My mom sent me a "Happy Independence Day" email today, all bright and happy primary colours flashing at me first thing in the morning when I opened my inbox. Not a bad way to start the day. She says she's going to the Indian Embassy out there in Shanghai for celebrations. :)
Then my Greader (if it's Gmail, it's Greader, yo) threw up a slew of patriotism-inspired posts - no fewer than FOUR from
Wini alone - and this one from Sayesha induced pangs of discomfort.
I am so conflicted about India.
On one hand,
it's my country, dammit. On the other, I loathe automatic patriotism.
On one hand, those old patriotic songs and nation-building exercises on Doordarshan ( see
Snowbeak's Muffler: Hamara Kal) bring back such fond memories, but on the other, they just remind me of all that propaganda India stuffed into me in place of a civics and history education.
On one hand, India calls to me with its homeyness, its lip-smacking food, its welcoming heat, its familiar trees, the smile in its air every time I visit it - but on the other, it repels me with its insane rules and its thieving public officials, making what is now "normal life" to me impossible there.
On one hand is its earthiness, its
reality, that sense of being free from this artificially hyperhygienic remote bubble I live in now; but then there is the reality of living too close to the earth: the raw emotions, the crudeness of behaviour, the snap-reaction way of life that just takes you over when you start living there.
On one hand, I have such rosy memories of the people I knew as a kid, and on the other there is the stark reality that though I will never relate completely to Americans, never really
know them in my bones, never feel at home with them, they are simply vastly more civilised than Indians on the whole.
On one hand, I cringe at my statement above, because a big romantic part of me still considers India home, but on the other, I must admit I see its truth every day: I see its truth in the doors that are not shut in my face, in the racism I have not experienced, in the respect others have for my body.
The patriotic part of me now wants to say something like: perhaps my conflictedness is a reflection of India itself, maybe this is how a person who really loves India
should feel. The realistic (cynical?) part of me says: what a load of bollocks that is.
Happy independence day? Yes, I think so. I think so.