2 States

WARNING: Super long post, brace yourself. Take a break in between, if you want. On a roll because of those 3000+ worded term papers. Could have split it, but I didn't want to.

You know that existential question a lot of people seem to feel they need to explore, perhaps in their 20s? The “Who Am I?” question. Well, another basic question that is quite closely connected to it is the “Where am I from?” question. And this one is supposed to be particularly easy to answer, at least when compared to the bigger, overarching question. How tough can it be, right?

Tough as hell. Because some days I feel like I know who I am, but not where I’m from. And you know, compared to some people, I’m not even quarter-way as complex. During the course of reading what I’ve written, you’ll probably feel like I’m making a big deal out of nothing. When I attended the Jaipur Literature Festival in 2012, I attended a session with internationally acclaimed authors who had to talk of what ‘home’ was. Pico Iyer spoke of how he is of Indian origin, studied in England and the US, and has been based in Japan while spending time in the US every year. That’s a lot of different countries!

Luckily, my identity isn’t inter-continental, as much as I’d wish for it to be. I sometimes talk of treating my future kids as a sociological/cultural anthropological experiment. You know, by having babies with different citizenships while living all over the place. It’s only for fun that I say this, because sometimes I have enough of a problem dealing with where I am from, in the same country.

Anyway, let’s try to figure out why I find this question deeply problematic and quite funny, most of the time.

My mother is Tamil, so is my father. They’re both Tamil Iyers – and as stereotyping teaches us, like other communities, Tamil Iyers are a whole different brand altogether, deserving memes that only we understand (read: TamBrahm Rage). Also, the other day, I found a curious description of the movie 2 States in a newspaper – the boy is a Punjabi from Delhi (no reference to Religion or Caste) and the girl is a Tamil Iyer from Chennai (Boom. They almost don’t have to write Mylapore – stronghold of the Brahms in Chennai). Also, movie characters tend to be specified as TamBrahm (Iyers or Iyengars or Youngers as many seem to mispronounce the latter) – as if specifying caste is that important or that Tamil people as a whole are either Youngers or Iyers.

Ma’s story:
Her parents grew up in the South. My maternal grandmother grew up in Palakkad which is on the Tamil Nadu/Kerala border and my maternal grandfather grew up in Madurai. Grandma is also from Madurai, actually. All of my Ma’s siblings and her were born in Madurai.
My grandfather’s first job took him all the way to Shimla. So, my grandparents spent some time there, then some in Delhi. They spent a considerable amount of time in Bombay. My mom spent most of her life before getting married in Bombay – except for 4 years spent in Tanjore. My Ma prefers referring to herself as a Mumbaikar or Bombayite to this date, with much pride. She says that there was a time when her sisters and she would even think in Marathi. Of course, studying in Tanjore, learning a bit of Carnatic music, reading and writing Tamil kind of helped in maintaining the Tamil identity.

Appa’s story:
My paternal grandmother grew up in Rangoon (Burma) for a bit and then her family moved to Srirangam, near Trichy (due to the 2nd World War). My paternal grandfather grew up in Trichy. Being a patriarchal (lineal?) society, of course, when someone asks me where my ancestors are from or where in Tamil Nadu we’re “from”, the answer is Trichy. Of course, the truth is that I have probably visited Trichy less than half a dozen times in the 21 years of my existence.
My grandparents lived in Delhi after they got married. My father grew up to be a Delhi-ite. Of course, he attended The Madrasi School or the Delhi Tamil Education Association School. You met any Tamilian who grew up in Delhi in the 50s and 60s, there is a massive chance they attended DTEA.

Appa’s first job took him to Chandigarh. Upon getting married, Ma joined him there. And that was a whole different phase in both their lives. Not just because they both grew up in big, fast-paced cities and Chandigarh was the anti-thesis of that. It was the great big land of Punjab. My father spent 30 years there, my mother 27 years.

As one can see logically, my brother and I grew up in Chandigarh considering we came into existence during our parents’ time there. Bhaiya was born in Bombay and I was born in Madras (only because our maternal grandparents lived in those cities). Neither of us have lived in our respective birth cities, only visited.

We grew up with Punjabis all around us – people, food, the language. Bhaiya and I were far too comfortable conversing with each other in Hindi. In fact, I remember an awkward silence once when we spoke to each other in Tamil for a total of 5 minutes. It felt too odd. I’d speak to my father mostly in Hindi, and in Tamil mostly with Ma. We both studied to reading and writing Punjabi in school. I’m not comfortable speaking Punjabi – I get too conscious and mess it up.

I was so comfortable with Punjabiyat that my parents believe I was born a Sardarni in my previous life. As a one-year old, at a havan that my parents were participating in, I wouldn’t stop crying no matter what anyone did. And suddenly, my father’s friend and colleague, a tall Sardar with a turban and huge, flowing beard turned up and I began smiling.

