Saturday, January 20, 2007

The Amazing Race... Burp

I woke up last weekend and, as is custom, curled up on the couch with my Mid-day and the TV tuned to one of the many news channels it is now the privilege of the Indian consumer to peruse.

The first had a special report (one hour or so) on the entire racism and Shilpa Shetty thing. After a bit I got sick of it and clicked to another channel. They had an interview with Meghnad Desai about the same thing. He soon made that famous statement about Big Brother being a "third rate show being watched by third rate people". But by and large, for a person whose hair must frequently disrupt time-space continua and bend light if he is not careful, he made sense. But then there was only so much racism I could handle on a bright Saturday morning.

Lord Meghnad Desai. Thinking. Very hard.

I switched off the TV and walked away. Eggs needed scrambling and tea needed brewing.

An hour later I switched on the TV and, VOILA!, like a love scene in a Lustbader book which is so revolting it runs around in your head making the rest of the book a vague haze of prose, there was that racism thing again. Now I understand it is a serious issue and several bloggers have written about this in no uncertain terms, I am not one for that sort of debate. A combination of ignorance and adequate perspective makes me not take such controversies seriously.

So when I could no longer stand one more mention of the word race I switched off the TV and turned to my missus who had just returned from her Satruday morning beauty bath.

"So what do you think about this entire race thing?" she asked me gently unwrapping her hair from the water-sucking confines of a towel.

"How dare you ask me about the one thing that has completely riled me up? I have half a mind to pick up this heavy coffee table book about the second world war and plonk you over the head with and then run for my life as you unleash your remarkable punjabi strength and wrath upon my meagre frame!" I did not say to her with furrowed brow and quivering lip.

"Oh nothing really. Reminds me of the time I was the victim of vile racial profiling myself." I told her with an indifferent shrug of my shoulders.

"Oh my god! And you did nothing you ninny? You did not fight for your rights and dignity? Did he call you a brown-y? Was it some sheikh? Did he call you a poor Indian? Something like that?"

"No no. It was an Irani guy. But it was no big deal."

"As in you heard all his racial rants and then walked back with your tail between your legs."

"No dear. I did not. I made him buy me dinner."

"????!!!" she said with her eyebrows.

I told her what happened seven years ago in the dusty by-ways of Dubai Port.

"But he has a great sense of humour", she seems to be justifying to herself pathetically.

***

Seven years ago. I was a bright-eyed bushy-tailed engineering student. My speciality was Metallurgical Engineering, my penchant: Material Testing. I had scooted off to the UAE for a short summer training stint and found myself at a material testing lab attached to Dubai Port.

Now this lab is the sort of place that would make an ideal setting for a merry Ruskin Bond novel. If Bond was an engineer he would have loved the people there. For one there was the two Tamilian brothers who ran the place. The elder one was Saravana. He was sort of like the lab manager and everything, impact tests, corrosion experiments, all happened under his watchful eye. Then there was his younger brother who was a much more playful fellow who ran around and did all the cutting and polishing and chemical mixing. I do not remember his name but he plays no further part in this story and therefore I will not make up a fictional moniker for him just to prove a point.

There were two more people. One was a big, strapping firang (swedish? polish?) guy who was in charge of all the science. He knew all the tests and numbers and tricks of the trade. And he always came to work piss drunk. I mean 'second year B.Tech mallu night after last exam' drunk. He would walk in through the doors every morning and we could smell the vodka on his breath right across the lab hall and even out to the corrosion testing trailer in the back. Even the Hydrogen Sulphide chamber out back was no match for his Stoli-drenched breath.

But of he course he was really sweet and not racist at all. Every morning he would walk in and not know who I was. "Summer Trainee" I would tell him and he would hug me and welcome me to the lab. I would then sit by the microscope waiting for the spinning of head to pass. He always brought cake and pastries for us every few days. He was a good fellow.

But the villain of this piece was the evil Irani middle management guy. (By Irani I mean a fellow who was from Iran. Mumbaikars please note.) He was the owner's relative and had a great loathing of people from, strange this, Kerala. He hated mallus. He loved Tams. He had no issue with Saravan and (what the heck!) Thirujnanasambandham. But mallus he could not stand.

