Author Archives: indiansoma

Guests

Growing up traveling in the Indian context was quite different. Neither Film festivals, culinary experiences, nor art exhibitions determined vacation destinations; in fact, what held the most clout was where extended family resided. This was the norm. Living in a niche city such as Toronto, my parent’s home was and still emulates a subway turn stall. Consequently, I was continuously displaced from my room, and at one point, sought refuge at University of Toronto’s dormitory. There is a Hindi proverb that plays on the rhyming words of ‘guest’ and ‘god’ (Mehman Bhagwan hota hai) localizing them as one. Thus easing the parental conscious for having their child’s room usurped.

Our home was void of hotel luxuries and conveniences and yet we were always at full occupancy. I was amazed at how anyone appreciated this style of ‘traveling’. One might even speculate why real estate board’s hadn’t developed packages brokering houses juxtaposed to one another; one for the family and another for the plethora of visitors.

A Western mentality had taken over my Indian sensibilities. For It was customary during weddings to have basements converted to hostels for out-of-towners. And despite having one bathroom for every five people, no one based their overall enjoyment upon this. It seemed the more one shared their truer self the happier they were.

(feature image) Jaipur’s, Panna Meena Ka Kund by Melissa Hom, source, the culture gully /stepwell (L) Churchgate Station in Mumbai by Sebastião Salgado, source, Christie’s /Artspace: For his Migrations series, Sebastião Salgado poetically documented population growth and displacement around the globe. Here, commuting masses collide on the platform of one of Mumbai’s major transportation hubs, the Churchgate Station. (M) people watching a wrestling match by Poras Chaudhary /…has been intrigued by the visually striking moments, may they be special for their color, composition or just the moment’s rarity in time. (R) “Last Super” by Vivek Vilasini, source, invaluable /The Times of India reported, brings forth contemporary global concerns on the issues of faith and betrayal-even as he blends western and eastern nuances in iconography. The Kathakali dancers create a choreography of sorts, as sit at the table with the traditional banana leaf and typical Kerala sadya.


The opposite also appeared to be true. Last autumn in France a recently immigrated Indian woman summed up Parisian life as ‘too much formality.’ With disdain she spoke of having ‘to book an appointment’ to see a friend. She lamented the absence of spontaneity and begrudgingly succumbed to convenient prescribed meetings.

I’ve come to realize these aggregated inconveniences are what foster bonds. Make-shift beds, a dining table for six equipping twelve, and intimate audible squabbles all serve to make one feel truly comfortable. Perhaps this is an evolutionary vestige of a deep seeded need to live communally.

We have noticed some introversion in Shyla. Socially, at first she remains sidelined, assessing, before delving in, which can last up to two hours. When finally we are ready to depart, she engages. Then it dawned on me—maybe her natural Indian predisposition manifests not in needing frequency, but rather concentration.

Hosting

I once rotated with a Radiologist from a modest background, as was her Gastroenterologist husband. Originally Indian citizens, they were now emblematic of the American dream: residing in an affluent area, privately educated children, and the ability to travel and explore interests fully.
She spoke of how they socialized with two distinct groups — one resonated with their past and the other was in keeping with their present. When I inquired if there was a preference of company, there was a pause. She described how the women of the former set would flock to the kitchen after dinner where exhaustive talk of suitable Tupperware abounded. Preferring a more notable end, she refrained from joining and remained with more interesting conversations amongst the men. I realized my parent’s hosting shared the same fate, and was inspired to prevent a recapitulation. Thus my foray was Shyla’s first birthday party where hired help prevented friends from being uprooted or obliged.

This bore to mind when attending a child’s birthday party, dinner at my neighbor’s and a baptism of twins. At the birthday, grandparents maintained order; our neighbor’s brother-in-laws were stationed in the kitchen; and the baptism’s execution was facilitated by an entourage of relatives. It was fascinating to observe the self-directed assistance paying credence to family coming together. Realizing that in thwarting this type of generosity was I in essence preventing familial ties from developing?

featured image: Batatyachi Chaal by Priyanka Karyekar (L) source; the culture gallery (R) source; Rastah/photographer, Rabia Ayub

Hindi films

Having no family in a 30-mile radius means creating and relying on an army of sitters. 

One of my mandates for a sitter is no screen time for Shyla; I’m starting to appreciate the irony in this because outside of homework almost all my time spent with Mataji involved watching Hindi films. Yes Hindi not ‘Bollywood’ films as what they started to ubiquitously be termed in the 90’s. Not surprisingly coinciding with the economic liberalization of India whose goal was to attract more foreign investment. This intrusion of the west brought with it a standardization of beauty and a resurgence of a post-colonial hangover transforming once again India’s sense of ‘Self’.

When I was young there was no need for the books I seek for my child; advocating emotional intelligence by illustrating that her heart can be pink with love, green with anger or yellow with courageousness. Instead I had Amitabh Bachchan. Undoubtedly one of the most influential actors in world cinema, and as child born in the 70’s I watched this star rise. He could be a romantic, an angry young man, a comedian and voice of reason. The Indian lens would deliberately loom over an actor’s face for an exaggerated response and contemplation in an eight year old. Not having the sophistication to gauge what was transpiring without fail l would incessantly ask Mataji as to what they were the thinking——and to this day it still surprises me that she responded every time. In the process I learned about human nature and cultural idioms. 

