A temporary, albeit lazy respite amidst the unreasonable hurry to catch up with erstwhile Indian fiction is the association of two of its greats with UT-Austin. Raja Rao, who taught here from 1966 to 1983 and, more interestingly, R.K.Narayan, who was here in the fall of 1989.

Now for some associated UT memorabilia … :)

For Indians in the US (NRI has irrationally acquired an negative connotation in my mind, hence the aversion to its use), occasional India trips issue notice to their overseas existence. Yes, I often generalize for the sake of impact. Contrary to the rule of age-based memory decay, every subsequent stay in your Indian house threatens to erase the time spent overseas, as if that existence was simply an irrelevant dream. However, whether this is an affinity to one’s country and people or arises as a result of home-prepared food is still unclear.

Associated with this, on immediate return to the states, is the glorification of everything Indian and a general state of apathy towards anything American. Even the Indians here seem to be leading a lie of a life, with the ‘unnatural’ accents of the children here driving home the point. Streets and walls seem to worsen the situation, where is the dirt and spit to bring them to life? etc. etc.

This splinter carried over the seas acts as a good excuse for slacking off at work too. After all, what task is more important than the call of the motherland.

Then of course, the boss reminds of deadlines, and India remains on the backfoot till the next trip comes around.

For a malayalee, Dubai with it’s dreams is an integral part of our culture, a place that has rescued many malayalees from abject poverty who in turn not only uplift their families but also socio-economically improve the state’s resources. It’s no less a promise to fortune for the malayalee underdog than the “American Dream” and no less a boost up the marriage-ratings system for a gulf-return than our “Babus”.

At least that was the state some years back…

Of course, there were stories of swindling, toil and worker abuse (*slavery* loses out on accord of it’s historical connotation to be used here). But they could be conveniently brushed under the rug for the ROI they provided. Convenient, at least for families and friends. After all, what is being cooked at 55 degree heat in a wok-sized room with 12 disgruntled decaying fellow-workers, if it pays for some food on the table, a sister’s wedding, few maidservants (who pass along the storied legacy to their children in hope of a rescue), a palatial house and fodder for countless stereotypes.

Dubai seems to be in shambles today, seeking desperate help from its neighbors. Numerous reports had dropped unmistakable hints, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. If the economic elements weren’t enough, there were enough indicators via deplorable human conditions. The latest, an article in the Independent, The Dark Side of Dubai is a superb dissection of what makes Dubai work, why it’s impossible to fathom that it works, yet why it box-jumped a few generations of progress.

Unfortunately, as stereotypes and facts go, the poor malayalee would be the most concerned of the lot.

The Sardar Sarovar Project is one of the most shining examples of the adverse effects of a state’s aggressive developmentalist policies, unfortunately chronicled in the destroyed lives of the farmers affected in the adjoining areas. Despite all the protests, and living evidences of the progress double-standard, the project continues, attracting increasingly hapless sighs from people all over the country. Time and again, an affected farmer is brought into the limelight, eventually leading to a sorry state of affairs where even the biggest adversity doesn’t make the farmer unique, leaving him a statistic to sympathize with.

The documentary “Drowned Out” chronicled the series of events before the drowning out of a farmer’s village, and eventually the tragedy of the climax of the protests. An important watch.

A recent article in India Together reports about the life altering event in a family’s life that was the SSP.

Only to fall on deaf ears…