So I was a little surprised when Saravana introduced me around the place as a friend of his from Tirunelveli. Irani was more than happy to have me around. "You are from Tamil Nadu yes? Not Kerala?" Before I could answer Saravana interrupted: "Yes yes. He even wears his lungi with the ends stitched together just the way we do. Malayalis hate that."

When asked if all evil came from the US and Israel, Ahmadinejad seems to add: "And Ernakulam!"

Before long I was part of the team. I was cutting and polishing and micrographing with them every day. I was doing well. They liked me. Even the Irani.

Then one day the Irani guy offered to take me out for dinner. I was pleased. It was a great way to learn about other cultures and lifestyles. I eagerly hopped into his SUV and he drove me out to this nice Irani place in Deira.

"The first time I saw you I thought you were malayali. I hate malayalis." he said.

"Why dude?"

"They are evil blood-sucking parasites. They are everywhere in the gulf. Grovelling, begging and undercutting everyone else. I hate them. Tamilians are ok. They have more... dignity."

I was getting a little uneasy. This was blatant generalization and racial profiling.

"Well they need to make a living too you know."

"So do us Iranis. But we don't run around stealing jobs and pushing down salaries. We live well. They... they live like animals in their labour camps."

"Hmm... but still I know at least a few good malayalis. Nice respectable people."

"They must be Tamilians then!" he said laughing loudly. "I will feed you nice Irani chicken and rice. You will like it."

Off we went to this cozy little Irani restaurant run by a middle-aged woman who cooked everything herself. The chicken and rice was remarkably tasty. The poultry was cooked with little oil or spice but the flesh fell off the bones effortlessly. The rice too was light and blended with a divine green herb that looked a little like coriander.

Now at this point I may look like a ninny. Why did I not stand up for my race? Why did not I tell him that he was an ignorant idiot who had the intellect of a lion-tailed macaque? Why did I not tell him forcefully that generalization was the device of the weak and narrow-minded?

Did I fall for the chicken and rice? Did I set aside my mallu pride for a full FREE meal and some dessert?

Now that is a tough... burp... question to answer.

For one thing I didn't care what he thought. He was a stupid imbecile who worked with me. What he did or did not think did not affect me or any other proud mallu. He clearly had issues and history that he had not revealed. That sort of generalized scorn always has a reason that is never justified. Would anything I have told him changed that? I would doubt it. As long his beliefs remained in the crap-lined confines of his crummy cranium I did not give two hoots.

I let him be.

A month, and another three chicken and rice dinners later, I was done with my stint and we had a little going away party. I was gifted with a pair of light blue workmen overalls and gloves and a little cake from everyone at the lab. It was a nice touching moment. I went around thanking everyone and finally went to speak to my friend the Irani.

"Off I go sir. Good to have met you."

"You too. Maybe if I come to Tamil Nadu sometime I visit your house."

"Oh you must come home. This is my address."

I wrote my Thrissur address down on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

"Thanks for all the dinners dude. It was great fun. You take care of yourself yeah..."

As I walked out of the lab, past the polishing machines and impact tester, I could hear my friend the Irani screaming out what sounded like prose his mom would have got miffed and sent him to bed without chicken and rice for.

I confess I gloated just a little bit.

***

"Man. That is some story. Was the chicken and rice good at the restaurant?" the missus asked me, perched on the arm of the sofa.

"Oh it was excellent. We must get that recipe from somewhere."

"Is it better than my rajma chawal?"

"What are you saying? Of course not. Your rajma chawal is better than stupid Irani food any day."

She relaxed her forearms, smiled and picked up the newspaper.

Punjabis are scary.

And that is NOT racial profiling.

Revenge! - Not bad eh?

P.S. The wife says hi!

25 comments:

N A R I YA L C H U T N E Y said...

