Green Peas

Today at the vegetable shop I heard someone speak in Marathi. I turned around to determine the source. A middle aged couple was seriously discussing  the quality of green chilies and deliberating if it was wise to buy them or not. Though the conversation appeared to be of a rather serious academic nature, I decided to butt in and satisfy my usual urge to speak to strangers. ‘Oh you speak Marathi! How nice to hear the language in Delhi’, I started with one of my tried and tested hooks, putting on my best smile. The couple did not mind the interjection and smiled back. ‘Oh yes, it indeed is good to hear Marathi in Delhi', the man appeared happy to speak to me, 'do you stay in Dwarka?’ . ‘Yes, I do. It has been almost six years now. I came here from Mumbai’. I was trying to keep the wheels of conversation whirring. ‘Oh really? We are from Indore’ the man also volunteered some information. ‘How nice’, I was glad with my ability to interact with unknown people, ‘there are a lot of Marathi speakers from Indore and Gwalior in Dwarka’ I continued. ‘Oh yes’ the man agreed, ‘a lot of people from Madhya Pradesh’. 

The lady, who was silent so far appeared to be sizing me up and finally decided to ask what was perhaps paramount on her mind. ‘What is your surname?’ she asked me in a matter of fact tone. I was slightly taken aback. Among Marathi speakers and perhaps even among rest of Indian language groups, asking surname is equivalent to asking ‘what is your caste?’ This question is always on people’s mind when they meet someone new. It is ostensibly a very important question for some, but people work towards it in a cautious, calculated manner so that the other person does not really know that their caste background is being examined. To enquire about it so openly and as a first sentence of discussion with a stranger was a bit baffling. ‘Vaite, Shailesh Vaite’, I must have sounded like James Bond, but since I did not see any laughter forthcoming, I concluded that they did not watch any of the 007 movies.

The interesting thing about my surname is that it is a very unique surname. There are no more than hundred people in India who have this surname and because of this you can’t determine our caste. Secondly it is a rather odd name to pronounce. Nobody gets it in the first attempt. They would either take it as Vaidya or Vaitee which are quite popular surnames in Maharashtra. As a young boy, I would go through the pains of explaining my correct name and even spelling it for the benefit of the other person. But with age, my enthusiasm on this front has dwindled drastically and as long as there are no legal implications, I don’t make much effort to correct the person. The lady, like most others had misunderstood my name. ‘Oh Vaidya?’ said she with a smile which had an overtone of relief. ‘Vaidya’ is common name among higher castes in Maharashtra. I also noticed that she seemed more relaxed now as she was able to classify me as someone of her 'own kind'. I did not think it convenient to spend next five minutes in explaining the correct name while hefting two bags full of vegetables (green peas were 20 rupees a kilo, and hence I had loaded myself with them, carrots and broccoli were also super cheap, so they occupied a substantial amount of space in my bag). Secondly, I was rather put off by this strange turn to the conversation and hence I knew it would not go much further. ‘We are XXXXXX’, the man shared their own surname looking equally relieved and ensuring that I also classify them as one of my kind. ‘Oh right’, said I with a perfunctory smile, ‘glad to meet you’. Suddenly, my ‘making small conversation skills’, which I take great pride in, seemed to evaporate in thin air and I was struggling to decide what to say next. ‘Good season for vegetables eh?’ I started moving away while they still appeared eager to talk, ‘have a good evening’. They both looked puzzled at this abrupt loss of interest on my part. I moved away from them rather awkwardly. 

For the rest of the evening, I kept thinking if they would have behaved in a similar awkward manner the way I did, if I had a surname which would have overtly sounded ‘lower caste’. Anyhow, the lesson of the evening was, green peas taste really sweet in the month of January and you should buy them aplenty. They last for more than a month in the freezer. 

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Not so young after all!

India celebrates National Youth Day on 12^th of January every year. To be honest, I have very little to do with the National Youth Day besides lamenting the fact that my youthful days are behind me. Many would say, age is all in the mind. But when the official website of the ‘Ministry of Youth affairs and Sports’, declares in most uncertain words ‘Youth i.e. those falling within the age group of 15-29 years’, one regretfully accepts the fact that one has left those shores long ago, at least officially.

Since my childhood was plagued by psychopathic teachers and a family which ceaselessly tormented me about my studies, youth was the happiest time of my life. If given a chance, I would eagerly like to relive those glorious years and perhaps try harder at assembling a more disreputable past than the one I currently have, which is largely been described as tepid and spiceless.

Every successive generation is luckier than the last one in terms of freedom and the resources available at their disposal. I do not have any romantic notion that our younger days were simpler and hence happier. I still remember, I had to take my girlfriend’s call, on the only landline phone in the house which was kept in the living room with my father reading the newspaper sitting on the sofa and my mother cutting vegetables while watching television. Both were oblivious of the fact that I had a girlfriend, because I was not supposed to have one! We did not have mobile phones till we reached latter half of our youth (we had to pay for incoming calls too! Remember?) nor did our parents think it was okay for us to have girlfriends/boyfriends while we were still in college. ‘First you finish your studies, build a good career, stand on your own feet; there is whole life for love-shove’ was clear directive from the family. I find the present generations of youth much luckier in that sense when I see them typing away on their mobile phones and peacefully chatting with friends locked away in their bedrooms. In most cases, their parents seem to have resigned to the fact that there would be some clear dynamic taking place with the opposite sex (same sex- not yet!)

It would not be appropriate for me to claim that I know much about the current batch of ‘youth’ because it has been our mutual policy of steering clear of each other’s path. The sadist practice of the younger lot of calling me ‘Uncle’ at every possible opportunity hasn’t really helped either. But I see them here and there and quite often walking dreamily in front of my car fiddling with their mobile phones, while I honk patiently till they pay heed to my entreaties and give way.

Since these days it is possible to create one’s own personal universe in the virtual world and also to put firewalls against any potential intruders, it is tough to take a peek at the world of present day youth. But they do seem quite busy over there and also appear to have become quite docile and domesticated by internet. I would be rather surprised to find out that they had been planning a social revolution on facebook/whatsapp all along under the garb of fuelling online retail industry.

It is indeed surprising that despite their preoccupation with the social media and everything that comes with it, the youngsters do manage to have bumper crop of grades each year. Apparently, even getting 100 per cent marks in exams isn’t a novelty any more, neither it is to find billionaires among ‘Youth i.e. those falling within the age group of 15-29 years’.  After all their parents not paying attention to their own parents and marrying beyond their castes and communities and hence expanding the healthy gene pool seems to have paid dividends.

I would like to end this little homily on a rather serious note. A few days ago, we had some workers at home doing some masonry job. Two of the workers were young boys who treated their headphones as an extension of their ears. One day, miraculously, I caught them without their mobile phones attached to their bodies and I began a conversation. Both claimed to be 18 years old and had just arrived from their village to earn a living in Delhi. What is the level of their education was the most logical next question considering my middle class upbringing. Both of them smiled. They had never gone to school. I asked them again, the answer was the same. ‘So you can’t read and write?’ I said incredulously and trying hard not to sound rude. They smiled again and said ‘No’. I was surprised to know that these two 18 year old boys in 21st century India working in Delhi and as enamoured by the digital technology as any other youth, had no formal education. After a bit of a thinking I found myself rather confused. I am still wondering if I should feel sorry that as a Nation, we were not able to provide simple joy of literacy to these young men, or should I be happy about their youthful comfort with the modern technology, despite the academic disadvantage, which might help them sail through life just as well, or perhaps both. 

Leaving you with that thought while wishing you all a Happy Youth Day!

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