A memory of the week before it all began, recalled from the ether. It occurs somewhere south of the Home Counties, near a railway station, in the town that is for me, 'home-home'. I am sitting in a leather chair in an Indian takeaway, watching the Ghana versus Uruguay world cup match, the important decider that will determine whether Ghana makes it to the semi-finals. So is the man at the counter. Naturally, we converse.
'Who are you supporting then?' One of us asks. We discover we're both supporting Ghana. I tell him Ghana's my chosen country since my native country's shambolic performance, besides, they've played well. He agrees. He'd like to see them go far. I learn that he's originally from Sri Lanka, a country that's not in the FIFA World Cup. It's a cricketing nation, just like India. But football is quite popular; it's only a matter of time...
We are soon joined by another family, here to get a quick takeaway meal so they can go home and beat their aunty to the TV - if they don't put the match on in time they'll miss the second half because Aunty doesn't like football. Mum, dad and teenage daughter are here. Daughter comes to sit next to me. She asks who I'm supporting. 'Ghana', I say, 'you?' 'No one really', she says, then adds as a quick afterthought, 'but Ghana now!' We watch on tenterhooks as the match heats up. I am savouring the beautiful moment - here we are from 3 corners of the globe, all supporting a small country from the beautiful but oft sidelined continent that I still call my home.
The family decide on their order. 'What do you want?' mum (or dad) asks teenage daughter, who vacillates between choices. 'I don't know, what's healthy?' she asks. 'This is Indian food, it's all healthy', replies dad. We all laugh. That's the cuisine of my future home we're talking about. It's a small world, and I'm glad to be a part of it. I realise that this place too is special: this small island, on the western outskirts of this ageing continent, is my home and I love it. I feel a twinge of nostalgia for what I am about to leave.
'You're a real global citizen', my mother often says to me, sometimes admiringly, sometimes exasperatedly, sometimes resignedly, but always heartfelt. It took going to Pune, once a British military cantonment, now grown to a full fledged member of urban India, to discover that she truly is right. Born in the 1980s, that fulcrum of globalization, in a decolonised country in urban West Africa where foreign cultural influences were equally if not more likely to come from commercial marketing than colonial influences, where the lines between 'ours' and 'theirs' -values, speech, taste- were incredibly blurred, is it any wonder that everywhere but nowhere is where I belong? Everyone is kin, in some form or another. In a bookstore in Pune I was confronted with staples from childhood - Asterix and Obelix, Tintin, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, The Famous Five, Archie comics....enough to make me wonder just how different my life would have been if I had grown up in India. Perhaps not as different as it may seem at first thought.
Pune was eye opening - thought provoking. I finally started to see and process the rural-urban divide up close, having lived rurally for the past 3 weeks. It is initially subtle but eventually seismic. Tell tale signs of disparities in wealth - the size of the average inhabitant. In Jamkhed I had to buy an extra-large outfit to get one that would fit; I considered myself obese by Indian standards. In Pune the reverse was the case, I had to buy a small outfit to get it to fit; most people were easily bigger than me. Food is more easy to come by in the city, particularly that of the energy dense variety - chocolate, ice cream, cake... And it is a sign of wealth - the wealthier people, shopping in the air conditioned malls, really were bigger than the average Joe walking the city's streets. Jamkhed and Pune are only about 4 hours apart by road, but the variance in infrastructure makes you understand current migratory patterns.
Pune impressed me with its combination of modernity and civility. It was by and large clean, though where Jamkhed has pigs, it has dogs. It has municipal services. No rubbish tips lying around the place. Pavements on the roads. Pedestrian crossings (often ignored, but still...) and functional traffic lights. The streets I walked on were quiet. And it was definitely a city - people who dealt with you were cordial, but strangers generally ignored each other. No routine namastes here.
Pune impressed me for another reason too - it showed me the new India. The new, vibrant, up and coming India with a booming economy and an ebullient, youthful population with enough aspiration to dampen some of its more depressing features, like the poverty that has people begging for alms on the roads - some disabled, others through circumstance, and yet others through cynicism? One minute a woman was asking for money, the next to have her photograph taken. 'What developed this learned helplessness?' I wondered. I remembered learning about how disability is relative - to the accommodation of society to an individual's impairment. What would David Blunkett, erstwhile Home Secretary of the United Kingdom, think of the idea that blind people are only able to make a living from begging and giving them alms is an act of charity and helpfulness? Or Stevie Wonder, international musical maestro -some would say genius-? Both men are blind. A wise society it is that enables all its members to fulfil their potential despite other limitations they face. 'Adjust' is a popular expression in India, meaning exactly that, but used in broader contexts. Can the new India adjust to the needs of the weak for the benefit of themselves, their communities and wider society?
The new India is fascinating, proudly and distinctly Indian, yet absorbing what the world has to offer. I got carried away with wonderful fusion jazz incorporating some of the best of contemporary classical Indian music. The majority of vehicles that ply the nation's roads are locally produced Indian brands. You can enjoy a traditional Pav bhaji on a side street or a tasty raclette in a Swiss restaurant, amongst other things. Eating Punjabi food in the down to earth juice bar in Pune's old town, I remembered the Ceylonese takeaway owner. 'What is it like to leave your business at home to start a new one in a new home?' I wondered, watching as the cooks mashed together potatoes, tomatoes, vegetables and herbs in open view of diners.
I like the new India's secure open mindedness, yet the media and other sources - security guards complete with metal detectors at major outlets, the memories of a recent bomb attack only months ago - remind me that this too is under threat. I wonder what life is like for the people of Pune. What are the living standards of the people who service the lives of the fortunately affluent? The security guards and checkout staff at malls, the waiting staff at restaurants - what do they go home to? Can they afford to avail of the services that they themselves provide: to shop in the same stores, eat in the same restaurants? They are probably more highly skilled than their Western counterparts, since fluency in the English Language (required for such service oriented positions) is a skill that is the preserve of the well educated in India. Do they have good job security, pay, respect, benefits? Do their current circumstances live up to their earlier expectations? I don't know the answers to these questions, but I aim to find out.
This journey is like a study in globalization. It's exciting. I'm seeing the process and its products: the boons and the fallout. Perhaps I can help to understand how to secure a good living for the most vulnerable in these processes and then go ahead and do so: that is my dream. What does the future hold? I don't know. But I do know this - I want a piece of this pie...
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