When your mind’s all over the place, the best place is base. Which is why the brummie experience runs deeper than the accent, because Brum to me, is home. Going home not only helped exorcise a few demons, but also re-filled me with a renewed energy. It made me realise that when you are mentally and physically distressed, the best place to be is home as it’s where you get the best remedy: unconditional love.
Indian parents and curfews at the age of thirty-something
It's not always swings and roundabouts. My sister, Nish, hit the nail on the head the other week when she said the place would be a war zone if we lived in it permanently.
Parents evolve – whether they like it or not.
When we were 18 years old, curfew was 9pm. Little brother, 17, has it much easier. Comparison is the key word as those days are different to now. He plays at gigs and events all over the country, spends weekends in London, nights out on the town etc etc. But no, before you even think it, this has nothing to do with the fact that he is a boy. It simply comes down to the fact that my parents have finally evolved, whether they wanted to or not. There are four of us sisters, all of us older than my little bro. We all live away from home. For me, home, as they say, is where I lay my hat. The others are flung across three different countries and two continents. We each do our own thing. None of us are married. We’re all at that age where according to society, we probably “should have been by now”. Yet we lead fairly independent, creatively inspiring lives. So in comparison to most Asian kids that have grown up in the UK, we’ve got it pretty cushy. The parents are still expecting us to get hitched, but at least they’ve confirmed he doesn’t have to be Asian! See what I mean about how much they’ve evolved? I remember introducing my mum to an ex a good few years ago. I only did it (a) because she wouldn’t stop drop the subject and (b) I had drank a bottle of wine. I didn’t hear the end of it, but it did intrinsically mean I’d paved an easier path ahead for my siblings.
Indian parents in India – modern?
It makes me wonder how things are in India for so-called “modern young women”. There are contrasting opinions: My parents came to the UK some 40 years ago. You could say they’ve been trapped in some sort of time warp as they’ve held on with dear life to the very same values that they’d arrived with all those years ago. And if they have moved with the times, as my parents have in many ways, it’s taken them a while to do it. In the mean time, people in India have moved on and you will find they are a lot more modern, what with inter-caste and inter-race marriages on the rise and the acceptance of certain lifestyles.
India is big, so it does of course depend on the area in question, which is why I’ve also heard that when in India, in order to show a little self-dignity and respect, it’s wise to keep arms covered and not stay out after 10pm. From child marriages to rules that empower the men of the family, depending on region, there is still a wide grassroots level of acceptance of many traditions. My great uncle lives in rural Churu, Rajasthan. He has three daughter-in-laws. As tradition has always demanded, in his presence, they keep their faces covered. This is done by pulling over the face that part of the sari that covers the head, and using it as a veil. In Hindi, this is known as a “choond”. My grandfather, as in my uncle’s brother, went over recently. The young women presented themselves to him in the same way they do their father-in-law. But check this: Gramps wanted nothing to do with this age-old tradition and promptly instructed the girls to leave it out and uncover their heads because there really was no need to do a “choond” in front of him! Granddad is accustomed to living the western way of life for too long now and despite the fact he has always been a strict man of certain expectations, even he has managed to bend the rules and shun features of a tradition that he once would have considered normal.
Soho Road – the black-Asian Brixton of Birmingham
Handsworth. The Brixton of Birmingham. The Bronx of the Midlands. It’s “spot the white man” territory. Blacks and Asians reign in this bustling hustler part of Brum. Soho Road is the main street here. Most businesses owned by Indians of course, Soho road literally spills with gold jewellery shops and exquisite boutiques featuring out-of-this-world, hand-embroidered saris in lush materials in every single shade and tone of every single colour imaginable.
Soho road and Bhangra music
I’m no big of fan of Bhangra music, but I can tell you one thing about Soho Road: If you are familiar with it, then it doesn’t matter who you are, because if you are walking down this street, you can not avoid, no matter how hard you try, the lyrics of one particular song from entering your head. It goes something like, “Soho Road de oote tinu labadah pirah mein ni kunah vich munderah pa-ake!” (Get a better idea of song by checking: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=5ffylB5uHdA). It roughly translates as, “With gold rings in my ears, I been cruising up and down Soho road looking just for you.”