:). Sidin , You should have killed the Irani then and ther for racially profiling mallus . Anyway never mind , not killing was worth it because of all the extra chicken and Biriyani that you ate taking him for a Mallu ride :)

Anonymous said...

i had some sad sambar.
call me golt or undi or anything
but i need some rice and chicken NOW

Anonymous said...

LOL... like always.. excellent post.

Anything for chicken and rice. ;-)

say hi to wifey!

അരവിന്ദ് :: aravind said...

Man…:-))
You are too good…..wicked…:-))
Laughed my heart out…..

Excellent piece of writing :-))


PS : I also prefer to be quiet when they do such racial profiling.
I just keep quiet. But I never ever retaliate or insult others.

Anonymous said...

Welcome back and 'hi' to the wife :) Hope you guys have a great life together.

Aarathi.

Ashwat said...

Nice post man. The standard is going up up. Marriage?

Rk said...

Good post. "Dogs' barking does not affect heaven", a sayin in Kannada.

Hi to your wife :)

PS: You are hotlinking the images, which is not a good practice !
see this

Mercury said...

Sidin, I really like the clearly affectionate but still humourous way you write about your dynamic with your wife.. It's the cutest thing!

Hello to her as well!

Aslan said...

And Ernakulam? eda naaYYYINte mone.. sidin sideekkude goal adikkumalleda? chette.. n' podey podey, rajma chawal is better than chicken n' rice.

Shaan said...

hehe...scary punjabis eh?

fun post dude...keep em coming!

heylo to the wife :)

Jay Sun said...

Nice one...:)

Krishnabhaskar Mangalasserri said...

cool one..... had a big laugh..lol

Anonymous said...

A little pathetic but kinda sensible. How does one moron's opinion matter. Neways regardin Shetty a simple adage
If you cant stand the heat get out of the kitchen. Other contestants left as wel so could she:)

Hopeful Indian said...

Lol...racial profiling it's definitely not :) Thought u'd enjoy this one "being brown is being racist!" :)
http://content.msn.co.in/Contribute/Others/UCStory724.htm

Ashish Agarwal said...

Great post. I like part about not saying to your wife about hitting her with a book. Might have got mighty uncomfortable (for you), specially since she is a Punjabi girl.
All in all, a nice post. I am first time visitor, and liked the way it was written.

Rishi said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Oracle said...

I am surprised at the nuances of Iranian racial profiling...In Bombay you can get away with the generic Anna. Bombay has taken racism to another "level"

Unknown said...

hahaha....had a long, hearty laugh!....great blogging man....

Anonymous said...

too good..:)

Itchingtowrite said...

u fooled the irani naa!! so anyday u r superior t him - racially

Anonymous said...

I don't know Sidin...these god-damn stupid idiotic mornoic posts of yours don't make sense to me anymore. Yeah yeah we did enjoy them (and behold, I generalize!) sometime...but that was then.

All of your posts now sound and read the same...Some stupid story interposed, transposed and juxtaposed and what-ever-posed have you... into another more stupid story...Now what relevance had this stupid biryani-eating incident of yours to your even more stupid laying around life that you must bother us with?

Heck, now you must be thinking why this stupid guy bothers to read MY blog then? Rest assured, that this might as well be the last blog post I read...

You are worth watching...as in what antics (starting a magazine or some such thing) that you will pull off next... Not reading - just watching.

And by the way, trust me this is not some old foe (if you have one)...it's just another random reader... I am vexed by your stupid writing style NOW...tasteless, stupid. I care for you (like that matters) and can't stand to read the CRAP that you have been dishing out lately...

Wishing you well... Wake up and smell the coffee...

ken said...

Hey Sidin, many congratulations on your marriage .. and a nice post again

Nimpipi said...

killer! :D
laughed a lot while reading, and am smiling as i tell you that:)

warmth to the missus as well. :)

Santosh said...

if you want to enjoy real sambhar then go to hilly area and take some river or water fall leave and add it in. You will enjoy it and bymistake if you choose wrong leaf they u caught to itching on back.
www.natureglow.blogspot.com

Ajan said...

dude,nice post..nice use of alliterative verses..hehehe!so wat did u like the most? eating the irani biriyani or trickin the irani??