My India, My Motherland

by Khudeja Pochee (South Africa)

A leap into the unknown India

MY INDIA, MY MOTHERLAND The thought came to me, slowly, gradually and then it hit me. I am Indian, but what do I know about India, where my ancestral roots lie. I belong yet I do not belong. I am South African Indian, but how Indian, or how South African am I. Have I been assimilated into South African society so well, that like a chameleon, you cannot tell the difference of what my identity truly is. Then the thought took flight… I need to go to India, to find my ancestral roots. So, India became my number one agenda. India, Indian, we flirt with the idea of being Indian, but how Indian are we, the only way we can truly understand it, is to experience India. Not read about it, because all the reading will not prepare you for the actuality of India. India, as the advert goes; ‘the sight, the sound, the smell’. Exactly. That is what accosts you the minute you walk off the plane and into the airport. INDIA: THE SIGHT. The name conjures up pictures of the Taj Mahal. Pictures of the Indian movies you’ve seen. But India is far removed from those pictures. Indian movies do not portray India at all. Indian movies portray a fantasy world that is the figment of a director’s imagination. India, the airport is the first impression you gauge about India. It is sparsely decorated. Nothing to make you feel comfortable. Actually there are no sights in India to make you feel comfortable. Only sights that make you look deep within yourself and reflect on human suffering, human dignity, and the human race which adapts or die. Indians are suffering, Indians are suffering with dignity. Indians have adapted. Leaving the airport, your sight is accosted by taxis. There are numerous taxis around. Quaint old-world looking taxis that have probably seen better days, and smarter taxis. You wonder what all these taxis are doing milling around. It is only when you hail a taxi and start your trip through India, you realize why so many taxis; because so many people. You have never in your life seen so many human beings, so many cars all in one place at one time, going in all different directions, in such harmony. INDIA: THE SOUND: There is a honking of hooters constantly, to let the car in front of you know that you are behind, to let the car behind you know that you are in front, to let the pedestrian know that you are coming his way, to let the cows know that you are moving. The taxi drivers hand does not leave the hooter of the car. He honks, and he honks, and the hundreds of cars around him, honk as well. Eventually you do not hear the honking anymore, it becomes second nature to breathing. If you cannot breathe you cannot live, if you’re not honking, you not moving. This is India. THE SMELL: Everybody talks about the smells of India. The first smell that gets you is the smell of stagnant sewerage. Every time, you pass water, you get the smell of sewerage. This is India, you either adapt or die. So you adapt. You accept. The smell of incense sticks hits you every time you enter a shop. This is India, exotic at times, putrid at times, but nonetheless India. “Gateway of India” – a must see. Well, go and see the Gateway. You will not experience it as if you are sight-seeing tourist as in any other country. You will experience it amongst humanity, amongst thousands of people milling around, sitting around, sleeping around. People selling, children begging. The sea of people overcome all your other senses. It is just people, people, everywhere. You cannot believe that there could be so many people in one place, at one time. It is like being at a Merry Ground X 10 times more people all of the time. You just wander when the ride is going to stop and when are you going to get off. It can’t be for real. But it is. And when that reality hits you, you either accept it, or run from it.