The NRI is a
unique creature. Ever heard of a non-resident Norwegian? NRO from Ozzie-land,
NRC from China or an NR-Eskimo? The non-resident Indian, whether a citizen of
America/UK/New Zealand remains, to we who have the Ashok Chakra stamped on our
passports/PAN-cards/licences, one of ‘us’. It doesn’t matter what the
citizenship is, nor where the person was born, an NRI is more than just of
Indian origin. S/he is, as I said before, one of ‘us’. One of our cultural
peculiarities: once one of ‘us’, always one of ‘us’, even when five generations
were born/resident in another continent. Our concepts, our logic, our culture,
only we can understand, no?
A visit from
an NRI relative/friend can throw a clan/neighbourhood into a tizzy. Water has
to be boiled no matter how recently acquired the RO/filter. New linen has to be
bought, the air-conditioner cleaned and serviced, cupboards aired and
pest-controlled, servants (the tribe that makes us in-resident-Indians envied)
cajoled/bribed to not bunk, etc. And, ever-defensive, we avoid topics like
uncleared garbage.
Some things
have changed. We no longer eagerly/curiously inspect gifts brought from
‘foreign’. Once upon a time, ball-point pens, cameras, fancy-shaped or
liquor-filled chocolates and tissue-paper-napkin packets were enjoyed by only
those who had close relatives abroad or in the airlines/merchant navy.
Synthetic, uncrushable, long-lasting fabric used as saris or converted into
dresses were the envy of those who didn’t own it. That fabric, quite
indestructible, was carefully preserved and talked about for decades. After-use
recycling included converting it into curtains. The upping of India’s
handicraft and synthetic yarn industries short-changed the NRI’s gifts’ value.
With the
arrival of cable television and the internet, times changed even more. Now, as
we plan our holidays with siblings’ families who’ve settled in the lands of
dreams and dollars, we struggle with the what-gifts-to-buy syndrome. If one
goes on a group tour, one is spared that trouble.
“Take ‘sukke-baangde’,”
Bai Goanna suggested. “You don’t get those outside India except in the UAE
where the Malayalis have thronged. All coastal people, no, they like dried fish,
hanh. When it’s raining-raining, it tastes ‘besht’.”
Shri Husband’s
dirty look bounced off her and landed on me. “Smelly.” One word that meant “not
taking, don’t even think about it”.
“Pickles,
masalas, papads, every Indian grocery store stocks those,” he said aloud.
“But,” I was
going to argue, “It’s so different getting Indian stuff from India.” I kept
quiet because people I know buy authentic foreign-made liquors and liqueurs
right here. And they tell me they get better tandoori and sambar powders in the
land of the ‘goras’ than in the land of their (the masalas’, not the
white-skins’) origin.
“Homemade mango jam. Guava jelly.
Neuros. Chaklyo. Doodh-phene,” Bai Goanna went on and on.
Silence. Bai Goanna figured food
items weren’t ok. She isn’t the type to give up either. She suggested: “Take
silk stoles.”
“There are
garages full of those flimsy dupattas,” Shri Husband is more than a match for
her. He doesn’t understand the concept of matching accessories, that more can’t
be enough. Thus we struck off hand-made paper, paper-crafted lampshades,
Kolhapuri chappals, north-Indian razais, south-Indian brass lamps, Bengali/Gujerati
embroideries, weaves from various states, wines (oh yes, that now goes from
hither Nashik to thither New York, legally), and more.
“You get better
cheeses in India,” a well-jetted friend said. No one believed her.
“Take
jewellery,” another piped up. That was shot down with cries of “fashions vary”,
“ours is too ornate for western tastes”, and “too expensive, unless you’re
planning to carry fakes”. Those last couple of words helped changed the topic
completely.
Saris? No one wears them any longer. Linen? Theirs
is more absorbable. Music? You-tube and various downloads are preferred
sources. Art? You mean original? Too expensive and hard to lug around. T-shirts
with prints? No-oo, they’ll be misused, they won’t even know what they’re
worth.
We struggled
with ideas for weeks. None of our well-wishers knew what a perfect gift might
be. Indian tea? Most people drink coffee. Coffee, then? From here…you must be
joking.
Interestingly,
we found that several local mementoes that were/are sold to tourists were not
made in India at all. We took a look at the magnets (gifted by other travellers
to us) on our fridge; they were made in Thailand/ Korea/ China. A trouser
bought at an expensive store in America was made in Bangla Desh. Whoever said
the world had shrunk spoke the truth.
A seldom met
acquaintance with many NRI relatives said it’s best to carry along an empty
suitcase. Smart people have done homework on what people really want and
stocked Duty Free with those: overpriced so the recipient is happy, and
tax-free, so the buyer doesn’t feel cheated. Nothing that we won’t get
elsewhere, like cigarettes, after-shaves, nicely-packed nail-clippers, shiny
mobile-phone-cases, biscuit-filled tins that have real-looking pictures of the
attractions closest to one’s destination. Duty-free at an airport means we can
stuff it into our empty suitcase, not wheel it very far… everyone’s happy.
“Just
imagine,” Shri Husband thought he was going to have the last word. “What NRI
relatives/friends go through when they visit us here. They have to choose
little mementoes for everyone.”
I had mine
instead. I said: “The truth you speak.”
He had to hold
his tongue, for we’d agreed on something after a very long time.
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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