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Sometime ago a nephew of mine had returned from America after a not very happy stay there of 3 years. I asked him:
"What, in your experience, is the best feature of American life?"
And he said:
"Privacy"
I then asked:
"What is the worst feature?"
He thought for a moment and replied:
"Privacy"
Fortunately or otherwise for me, no such concept of privacy exists in My India...at least in Hyderabad. Folks here are too openly curious to get whatever worthless facts they can about one another. And from childhood I resented such intrusion into my privacy out of shyness and perhaps because I never had much to gloat about my little self.
Little Ishani too resents the constant adult intrusion into her little privacy. We two have to travel 9 floors in our lift to get to our car park on way to her school. And whoever happens to be our co-traveler for those few seconds starts attacking her:
"What is your name?"
And she keeps sullenly quiet at the risk of being thought dumb. The inquisition doesn't stop there. The next question invariably is:
"Which class are you in?"
And she turns her head away. Again:
"Which school?"
She scowls.
That is partly in her genes and also because I taught her in my own way never to ask leading questions. I coached her to start saying, if she is curious:
"My name is Ishani; what is yours?"
...an Americanism I learned from an MIT visitor to IIT KGP who was friends with me for a few months.
And this telephone thing. I scrupulously avoid answering when a call comes from an unknown number. Till the chap calls me at least 3 times. And then I am under direct attack:
"Kaun bol raha hai? Who is speaking?"
I have an urge to reply:
"Aap kaun bol raha hai? Who are you?"
But I desist and say:
"Kisko chahiye? Whom do you want?"
"Rajinder"
I then have another urge to say:
"Abhi abhi bahar gaya. Just now he went out"
But I end up saying:
"Wrong number"
By now I have evolved this strategy: just ignore the first 3 calls, and then give a missed call. This seems to work in half the cases.
About the curiosity of knowing names, the Brits have their jokes. Apparently one lady caught another lovely, beautiful, and aristocratic lady at a party and wanted to make friends with her and asked:
"May I know your name, please?"
And got the reply:
"Jones"
"No, I mean, your first name?"
"Don't worry, you will have no use for it"
Another lady CEO was getting to know the names of her employees. And asked a gent:
"Name please!"
"Darling"
"I mean, your surname?"
"Darling, again...Darling Darling"
The Hyderabadi lady CEOs are much more courteous. Apparently they would tell their brand new recruit, a fresh gent from college:
"Ramu, my name is Neeraja...you can call me Neeru"
The chap is so pleased and gratified that he feels intense liberation from his earlier life in college where he had to call all his superiors, sir, or professor, or madam.
And throws a party to his friends. To discover that after two months he is as likely as not to get a pink slip instead of paycheck in his company-embossed monthly envelope.
As you know, in India, many awesome things can happen in lifts in those few seconds of travel. But only in Goa. Hyderabad is much more sober. But not any less curious to know my intimate and useless details in our gated community.
This morning I got into the lift in which there was already another occupant, a gent of my age, a stranger to me. He was going to the 8th floor as I could see. And I entered and pressed my 6th.
He looked at me with not overly fondness and began his inquisition:
"Which is your apartment?"
"7615"
"With whom are you staying there?"
"My son, his wife, and their daughter"
"Not with your wife?"
"No"
"Where does she live?"
"She is dead"
"Oh, where did you work before you retired?"
"IIT Kharagpur"
"Oh"
And then he was expecting me to return the honors...of course I am too shy to ask such leading questions to a stranger.
The 6th floor came by then and, as I was quitting, I had this terrific urge to say:
"You must have retired from the Census Bureau"
But I desisted since the joke would have been lost on him...he might as well have puffed his chest up saying:
"No, I retired as the Branch Manager of the Kukatpally SBI"
He might never have heard of IIT KGP...
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Sometime ago a nephew of mine had returned from America after a not very happy stay there of 3 years. I asked him:
"What, in your experience, is the best feature of American life?"
And he said:
"Privacy"
I then asked:
"What is the worst feature?"
He thought for a moment and replied:
"Privacy"
Fortunately or otherwise for me, no such concept of privacy exists in My India...at least in Hyderabad. Folks here are too openly curious to get whatever worthless facts they can about one another. And from childhood I resented such intrusion into my privacy out of shyness and perhaps because I never had much to gloat about my little self.
Little Ishani too resents the constant adult intrusion into her little privacy. We two have to travel 9 floors in our lift to get to our car park on way to her school. And whoever happens to be our co-traveler for those few seconds starts attacking her:
"What is your name?"
And she keeps sullenly quiet at the risk of being thought dumb. The inquisition doesn't stop there. The next question invariably is:
"Which class are you in?"
And she turns her head away. Again:
"Which school?"
She scowls.
That is partly in her genes and also because I taught her in my own way never to ask leading questions. I coached her to start saying, if she is curious:
"My name is Ishani; what is yours?"
...an Americanism I learned from an MIT visitor to IIT KGP who was friends with me for a few months.
And this telephone thing. I scrupulously avoid answering when a call comes from an unknown number. Till the chap calls me at least 3 times. And then I am under direct attack:
"Kaun bol raha hai? Who is speaking?"
I have an urge to reply:
"Aap kaun bol raha hai? Who are you?"
But I desist and say:
"Kisko chahiye? Whom do you want?"
"Rajinder"
I then have another urge to say:
"Abhi abhi bahar gaya. Just now he went out"
But I end up saying:
"Wrong number"
By now I have evolved this strategy: just ignore the first 3 calls, and then give a missed call. This seems to work in half the cases.
About the curiosity of knowing names, the Brits have their jokes. Apparently one lady caught another lovely, beautiful, and aristocratic lady at a party and wanted to make friends with her and asked:
"May I know your name, please?"
And got the reply:
"Jones"
"No, I mean, your first name?"
"Don't worry, you will have no use for it"
Another lady CEO was getting to know the names of her employees. And asked a gent:
"Name please!"
"Darling"
"I mean, your surname?"
"Darling, again...Darling Darling"
The Hyderabadi lady CEOs are much more courteous. Apparently they would tell their brand new recruit, a fresh gent from college:
"Ramu, my name is Neeraja...you can call me Neeru"
The chap is so pleased and gratified that he feels intense liberation from his earlier life in college where he had to call all his superiors, sir, or professor, or madam.
And throws a party to his friends. To discover that after two months he is as likely as not to get a pink slip instead of paycheck in his company-embossed monthly envelope.
As you know, in India, many awesome things can happen in lifts in those few seconds of travel. But only in Goa. Hyderabad is much more sober. But not any less curious to know my intimate and useless details in our gated community.
This morning I got into the lift in which there was already another occupant, a gent of my age, a stranger to me. He was going to the 8th floor as I could see. And I entered and pressed my 6th.
He looked at me with not overly fondness and began his inquisition:
"Which is your apartment?"
"7615"
"With whom are you staying there?"
"My son, his wife, and their daughter"
"Not with your wife?"
"No"
"Where does she live?"
"She is dead"
"Oh, where did you work before you retired?"
"IIT Kharagpur"
"Oh"
And then he was expecting me to return the honors...of course I am too shy to ask such leading questions to a stranger.
The 6th floor came by then and, as I was quitting, I had this terrific urge to say:
"You must have retired from the Census Bureau"
But I desisted since the joke would have been lost on him...he might as well have puffed his chest up saying:
"No, I retired as the Branch Manager of the Kukatpally SBI"
He might never have heard of IIT KGP...
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