Knock, knock, knock... It’s the global Indian
The only area, I thought, Indians couldn’t measure up is a private sorrow shared by my fellow males. But then, aren’t our ever vigilant condom makers on the job? I felt good once again being an Indian.
By Shibu Joseph, TNN |
Phew... I can’t get over it... It’s been days since New Year was ushered in. And I still am living with the hangover. Yet, I can’t have enough of it. Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not the type of guy who finds New Year an occasion to worship Bacchus. This is a high even Bacchus can’t offer me.
I’ve just finished the last (I hope) of the year-end specials put out by our venerable channels and newspapers that glorified my nation as a fast-growing superpower, ready to give the current powers that be the heebie-jeebies.
Having felt ‘good’ under the former NDA alliance and watched that motley crowd land with a huge thud soon thereafter, I had my reservations about India making it big on the global stage. But then, the data put out this time were more convincing.
Over a week of ‘Specials’, all with statistics and examples, had me assume an air of superiority and I felt sorry for the likes of poor Americans who are destined for history books. I had enough statistics to keep me going, peg after peg.
With samosas flying into space, girls of Indian origin becoming Miss Great Britain and all that (what if her only Indian connection was her uncle once had an Indian as a maid and the family had frequented this country once too often) and our very own girl gaining ‘brownie’ points at the Booker, I had no reason to be a sceptic.
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The only area, I thought, Indians couldn’t measure up is a private sorrow shared by my fellow males. But then, aren’t our ever vigilant condom makers on the job? I felt good once again being an Indian. Until recently, I’d thought, the only advantage of being an Indian was in the fact that one stood a good chance of being adopted by the kind-hearted and ravishing Angelina Jolie. My hope (I still do) rests on the fact that until last heard, she hasn’t adopted an Indian. (What if I am too old to be adopted, the very thought itself gives me goose bumps). Such turn-ons can only be matched by the stories of the global Indian takeover.
I’m certainly proud of our man out there conquering the world and picking up Queen’s estates and yachts and pour millions of pounds over a family wedding like only a man of steel can. (Hey, now don’t be a party pooper parading before me those countless urchins on Mumbai’s streets looking for food).
I hear the drumbeat again, of another takeover, nay coup... Yes, that’s by a Chennai girl assuming superstardom at that American icon called PepsiCo. (Now, don’t spoil my mood of triumphalism by pointing at those pesticides, I warn you).
Let me sink in another peg... Yes, how could I forget our long-lost daughters, who have suddenly remembered their roots, one having won the Booker Prize and another reading Bhagavad Gita in the space shuttle munching samosas?
There’s more... The country stands in attention to sing the Corus as our home-grown steel giant gets ready to strike it hot in that Britsland. (Oh no...will someone please drive away that Samba spoilsport?) Now, get me the ‘Goldies’ who started it all. I can’t have enough of their macro numbers. Just a few years more, these ‘Goldmen’ have assured that India would overtake the European worthies and that cowboy country a few years later.
Let me savour the moment... Knock, knock... Who’s there? Is that a failed Indian economist reading out the GDP and FDI figures of that big, fat neighbour of mine which are far ahead? What is he blabbering about suffering power outage, corruption and not having water in his house? Out with him. I won’t have any of that nonsense.
I shall drink to this...The papers tell me, India is preparing for a moon mission too. Certainly, that is not asking for the moon, although our last space vehicle took a liking to the Bay of Bengal instead of its intended home in space. But then, if the moon mission fails, we could use our newly-developed camaraderie with our neighbour who is also on a moon mission, to carry a few samosas, laddoos and batata vadas.
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We could then tom-tom the fact that something of Indian origin has reached the moon. (Or why not send a few of our nuisance-value comrades in the spaceship and spare us of troubles at least for a while?) The takeover must go on in 2007 too. So, I won’t be surprised when our wannabe flamboyant Arun Nayar weds Liz Hurley (just kidding, I would rather believe Air India would be merged with Indian Airlines this year), some newspaper or channel cite it as another example of the global Indian takeover. In the meantime, one could commission a news hound to check if Indiana Jones had some Indian connection. It could easily complete the global Indian takeover. And I shall certainly raise a toast to that. Meanwhile, I shall continue to live in my fantasy land hoping to be adopted by Angelina, if not in this life, at least in the next. Did someone say, it pays to be brown, not brawn?
shibu.joseph@timesgroup.com
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