I have arrived in a strange, new world of sameness. Not the sameness that is Canada and the United States, or saying Foyer the correct way (without the 'r') and Foyer the American (with the 'r'), it is the sameness of things that are completely different, things forced to exist in the same plane despite their mutual resistant.
India, as a country and an experience, haunt every thing that is Britain to me. I see it in the cars passing on the wrong side of the road. I see it in the colors of the pavement lines. I see it on the strange street signs. I see it in the stores filled with the same products. I smell it as I walk past a curry shop. I feel it as I dial with my identical Nokia cell phone. I miss it as I walk down the beach. But the warmth, the sun, the friendship, the bliss that was India is not here.
As much as I would love for India to have followed me to this place, it has not, and will not, ever find a place here. St Andrews and India are irreconcilable. I can dream of India as much as I desire, and I can see as much of it as I please through things that seem so similar, but I will never be able to relive my time there or replicate that experience here. For all my efforts, my phone, no matter how identical to that of my days in India, will not call Anju or text Alayna. The sameness of these two phones is not fundamental, it is superficial, and should be considered as such. It is hard to remember however, as I reach for my phone to answer a text the rang as it did in India and to type out the message in the same convoluted T9 as I used in India. When I see it on my desk, or hold it in my hand, it is India.
But it is not India.
India is gone. Scotland is here. And this phone belongs to the land of pea-coats, for that is what this place is; Cold, windy, rainy, and filled to the brim with snobbish Brits. Pea-coats. They all have them, in varying sizes, shapes and shades of gray and black, but they are universal. These pea-coated persons can hardly be said to inhabit the same world as my Indian phone. Their world is A levels, consumerism and polo. Not India. And yet they are so intricately connected, so enmeshed in each other. The Common Wealth, Immigration, pub curries, and Goan holidays, make these two places collide in a catastrophic space-time event.
Things of this nature can not exist together. And yet they do. So far the world has not ended, the oceans have not gone dry, the heavenly bodies still follow their divine paths, and I am here in this strange world. Surviving the sameness and the difference, trying to understand how fate could have created two such places.
India, as a country and an experience, haunt every thing that is Britain to me. I see it in the cars passing on the wrong side of the road. I see it in the colors of the pavement lines. I see it on the strange street signs. I see it in the stores filled with the same products. I smell it as I walk past a curry shop. I feel it as I dial with my identical Nokia cell phone. I miss it as I walk down the beach. But the warmth, the sun, the friendship, the bliss that was India is not here.
As much as I would love for India to have followed me to this place, it has not, and will not, ever find a place here. St Andrews and India are irreconcilable. I can dream of India as much as I desire, and I can see as much of it as I please through things that seem so similar, but I will never be able to relive my time there or replicate that experience here. For all my efforts, my phone, no matter how identical to that of my days in India, will not call Anju or text Alayna. The sameness of these two phones is not fundamental, it is superficial, and should be considered as such. It is hard to remember however, as I reach for my phone to answer a text the rang as it did in India and to type out the message in the same convoluted T9 as I used in India. When I see it on my desk, or hold it in my hand, it is India.
But it is not India.
India is gone. Scotland is here. And this phone belongs to the land of pea-coats, for that is what this place is; Cold, windy, rainy, and filled to the brim with snobbish Brits. Pea-coats. They all have them, in varying sizes, shapes and shades of gray and black, but they are universal. These pea-coated persons can hardly be said to inhabit the same world as my Indian phone. Their world is A levels, consumerism and polo. Not India. And yet they are so intricately connected, so enmeshed in each other. The Common Wealth, Immigration, pub curries, and Goan holidays, make these two places collide in a catastrophic space-time event.
Things of this nature can not exist together. And yet they do. So far the world has not ended, the oceans have not gone dry, the heavenly bodies still follow their divine paths, and I am here in this strange world. Surviving the sameness and the difference, trying to understand how fate could have created two such places.
awsome entry aisha! Sounds like a crazy yet beautiful culture shock experience you are having lol ;)
ReplyDeleteNot having made the trip to India and a lover of Britain I can only imagine what I am missing. India is on the list... Wonder if you might be our guide so we don't miss the essence of that country. Kristin will be going also..
ReplyDeleteHope you survive the insanity of the wedding... Ask Kristin about getting up in the middle of the night to see Diana's.
And one other note. Our love of Britain comes from many friends there from our Friendship Force experience. If you ever get to Newcastle Upon Tyne you must try to meet Jen and Dave Langlands.. 9 the Demense in North Seaton Village. 441670855032 If you ring and tell them you of the Edington circle you would be most welcome. Hope to see you in June.