Stop! I know! It sounds terrible! The context of the lyrics is of course different in Punjabi. Based on a certain sense of humour, it’s meant to be a funny song with a traditional folk-like feel that is mixed with lyrics that relate to a young Asian man living in the UK. Bhangra is funny though. I wouldn’t go out and buy it, but Indian weddings simply would NOT be the same without it. From 18 year-old college boys to 80 year old grannies, everybody but everybody is going wild on the dance floor and it’s so much fun! I should be going to an Indian wedding in India so I will be sure to post a video on this blog, just for you!
Samosas, Soho Road and the Bank of India
Just like the Spanish have been renowned for smoking in banks and supermarkets, Indians too have their own way of being. We went to Soho Road to visit the Bank of India. They were taking their time so we went out to Milans, the Indian sweet shop, to buy samosas. It was with great ease and comfort that the three of us returned with our steaming samosas to the Bank of India. We sat on three rather comfortable chairs and polished them off in between a good old chinwag. You could never do this in Natwest or Barcalays. Can you imagine the bemused look of other clients and the reaction of some snooty bank manager?
Spindian: The Indian-Spanish connection
It’s at times like this I see similarities between Indian and Spanish cultures: Both have a problem with timing (it is not uncommon for Indian wedding cards to literally lie about the time of the wedding reception, often giving a two-hour window at the least. This way everybody turns up on time). Both cultures are carefree (Spain ignored the smoking law); there is a similarity in priorities in life (family, fiesta, siesta) and finally, even the music is similar (it is no secret that Indian gypsies played a potent role in the development of flamenco). You can hear the similarities. This inter-cultural connection is also visibly evident when you compare the foot movements of the Indian Katak and flamenco dances. My friend David defined the differences between these two very connected dances. He said while a spiritual force ignites the dance of Indian katak, an expression that is driven by the soul drives that of flamenco.
Indian soaps
I confess. I have been watching terrible, cheese-infested Indian soaps. But it’s only because I’m going to India! It makes my mum extremely happy though and we love to get excited about this one particularly silly and mundane soap opera which has as much depth as a can of baked beans. Will the telephone lovers discover the true identity of each other? Will the wicked mother of the boy get in the way of their love? Will the boy still find her attractive once he discovers the sweet voice on the telephone belongs to a girl with a dark complexion? Can you believe it? On Thursday night they had the audacity to broadcast a repeat of Wednesday and I leave Birmingham for London to catch flight to Delhi on Monday, which means I won’t get to see what happens! Oh no!
London – the good times
An Intimate and sentimental catch-up with friends became pivotal to my London trip. I’d known most of them for years before I’d even left for Spain, which means we were babies back then. Since that time, most of us have been through the mill in life, tackled the most seemingly impossible of situations, found solutions to the darkest problems and discovered new leases of life with our careers, aspirations and goals for the future. So to see how far we’ve all come is enlightening, and as my friend Fiona would say, it kinda makes you feel “all growed up.”
If London was a man…
If London were a man, he would be very happy man indeed upon hearing the words: “your only good for one thing” – because to me, that’s what London is, and that one thing happens to be partying. Personally, I see London as more of a woman. She just wears way too much dazzle to be a man, unless she was a transvestite of course. And because of this dazzle, there’s no other city that could possibly match up to the character of the London party scene. So as well as the sentimental catch-up with friends, this was also a chance for me and my undisputed partner in crime, Nicola, to have one last boogie at the legendary Shpongle Halloween After Party.
Just call it “that London thang”…
But please. We are not talking about those so-called ‘exclusive” events in swanky venues where sleazy MPs sip Dom Perignon while their aloof super-models mistresses raid the toilets to burn their columellas (bit between nostrils) with cocaine. What we’re talking about here is another kind of dirty. Scratch the surface of the underground and that’s where it’s at in London. Alternative, freaky, geeky, friendly, funky, wild, fun, intelligent, stimulating, creative, cultural, loving – London possesses a reflective cosmic energy that penetrates an inter-connectiveness between people. It’s as if the tubes of the underground are its veins and the people racing through those veins, are its blood, energy, power - connected and unified through want of awareness, knowledge, enlightenment, creativity. London is like a lover that just takes you and does all these naughty but nice things to you over and over again. It’s like a seduction, but to me and to you and to anyone who knows this place, it’s just “that London thang”.
