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New Delhi, January 2010
Jan. 26th, 2010 11:10 pmOn this day in 1950, the Constitution of the Republic of India came into force, replacing the Government of India Act, made in 1935 as an Act of (Westminster) Parliament. Driving out of Delhi at eight o'clock this morning, I saw the militia practising for the parade - on a row of camels with ribbons and bells and big fuzzy eyes. The fog was so thick they disappeared after twenty-five metres, merging with the rest of the early-morning traffic and I was thinking, all the way, this is my home and these are my people and please don't make me leave.
I arrived in Delhi four days ago, on Saturday morning, and the flight was very long and very delayed, and we waited hours on the tarmac, and when I reached the terminal building I was ushered through the "Diplomats and Officials" channel and very calmly taken home, where they greeted me with shouts of "Baaaaby!" and "Didi!" and various combinations thereof; I came through the door, put my things down, kissed everyone in sight, and then they did my mehndi, and I thought about coffee, and the maid brought me some, and it was thick, milky with far too much sugar, and occasionally you can go home again.
I was supposed to be there for a wedding. I wasn't, in the end; but I was there for my parents' silver wedding anniversary party, which is, for complicated reasons (to do with identity and disowning and difficult things like that), on the same day as my uncle's and aunt's, so it was kind of an enormous shindig. The moment I arrived, I was being fitted for things; my lehnga, when it came, was gorgeous, red, chiffony, covered in silver bits and and a gorgeous black background, and a perfect fit. ("We got it made in Connaught Place," my mother said, "to fit Misty, because I wasn't sure what size you were."
Passing over the fact my own mother doesn't know what size I am, I asked, "Why didn't you call me to ask?"
...cue stunned silence. I suspect my parents' entire generation thinks long-distance calls are still a matter only for weddings and death. Luckily, Misty is an inch taller than me but otherwise very similar in dimensions, and we matched beautifully. After years of borrowing Indian clothes, of awful, salmon-pink monstrosities and the like, I was a little bit in love.)
( what Indians are like )
( what families are like )
( what Hindi speakers are like )
( what I am like )
I could go on forever, but I won't. I went to the airport past the camels, I got there in good time, flew out, delayed through the fog, landed in Heathrow among the sad gap-year travellers looking out of place with their silly beads and sarongs, and the sad middle Englanders with their silly murmurs about "Jai-eye-pur" and "plain honest food", and I took three trains and a bus, and now I am in Oxford, but I woke up in Delhi. What I am saying is this: I am pleased and proud to be who I am, to be all of who I am; I am not, any more, angry about being Indian and British and half-Bengali with hundreds of cousins; I am not sorry, and I am not sad. But flying across the world, twice, in four days, twists out the melancholy in me, and the maudlin; I took a shower just now, and washed the thick Delhi road-dust out of my hair, and watched it swirl around a plughole while all the hot water I wanted landed on my head, and all the electricity I needed shone down, and I missed home.
I arrived in Delhi four days ago, on Saturday morning, and the flight was very long and very delayed, and we waited hours on the tarmac, and when I reached the terminal building I was ushered through the "Diplomats and Officials" channel and very calmly taken home, where they greeted me with shouts of "Baaaaby!" and "Didi!" and various combinations thereof; I came through the door, put my things down, kissed everyone in sight, and then they did my mehndi, and I thought about coffee, and the maid brought me some, and it was thick, milky with far too much sugar, and occasionally you can go home again.
I was supposed to be there for a wedding. I wasn't, in the end; but I was there for my parents' silver wedding anniversary party, which is, for complicated reasons (to do with identity and disowning and difficult things like that), on the same day as my uncle's and aunt's, so it was kind of an enormous shindig. The moment I arrived, I was being fitted for things; my lehnga, when it came, was gorgeous, red, chiffony, covered in silver bits and and a gorgeous black background, and a perfect fit. ("We got it made in Connaught Place," my mother said, "to fit Misty, because I wasn't sure what size you were."
Passing over the fact my own mother doesn't know what size I am, I asked, "Why didn't you call me to ask?"
...cue stunned silence. I suspect my parents' entire generation thinks long-distance calls are still a matter only for weddings and death. Luckily, Misty is an inch taller than me but otherwise very similar in dimensions, and we matched beautifully. After years of borrowing Indian clothes, of awful, salmon-pink monstrosities and the like, I was a little bit in love.)
( what Indians are like )
( what families are like )
( what Hindi speakers are like )
( what I am like )
I could go on forever, but I won't. I went to the airport past the camels, I got there in good time, flew out, delayed through the fog, landed in Heathrow among the sad gap-year travellers looking out of place with their silly beads and sarongs, and the sad middle Englanders with their silly murmurs about "Jai-eye-pur" and "plain honest food", and I took three trains and a bus, and now I am in Oxford, but I woke up in Delhi. What I am saying is this: I am pleased and proud to be who I am, to be all of who I am; I am not, any more, angry about being Indian and British and half-Bengali with hundreds of cousins; I am not sorry, and I am not sad. But flying across the world, twice, in four days, twists out the melancholy in me, and the maudlin; I took a shower just now, and washed the thick Delhi road-dust out of my hair, and watched it swirl around a plughole while all the hot water I wanted landed on my head, and all the electricity I needed shone down, and I missed home.
