Will this be my last stop as a migratory bird? Time and tide have taught me to believe, I can be proved wrong when it comes to life decisions. At least, I don’t hope to wallow in the predicatability that mid-life crisis will bring with it. Until the next twist of fate, I am taking in the lush red, yellow and orange hues of this pleasant autumn day, while bringing this post to a close against a backdrop of a swaying eucalyptus tree outside my kitchen window.