NRIs? Grow up. They are HTIs: Happen To be Indians

I was watching the latest Bollywood film released this week, ‘We Are Family’ at a theatre in Leicester. Something was nagging me. Something seemed out of place. The puzzle solved itself when the film ended with the scroll of acknowledgements.
The background score appeared in the top third of the scroll and quite low down appeared the names of the playback singers alongside the songs sequenced in the way they appear in the film.
It was a typical Hollywood scroll.
More to come. I did not see a single visual of India in the entire film. Part of it was shot in some Mumbai studio, but the outside scenes were entirely Australian. Sydney, to be precise. I didn’t see a single brown face other than the actors. And half the time they conversed in English. The Hindi they spoke you won’t hear anywhere in India. It’s typical NRI Hindi. I know because my daughter speaks the same way.
If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t be blamed for thinking that it was a Hollywood film about an Indian family Down Under.
I think the globalisation of Bollywood since Dilwale Dulhaniyan Le Jayenge and Hum Aapke Hain Kaun – which introduced the non-resident Gujarati life-style to India – to Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham and Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna and Namaste London -- which swayed under the influence of western family values – to New York and Kites – which still had something of India lingering in them – is now complete with We Are Family.
Not just Bollywood, current films in Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam, Bengali, even Oriya have begun to represent India in a non-Indian environment.
And why not? For instance, in my home town of Machilipatnam in Andhra Pradesh and the neighbouring city of Vijayawada, it is a fact that at least one member of each house lives abroad. The same is true, even if in varying degrees, for most states in India.
In the 1960s and 1970s, my paternal grandmother used to say it was a punishment visiting her children’s families in Delhi or Madras. There’s nothing in these cities, no culture, no ‘samskar’, no proper way of bringing up children, she would moan. But by the end of her life, she had travelled abroad more times than even some of her other sons and daughters! She could tell the difference between a burger and a ciabatta, told us that Universal is much better than the Vauhini Studio in Madras, didn’t like flying Air India and thought Des Pardes was the most un-Indian film she ever saw.
Her children who live abroad even today pay their annual visits to India, the men exchanging their loafers and jackets for the simple pant-and-shirt, the ladies digging out their sarees from the store rooms. They take their children on tours to Indian cities and temples in a faint attempt to pass on their Indianness to the next generation. But for the current generation – my cousins and their children -- Indianness ends with their names, that is, if ‘Subramanyam’ has not become ‘Mony’.
One of them wrote to me after seeing Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham: Guys like Amitabh Bachchan (who plays Shah Rukh Khan’s father) still exist in India? I asked the same chappie about We Are Family. He said: It’s cool. That’s how it is out here. Would you tell your children in a matter-of-fact manner that you had cancer, the Indian in me asked him. Why not? No point getting emotional about it. They’ll have to grow up one day and the best you can do is prepare them for the future. He said. Would an Indian mother, er, mom, agree to train another woman to take her place as shown in the film? The Indian in me wouldn’t let go. Where are you, cousin? A friend of mine brought home a step-dad for her children a month after the hubby died and they don’t have any problems. He intoned. I wanted to ask if anyone had cared to check how the children were adjusting. But I stopped myself.
We Are Family destroys many Indian assumptions, the foremost being you are an Indian wherever you are. Wrong. There is a clear disconnect between India and the Indian diaspora. India may continue to be delusional about Indians living abroad remaining Indian. Hardly. The concept of ‘pravasi bhartiya’ that the Pawars, Modis and Chandrababu Naidus institutionalised to promote the supposition that the Indian diaspora is the prime example of India shining is a charade.
Nine out of 10 Indians settled abroad did so because they hated the Indian system. Now they are Americans or Europeans and all the PIO cards India can print would not make them return ‘home’. They are married to their present, living cultures and they must be comfortable with it. If India wants to show them off as its brood, as a cap in its feather, let it. It doesn’t harm them. I have been away from India for nearly five years now and I am beginning to understand how the roots wither as generations expand. If Dev Patel, who played the protagonist kid in Slumdog Millionaire, prefers acting in Hollywood movies to Bollywood ones, no one can accuse him of being un-Indian.
There’s a video library in Leicester run by a Punjabi in his 50s who makes regular visits back home. He tells me that the VHS tapes and CDs of the pre-1990 Indian films are gathering dust because only the ‘buddhe log’ (old people) ask for them. The hot sellers are Indian films extensively shot abroad and show life-styles and cultures the youngsters can relate to. He thinks We Are Family is going to earn him much more than any other recent film.
What he says may be true for him, though I know that there is still a craze for the old B&Ws. Many families abroad send their children to Indian dance or music schools. They perform ‘puja’ during festivals, downloading the ‘vidhan’ (method of doing the puja) from the internet. The temples and gurdwaras get a regular stream of worshippers. But to interpret this as proof of them being Indian is a misnomer.
We Are Family sets the record straight. It reflects the current cultural moorings of a family in a setting far from Indian shores. It is coincidental that the said family happens to be of Indian origin. Remember, you don’t even know the surname of the family. You don’t see pictures of their parents and grand parents. You don’t know which part of India they come from and whether the cancer patient’s family in India had been informed. I don’t think you even see the ‘pundit’ who performs the marriage at the end of the film. You don’t see anyone, even the youngest child, weeping, save the patient herself. Emotions are kept to a minimum and you would find the relationships a bit cold by Indian standards. Not that there is dearth of either emotion or warmth. Only it is expressed in a way perhaps largely alien in India.
I can keep on dissecting the film, but the conclusion doesn’t change. We need to grow up. The USP of India lies within its own boundaries. Latching on to the diaspora doesn’t help. We have left it to Bollywood to reflect Indianness abroad. Ironic that it is a Bollywood film-maker who has latched on to the diaspora audience for his return on investment who drops the scales from our eyes.