Of course, interspersed with the Punjab quotient in my life were summers spent in Madras. My thatha-paati (Ma’s parents) and my Chittis and Periamma lived in Madras. Every summer vacation, Ma, Bhaiya and I took the GT/Tamil Nadu/Rajdhani Express from Delhi to Madras. I think that was the only time of the year I consciously would talk more in Tamil. I would have conversations with the lady who sold flowers to us about my father’s travels. Sometimes when we would visit my cousins in Pondicherry, I would bring gossip or ‘vambu’ from the neighbourhood. When I was 8/9, my brother moved to Madras to study engineering. Summer holidays meant visiting him as well. My cousin Archita and I have had innumerable adventures and fights over those summers in Madras.

Madras is indeed namma nalla Madras. Spencer’s Plaza. Bessie Beach. Maanga. Landmark Bookstore (which I hear they’re apparently going to shut down). Grand Sweets. Archita’s School. Malar Hospitals – where I was born. Fighting with auto walahs. Never finding a 21L. The excitement of finally having a McDonald’s there. Mylapore. Pondy Bazaar.

Anyway, Chandigarh and my relationship with it probably deserves a post in itself. I love that city to bits and pieces. Lake. Rose Garden. Rock Garden. Sector 17-19-22-34-33-11-7-everydamnedsector. School. Tuition. People – every single one of them. Gol Chakkars. Gehris. Cycle Rikshaws.

When I was 15, my parents and I moved to Delhi. I’m still in denial about it, in a weird way. I’ve lived here 6 years and I cannot get myself to say that I am now probably a semi-Delhiite (notice the ‘probably’ and the ‘semi’). Anytime my parents talk of maybe selling the house in Mohali (a satellite town of Chandigarh where we lived for about 5-6 years) and buying one in Delhi – I pounce at them. It feels unacceptable. When someone asked me why I didn’t vote from Delhi, I proudly say all my address proofs are Mohali/Punjab – I could have perhaps found a way to get proof of living in Delhi, but like I said, I’m in denial about it. While I have done quite some growing up in Delhi (ages 15-21), I still say, “I grew up in Chandigarh”. I may be more settled into the groove and the rhythm of Delhi – but I hate admitting that.

All of this brings me to a question I have been asked more often in the time since I joined JNU than before. And the reason it hits me most is because JNU is so full of diversity and people who actually come here from the places they are from.

“Where are you from?”

I’m originally Tamil. Well, at least my ancestors are from the land of the Tamils. My mother and father tongue is Tamil. I’m comfortable conversing in Tamil. But I cannot read or write it. I subscribe, consciously or unconsciously to all those stereotypical characteristics of being TamBrahm – especially downing filter coffee like a boss and being able to make good decoction (I have my own Brass Coffee Filter which I intend to pass on to a son/daughter/niece/nephew deserving of coffee legacy). I obviously have close relatives working in the Yoo Yes – yes, in the software/computers field. We speak Tamglish (Tamil + English). I LOVE thair-saadam. My only regrets (not) are that I didn’t learn Carnatic Music (3 classes) or Bharatanatyam (Kathak, learnt thrice till the first stage). I know it makes me not so eligible in the Tamil marriage market but, I can make good vethakuzhambu. I have a funny, non traditional relationship with Maths – but I definitely had one. I drink Boost from time to time, don’t like tea much and get judgey when I see people calling NesCafe instant coffee as good enough coffee. No. It’s just flavoured milk.

I grew up in Punjab i.e. Chandigarh. Our family friends were mostly Punjabi. I can read and write the language. My heart gives a leap of joy whenever I spot sardars or people talking in Punjabi (not in Delhi/Chandigarh but in places like Ann Arbor, Michigan). I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for Verka – the Punjab dairy co-op. Punjabi hospitality is the best. Once when we went to visit old neighbours, we told each of them that we had already had dinner when we hadn’t – and yet, we were super full once we finished meeting all of them.

I love kadhi/rajma chawal, amritsari kulche as much as I love rasam chadam with kovakkai curry. I love phulkari dupattas and patiala salwars as much as I love kanjeevaram silk saarees. I feel most at home in Chandigarh. But hearing people talk in Tamil makes me happy. Filter coffee made with Verka ka milk is the best. I love our kalayanam saapadu, kasi yatrai as well as big fat Yash Raj type Punjabi weddings. Punjabi music beats as well as Tamil songs. When I read Chetan Bhagat’s book “2 States”, I could relate to both Punjabi and Tamil references and jokes.

However, like many urban Indian kids my age (unfortunately?), I’m most comfortable with one language – English.

But the question remains - would I fit in either state? Like, could I call either one place the place I’m from? My friend once coined the term Tamjabi for me. Or should I chuck both of them and say I’m from … *gasp*, Delhi!

Except, whenever I’ve been asked where I’m from in JNU, I reply with, “I’m Tamil but I grew up in Chandigarh and then Delhi.” And I feel like that’s reductionism. But there isn’t enough time to discuss and explain to people how I really feel. Maybe I should just nod when they ask me if I’m Bengali – you know, because of those big eyes I have.

Cultural diversity should be a plus. But when it’s half and half, sometimes it feels like you don’t belong to either completely; and that messes with my head. 

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