A few days back, I chanced upon an article - titled (hyperlink) 'How Visiting India Makes You Feel Alive Again' - shared on Facebook by my Indian-American sister. The share came with unqualified recommendations to read the article, claiming that it gave a “refreshing view” of India. She lamented that Indians (especially NRIs) “ignore all that is amazing and magical about India, and harp on everything negative about it.” The comments on her share gave their resounding approval. Of course, the overwhelming likelihood that most of those commenting recognise India only as their hometown and cities with international airports, matters little. Praising India on Facebook tides over these trivialities. And oh, mind you this was shared on Republic Day, one of those two days in a calendar year when privileged Indians all over the globe are stricken by the disease called patriotismtitis. This is the same disease which has led to Airlift being rated higher than Shawshank Redemption on IMDb.
Ok, now let's quickly look at what makes the article sound totally logical (not unlike those foolproof email forwards that proclaim India's greatness) and puts it beyond reproach, unquestionably establishing India as the greatest and the most pious nation that ever was, is, and will be:
1. It’s been written by a rich, white American person. No brown person reading this should have to wonder why that’s critical to the sanctity of the article. After all, it's only the richest, most privilege-stricken white people who truly grasp Indian culture and see the underlying spirituality in each one of us, as they undergo the same daily routine of publicly pushing, pulling, spitting, pissing, farting, abusing and molesting their way through daily life, like we do.
2. Besides being white, the author's authority on India is enhanced by the fact that "yoga changed her life". Oh yeah, the modern equivalent of yoga - bending at the waist once a week while ogling at a semi-nude Shilpa Shetty, and stretching the legs while getting out of bed - tends to change one's life. And as we all know, letting yoga change one's life from a remote corner of the earth enables instantaneous telepathic mastery over India.
3. As every true India-lover must, the author made sure to visit all "spiritual sites" in the country. What's more, she did a pre-visit crash course in Indian culture to soak in the oodles of spirituality oozing from every open manhole of this country. Lately, I have been trying, in vain, to match white people's level of understanding of Indian culture and spirituality by doing a crash course of my own design. This has included visiting Banaras and Mathura once each, rubbing my nails to grow more hair on the scalp, and watching two full episodes of Ramayan on YouTube, taking only one shag break in between. After much heartburn, a white friend of mine might have finally given me the key to fully understanding the greatness of Indian culture - a selfie in front of Taj Mahal, which must necessarily be posted on a public Instagram account. #indialove #travel #yoga #namaste #indianculture #beautifulwhitebuilding #5000yearsold #PoorAreRichAtHeart #LoveSatiatesHunger
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4. As per the writer, India is not a country that you see, it’s a country that you "feel” - sure, having to stand ass-to-ass/dick-to-ass/elbow-to-elbow/navel-to-elbow in streets, buses and trains crammed with a million people leaves little room for not "feeling" India. The women, of course, are in for a bigger treat when it comes to feeling India this way.
5. The writer’s senses are awakened, in a “visual, loud and somehow suffocating yet happy” way by the the “heavy traffic quickly generated by cars, bikes, rickshaws and cows.” Yes, COWS. Wait, there’s more. To her, the honking here seems like “music”. At this point I was beginning to have respect for the author for her zor ka jhatka dheere se lage ways, but then I realised that since she was a great yogini, this was her way of transcending the sense of touch, as described above, to feel India. The honking allowed her to feel India through the sense of sound. Of course, while mere mortals go deaf from all the honking, a yogini's mind uses Patanjali-manufactured brain filters to convert this noise into Baba Ramdev's exhaling sounds - another prerequisite to experiencing the real India. She was probably too graceful to mention, but she must have also felt India through the sense of smell while having human sweat waft through her nostrils, as they rested against a man's armpit in Mumbai local. I am guessing her Patanjali filters helped convert this most unpleasant scent into Baba Ramdev's cow fodder-laden fart, an elixir for life indeed.
6. The writer's witnessing of the border ceremony at Wagah gave her a lesson in the "limitation of our mental divides", and made her brood deeply over life-changing questions like "Country borders are a serious thing, but how many unnecessary mental divides do we create in our own head?", as well as "How many great opportunities do we miss because of country borders?" - all because across the border, the soldiers wore hats of different colours and the seating arrangements for men and women differed. Yes, that's it. First off, the author gets the causality completely wrong. Mental divides create country borders, not the other way round. India and Pakistan created a border because they generally hated each other and wanted to live separately. Had she been right, there would have been no civil wars. And what great opportunity am I missing by not going to Pakistan? Sure, I am missing being flogged for my religion, or being blown up while buying groceries. Thank the fucking border for not letting that happen as frequently on this side of the mental divide. But wait, we don't just share a border with Pakistan. There's Bangladesh, Nepal and China too! All nations whose citizens would immediately engage in a mass orgy with Indians as soon as country borders are lifted, because after all, deep down they harbour undying love for us, just as we do for them. In fact, this American author could have simply visited the US-Mexico border to better experience the divide. Wonder why she didn't do that. On an entirely unrelated note, there possibly aren't as many rich Mexican-Americans as there are Indian-Americans to solicit her services as a brand builder. In the comments section you'll find one such Indian-American who praises the author for "seeing India through the eyes of her soul." Later, he reveals that the last time he visited India was in 2000. But like all dutiful NRIs, he has correctly figured out that the root of all problems in his country of origin is corruption.
7. Brownie points to the author for admitting that yoga changed her life "in the US in a beautiful small yoga studio with peaceful music." In India, she found it a "much raw and difficult practice", though she recognized that the "true essence of yoga is being able to be in equanimity regardless of what is happening around." Yeah, I clearly recall Mumbaikars being in complete equanimity while they got pushed into and out of moving trains. Upon being enquired about the source of their equanimity, they unanimously attributed it to the at least six hours daily that every Indian devotes to the belly-reducing mind-mastering practice of yoga, with most of those hours going towards that most ancient aasan called muthaasan. In my over a quarter-century of existence here, and the 3657862 Indians I've known during this period, precisely five actually practice any serious form of yoga. Three of them started only after the gym didn't help them cut their belly flab master their mind.
8. The author's "great Indian guide", one Pramod Singh, explained to her that Karma was a "way of life" in India. According to this enlightened soul, Indians don't really expect immediate rewards for their deeds. Surely, this great guide charged the author no money for his services, because after all, good karma alone ensures a comfortable life and kills the desire to be rich and sleep around. The more I read about white people and their great Indian guides, the more I wonder who's exploiting whom. Is it the guides who charge the poor (not literally, figuratively) white people a fortune for rote BS, or is it the white people who create these hitherto unknown figments of imagination to make their BS sound like it came from the horse's mouth, much like the journalists who break stories through entirely reliable yet always anonymous sources.
So yeah, if you're a 30-year old virgin and the above sounds to you like Sunny Leone preaching the virtues of celibacy while giving you a touch-me-not lap dance, I can't possibly disagree with you.
Again, if you think the rich use the poor as their conscience laundry at best, and as their cash cow at worst, I can't disagree with you. Paraphrasing a dialogue from Full Metal Jacket puts my thoughts in perspective - both the rich and the poor know only one thing: it's better to be rich.
PS: As per Bhartiya sanskriti, I don't watch porn, which is why I could only name Sunny Leone - after I got to know of her sordid past from the papers - in my example.