I recognize the same curiosity in Shyla and now question whether I should incorporate Bollywood in her life as a means to introduce some form of culture and language in a world deficient of such.

feature image: Tabu, a scene from Iruvar /new Indian express; images from top left: Sholay movie poster, amazon; Sanjeev Kumar imdb; Shashi Kapoor /the culture trip; Amitabh Bachchan/ India Today; Dharmendra-Sharmilla Tagore in scene from Anupama /dailyo

Immigration

As special as Mataji is to me I am not oblivious to the fact that many children had households similar to ours as a result of Pierre Trudeau promoting multiculturalism in the 1970’s. Consequently, the portion of “family class” or sponsored relatives allowed into Canada expanded significantly; skewing the system towards large extended families.
This explains how years ago in Winnipeg, a casual superfluous comment about our dear friend Garry’s grandmother, turned into an hour long reminiscence replete with mockery over these seemingly frail women who were the true dictators and puppet masters of our house holds.
It’s remarkable that across this new nation of theirs these women operated in almost the exact way inevitably rendering respect and disdain; and yet somehow they transferred a sense of culture and family.
This is what I grapple with now.
How do I transmit this being away from all family in a city not nearly as ethnically diverse (as the one I grew up in), in a country increasingly becoming xenophobic, to daughters who are only half Indian?

feature image: by Upamanyu Bhattacharyya; above image, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, seen here on June 23, 1971, pushed for a multicultural Canadian society later that year. Courtesy, Fred Ross/Toronto Star via Getty Images

Mataji.

As a child, I bemoaned the reality that Mataji never embodied the saccharine sweetness of fictional grandmothers: demonstrative of love, bestowing excess candies, and unvigilant of rules–essentially a complete antithesis to grandmothers.
Yet our house contradicted these conventional norms; it’s as if some imaginary force exacted a role reversal between my mother and my grandmother. In fact it was my mother who did the spoiling, while Mataji who lived a disciplined lifestyle saw no reason why a child need not follow the same rigors, thus a Vedic wizard was created well versed in all the mantras necessary to perform havans by the age of eight. In addition to this, her manner of tutoring was steeped in rote memorization. Ensuring her teachings weren’t in vain, she implemented a ritual for memory enhancement requiring me to consume five blanched almonds every morning—five was the prescribed number for children and seven for adults. Loving this part of my regime, I looked forward to being promoted to adult status but alas children never get old and well into my twenties I was still given five almonds. Had I lived at home she too would never get old to me but I had the miserable burden of recognizing her fragility every time I visited and yet she walked on her own, while the walker stayed stationed at its post unmoved from my last visit.

Amrita Sher-Gil 1913 – 1941
THE LITTLE GIRL IN BLUE

Born in 1913 in Budapest, Sher-Gil grew up in a cultured and intellectual family who initiated and supported her early interest in art. Her mother was a Hungarian-Jewish opera singer and her father was an Indian Sikh aristocrat and scholar. She lived in Hungary, India and Paris during her lifetime, and her art embodies a bohemian combination of east and west.     

image; Sotheby’s

Mataji was part of a generation of women who were unapologetically tough, running households consisting of extended family members, and appropriating money for that which was essential –I was once told that mistakes in notebooks were corrected with soles of slippers because they were avatars of the erasers. it was with this very same prudence I thought she displayed her affections, not being cognizant that unlike my six year old neighbour who cleaned the house and cooked dinner, I was omitted from having such responsibility that my once precocious grandmother and neighbour shared. It is heart breaking that so much love can exist and be unnoticed. However, attention was not what she seeked nor validation, which is why only after her death was her benevolence with the red cross society, valour in aiding wounded soldiers and involvement in finding shelter for abused women (during Partition), came to light. Such was her comfort with self and confidence in truth that years before when someone usurped my father’s trials and tribulations (when having left India) as their own, Mataji held a quiet reserve as she unfailingly knew that her son was the true heir of those experiences.

The night when Mataji first arrived to Toronto twenty-five years ago, she entered the house with my father carrying her brown suitcase.  Ironically after her passing, when surveying her possessions there was no more than could be fitted into that very suitcase.   It’s as if her whole life was just us.  

feature image: photograph by Steven McCurry

Hello!

I was told my Godmother had an uncanny ability to draw people out; resurrecting any wallflower. I would like to believe this stemmed from a coalescing of genuine interest and astute questions bringing forth a connection. This is something my daughter at the age of three was encouraged to seek in classmates and enthusiastically voice—thereby dissolving differences and promoting likeness. I marvel at how unwittingly her school tries to cultivate in toddlers some very profound and complex Vedantic philosophies, whose tenet resides in transcending individuality and the belief that one soul exists and unifies all living beings. I have discovered in connecting my daughters to my experiences, the cultural distinctions start to blur…

featured image: Modesty: Birth of Venus x Padmini by Adrita Das (L) Bani Thani by Gopal Swami Khetanchi/Curiator Erik Maell writes of Khentanchi, His appreciation of India’s rich and colorful history remains evident throughout his paintings, particularly his admiration of brave warriors and his fondness for the unparalleled beauty of Rajput women, as referenced in his Mona Lisa reinterpretations. (R) Kanya Kunwari by Psycollagist

(L) Disney princesses in Sabya Sachi official summer 2020 modern Sangeet Collection by Sookham Singh (R) Starbucks cup by Rashmi Krishnappa