Kalpana Sahni
We certainly are living on a shrunken planet, inundated with images, news and data from across the world through the media and Internet. Despite that, travelling to another country can still produce confusion and mystification not only for the traveller, but also for the local residents.
A Bashkir family friend with a delectable name Aisloo (beautiful moon) arrived from Moscow with a shopping list which included a saree request — a silk saree with cucumbers all over it.
“Yes, my friend saw an Indian lady in Moscow wearing a saree with cucumbers and simply fell in love with it.” Aisloo smiled smugly.
It was an impossible request! Not even in our wildest imagination could we regard cucumbers as something aesthetically pleasing to the eye. We tried to dissuade Aisloo but to no avail. At the shop I lowered my voice and hesitantly asked the saleswoman to show us sarees with cucumbers. Her reaction, thank goodness, was the same as ours — disbelief. Moments later there was an excited squeal from the other end of the shop followed by a triumphant Aisloo marching towards us with three sarees in her arms — all with the so-called cucumber motifs…
“Aisloo!” I said, “These are ambees, mangoes, not cucumbers! Surely you’ve seen this popular motif on Bashkir, Iranian and Central Asian carpets? Haven’t you heard of badaami from the word badaam (almonds)? That’s what this design is called in all these regions.”
But Aisloo, having lived away from home for so long, remained blissfully unaware. It was the cucumber that came closest to her identifiable cultural image and she returned home happily with her cucumber silk saree.
Aisloo may have got the decorative motifs wrong but what about others who are shocked by our public behaviour? How many Europeans and Americans on their first visit to the Indian subcontinent are appalled by the callousness and “public indifference” to the multitudes of tuberculosis patients throwing up blood on the streets till someone explains to them the pleasures of chewing paan.
These two incidents are instructive and reveal that every time a cross-cultural encounter takes place, one culture poses unpredictable questions to the other. And every time these questions are asked, each culture begins to question itself about characteristics that it had simply taken for granted.
Take the case of a visiting Estonian professor at our Centre in the university. She came out of her first lecture very agitated. It had taken her an hour and a half to explain some very simple concept to the students. According to her, whenever she asked the students whether they had understood, they simply shook their heads. This upset her so much that she was ready to pack her bags. Somewhat puzzled a colleague finally asked her whether the students had shaken their heads in a sort of sideways manner.
“Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed.
“Well, that is how many of us indicate ‘yes’.”
It takes time for foreigners coming to our country to mentally adjust to this alien gesture, which is neither one of negation nor affirmation.
Fritz Staal, a 70-year-old Dutch scholar of Sanskrit, recounted his first day as a student in Madras University. After the lecture by a renowned Sanskrit scholar, a student asked Fritz whether he had enjoyed it.
“I’m afraid, I do not speak Tamil,” Fritz replied.
“What Tamil? The lecture was in English.”
Today Professor Staal speaks Tamilian English fluently.
Then there was a lady from Siberia married to an Indian. She recounted to her mother how in India guests were greeted with a glass of water.
“Water! Is that hospitality?” was her mother’s horrified response.
This was an understandable response from somebody residing in the subzero temperatures of Siberia where water is never really drunk on its own. But, by the same logic, the hot Indian climate influences our sense of hospitality. A person entering a house from the sweltering heat outside is always greeted with that mandatory glass of water with other refreshments to follow. How easy it is to misinterpret unfamiliar cultural traits and turn them into derogatory characteristics!
But there seems to be no limit to the foreigners’ sense of bewilderment, be it our gestures, habits or even clothes! Another of our family gems is about the Chinese laundry man who stood outside the door of an Indian student’s flat in New York. The student’s father, on a visit to his daughter, liked to wear a smart achkan and white, starched chooridaars, which were regularly dispatched to the laundry. The Chinese stood there with an apologetic expression on his face, shuffled his feet and finally threw his arms wide apart and blurted out, “I’m sorry to disturb you but can I please see the gentleman who has this enormous girth and extremely long and thin legs?”
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