Vampire Pixies from outer space
One fang, pixie ears, a third eye and glow in the dark make-up – sometimes you don’t even need to buy an outfit, all you need to do is accessorise, et voila, you have vampire pixie in mid-transformation from outer space. That was me at Shpongle party. Nicola went as evil reptile. Can you see the green dots on her temples? She could never look evil though as Nic’s way too beautiful for that, although she definitely looks a little spacey! The party was reminiscent of the old days when we’d speed through the underground to get to events related to many of the artists that were performing at Shpongle tonight. So as you can imagine, we felt pretty much at home in our medieval future world amidst fellow species from across the galaxy. Full-on and positively freaky, infectious and spinning furiously with an intimate, pulsating energy. Just the way we like it.
Getting grounded
If London is good for all things mentioned above, then Brum is good for food because there’s nothing in this world that could possibly beat my mum’s cooking. It has given me the mental and physical strength I need to continue along my journey. I feel healthy again, both mentally and physically. Sometimes, what you are looking for can be found right under your nose. I’m seeking some sort of connectivity with my inner self and the cosmic universe and I have it in mind that I will discover this in India. I’m still in the UK. I’m at my parents’ place and I’m already beginning to feel a sense of awareness and connectivity both with myself and with others, and what’s more, I’ve loved being at home this time. I don’t think I gave home the chance it deserved before, but I feel like I am doing that now. That’s what I mean about searching for something. Maybe sometimes you don’t really need to travel to the other side of the planet to find inner peace, when all along it’s sitting there right under your very own nose. Fear not though, I will still be leaving the country. In two days to be precise!
Feeling grounded (for now…)
Can you believe it? I haven't smoked since 3rd November! Well, tell a lie, I smoked a whole packet of 10 when I went out on the lash last weekend, but that doesn’t count because we were socializing. I am so dying for a fag sometimes, although “sometimes” is the operative word here. I can continue this way and stay off them. Or - I can feel the freedom and buy a packet the minute I leave Brum. But is it really freedom? To smoke is to be dependent on something, so how can that be freedom? Freedom is to be independent and to be able to live without. I'm going to experiment and see how long I can continue without smoking. It could help me give up completely. Thing is, I feel at peace with myself at home and despite the odd occasion where I’m gagging to light up, soon enough, I'm distracted and forget about it. The big bad world will put me to the real test.
Visa
Managed to get lots of things sorted. Been scurrying around Brum with mum and getting last minute things crossed off endless to-do list despite feeling weak with flu most of time. I think flu kicked off because I slammed breaks on my chaotic life rather abruptly. I also opted for getting India injections at height of evil fever, so as you can imagine, I’ve been miserable wreck and sensitive heap for best part of two weeks. Almost recovered now. Even managed to sort out visa.
Six months!
Can you believe it? Said Visa granted for mere six months. I am a person of Indian origin and a woman of substance! Come on! On the up side, I can apply for a lifetime visa when I get back. However, the downside for the now is the fact it only takes me up until May next year and the Kalachakra Initiation Ceremony takes place in June. They’ll have to hunt me down before escorting me out the country if they fail to grant me an extension for an extra month or two.
Granada – Malaga – Barcelona – London – Birmingham - Delhi
Considering the journey I’ve been on so far, it did take a good few days to settle back into Brum life. As well as the stark contrast to London, there have also been plenty of unavoidable comparisons to Spain. There’s this freaky looking lamppost outside my window. It reflects a bright light into my bedroom and casts an orange shadow of the window across the wall next to my bed every single morning because it’s so freaking dark. Instead of open bright blue sunny skies, I can see orange drizzle outside and as it gets lighter, everything is a dull grey-green-brown and all I can hear is the traffic outside.
Back in the Alpujarras, it was howling dogs and bitches on heat and other animals honking, bleating, tweeting, clucking and humping across the valley. By the crack of dawn, the dogs would be awoken from sleep by the cocks. I’d be up too, nursing a coffee and looking out across a stunning mountain range from my mammoth-sized roof top terrace. If I'd be up early enough, I’d catch the sunrise, and the warm colours of an open sky, the silhouetted mountains and the rising sun. It made for an inspiring day indeed. Realised that it doesn’t matter where you are because you can be inspired wherever you are. Like right now for example. I’m happy in my environment and so the inspiration comes from within as I sit in my pyjamas typing this text.
The plan???
My genetic make-up still refuses to register the word “plan” – even at this last minute. Could be something to do with my, er, genetic makeup. I still have no concrete plan because I just don’t know how things will unfold when I get out there. So once again, the plan is, there is no plan. So despite no plan, I feel ready for India, yet the question is this: Is India ready for me? Guess you'll just have to watch this space...
