D’où venez-vous? is one of the first questions
you learn to answer in French. Where do you come from? For tanned people with
European nationalities that is always slightly difficult to answer. We are
clearly Indians by origin but hold British citizenships. Not having lived in
India for twenty seven years or, in my husband’s case, fifty, has in some ways
diluted our connections to the homeland.
But where is home? We crave British sausages, bacon, pies and chips. We miss proper Indian food, the traffic, the noise. Our loyalties are so capricious. We support India when they play cricket against England at Lord’s. Indi-a-ah-h-h we shout, fists in the air, voices roaring proudly over the crowd. When England plays Australia, we support England of course. When England plays rugby with France, what then? It’s so hard to choose between countries you live in.
Each time you live in one, you get attached to it like a lover or a mistress you have on the side. But the country of my heart would always be India, beautiful, complicated, untamed, India. She’s the girlfriend your son brings home. She has dark hair with red streaks, purple lips, big bosoms, generous hips, a regional accent and a “fall in love with me” attitude. You can’t help but let her in although somewhere in your head a warning sign goes off “Take in small doses. In case of an accidental overdose, go to the nearest hospital” or something like that. Next time you travel to India and you are beguiled by her beauty and charm, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you!
But where is home? We crave British sausages, bacon, pies and chips. We miss proper Indian food, the traffic, the noise. Our loyalties are so capricious. We support India when they play cricket against England at Lord’s. Indi-a-ah-h-h we shout, fists in the air, voices roaring proudly over the crowd. When England plays Australia, we support England of course. When England plays rugby with France, what then? It’s so hard to choose between countries you live in.
Each time you live in one, you get attached to it like a lover or a mistress you have on the side. But the country of my heart would always be India, beautiful, complicated, untamed, India. She’s the girlfriend your son brings home. She has dark hair with red streaks, purple lips, big bosoms, generous hips, a regional accent and a “fall in love with me” attitude. You can’t help but let her in although somewhere in your head a warning sign goes off “Take in small doses. In case of an accidental overdose, go to the nearest hospital” or something like that. Next time you travel to India and you are beguiled by her beauty and charm, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you!
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