"Kalaghoda festival 2007- two events- an odissi dance by the Padma Bhushan
Awardee Sonal Mansingh and a sizzling Salsa performance by the celebrity dancer
Sandeep Soparkar. The odissi dance was to be earlier. Naturally, not more than
50 people had gathered to witness the elegant and veteran dancer giving a
laudable performance. And there is no need to say that there was lack of space
to watch Sandeep Soparkar’s performance. The ladies behind me were humming the
tune of the Spanish song which was indecipherable to me. "
"Ruia
College’s annual festival Utsav- the Indian classical singing event had an
alarmingly less number of students participating in it while there was a need
for elimination rounds to be held for the western dance
competition."
"My school had an equal number of two divisions for
both Marathi and English medium. I hear from my younger sister today that only
one division is there for Marathi medium because no one is willing to take
admission in it. "
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Welcome to the world of the “Inderican” who speaks a language which is a blend of English, Marathi and Hindi and learns, “Johnny, Johnny, yes papa” as a toddler. He prays in his convent school by saying, “Our Father in heaven” and learns “A-B-C-D” first instead of “Ka-Kha-Ga-Gha”. When he learns them later, he forgets them once he becomes a teenager. Instead he can rattle of the lyrics of “My Humps” by Black Eyed Peas perfectly (with the accent).
Sporting low waist jeans and a GAP T-shirt, this young guy of seventeen is regularly seen smoking the Hookah at Mocha with his nth girlfriend and saying, “Oh F***!” time and again. You can’t help but notice the dragon tattoo on his arm and are confused to react. Don’t react, just be calm- he is not different from the dozens of other teenagers out there- all of them are identical twins you will then notice- yup (in their lingo), they are- and they form a brotherhood of sorts. He will next be seen banging their head at a Demonic Resurrection concert and indulging in binge drinking at Poison. Don’t cringe- all if it is just like brushing your teeth in the morning or going to the loo- it is a daily ritual.
Next, he gets his degree from the IIT and flies of to the U.S. There, he mints money by working in the Silicon Valley or some pharmaceutical company or in OTIS. He comes back to India after getting married to his nth girlfriend. Mama welcomes him by garlanding him and applying the “Tika” on his forehead as if her son has just won a Kargil war and come back victorious. He narrates his American adventures to his family who is listening to him open- mouthed. He gives Hershey’s bars and street garments to his sister’s “deprived” kids who take and look at them as if they were a treasure trove. He goes back and then comes back with his two kids. This time, he converts his crisp green dollars and buys Maggi and Parle- G to take back- no, not as a souvenir, but, to save money. He curses President Bush here and there he curses the Indian system and the Indian narrow mindedness.
He is fifty now. He comes to India to do his, “Dharam”- of donating to the orphanages and lecturing to his kids and his sister’s kids about Gandhi and Lincoln. In his mind, he is worried about who his ailing father is going to give the lakhs of property and fortune to. Back home (America), he does not permit his daughter to go to the High School Prom. But he had allowed her last week to go to her friend’s house for a sleepover. What is the problem now? His son confuses the strings of the guitar with the melodies of the Carnatic Violin. They both feel weird to wear the dhoti and salwar kameez for a ritual in a temple. When he has got his Green card, his son asks, “Dad, are we Americans or Indians?” there is no answer.
Awardee Sonal Mansingh and a sizzling Salsa performance by the celebrity dancer
Sandeep Soparkar. The odissi dance was to be earlier. Naturally, not more than
50 people had gathered to witness the elegant and veteran dancer giving a
laudable performance. And there is no need to say that there was lack of space
to watch Sandeep Soparkar’s performance. The ladies behind me were humming the
tune of the Spanish song which was indecipherable to me. "
"Ruia
College’s annual festival Utsav- the Indian classical singing event had an
alarmingly less number of students participating in it while there was a need
for elimination rounds to be held for the western dance
competition."
"My school had an equal number of two divisions for
both Marathi and English medium. I hear from my younger sister today that only
one division is there for Marathi medium because no one is willing to take
admission in it. "
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the world of the “Inderican” who speaks a language which is a blend of English, Marathi and Hindi and learns, “Johnny, Johnny, yes papa” as a toddler. He prays in his convent school by saying, “Our Father in heaven” and learns “A-B-C-D” first instead of “Ka-Kha-Ga-Gha”. When he learns them later, he forgets them once he becomes a teenager. Instead he can rattle of the lyrics of “My Humps” by Black Eyed Peas perfectly (with the accent).
Sporting low waist jeans and a GAP T-shirt, this young guy of seventeen is regularly seen smoking the Hookah at Mocha with his nth girlfriend and saying, “Oh F***!” time and again. You can’t help but notice the dragon tattoo on his arm and are confused to react. Don’t react, just be calm- he is not different from the dozens of other teenagers out there- all of them are identical twins you will then notice- yup (in their lingo), they are- and they form a brotherhood of sorts. He will next be seen banging their head at a Demonic Resurrection concert and indulging in binge drinking at Poison. Don’t cringe- all if it is just like brushing your teeth in the morning or going to the loo- it is a daily ritual.
Next, he gets his degree from the IIT and flies of to the U.S. There, he mints money by working in the Silicon Valley or some pharmaceutical company or in OTIS. He comes back to India after getting married to his nth girlfriend. Mama welcomes him by garlanding him and applying the “Tika” on his forehead as if her son has just won a Kargil war and come back victorious. He narrates his American adventures to his family who is listening to him open- mouthed. He gives Hershey’s bars and street garments to his sister’s “deprived” kids who take and look at them as if they were a treasure trove. He goes back and then comes back with his two kids. This time, he converts his crisp green dollars and buys Maggi and Parle- G to take back- no, not as a souvenir, but, to save money. He curses President Bush here and there he curses the Indian system and the Indian narrow mindedness.
He is fifty now. He comes to India to do his, “Dharam”- of donating to the orphanages and lecturing to his kids and his sister’s kids about Gandhi and Lincoln. In his mind, he is worried about who his ailing father is going to give the lakhs of property and fortune to. Back home (America), he does not permit his daughter to go to the High School Prom. But he had allowed her last week to go to her friend’s house for a sleepover. What is the problem now? His son confuses the strings of the guitar with the melodies of the Carnatic Violin. They both feel weird to wear the dhoti and salwar kameez for a ritual in a temple. When he has got his Green card, his son asks, “Dad, are we Americans or Indians?” there is no answer.
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