A Toast to my Country

“It is only an error in judgement to make a mistake, but it shows infirmity of character to adhere to it when discovered.”

As far as I can remember, I had always scorned excessive displays of patriotism. I never seemed to be able to sing the national anthem with the fiery zest I’d noticed in some. I had often wondered what is that I lacked which made me so immune to my own country’s achievements.

My dad tries time and again to instill some amount of national pride in me. He cheers up visibly whenever India is acknowledged by the media and tries hard to keep up a perky banter about how fantastic it is to be part of such a great nation. He talks at length about how he prefers the lush green foliage and ‘natural’ feel of India to the dusty deserts and ‘artificial beauty’ that UAE offers. I argue that flora growing wild isn't necessarily my idea of beauty.

He tries to make me listen to Hindi songs. He buys me all kinds of vibrant ‘Indian’ clothes. He treats home-made food like manna from heaven and forces it upon me, those disgusting combinations of tapioca and coconut chutney. He takes me to watch movies in my mother tongue, promising heavy bribes in return for agreeing to sit through the entire premiere with good grace. He talks about cricket and how promising so-and-so of the Indian cricket team is and struggles valiantly, but vainly, to keep me posted on new matches and players.

I recall him going bananas once when the RJ announced that India had won some coveted trophy, swiveling from the front seat with such a huge grin plastered across his face that anyone would, for a moment, think that he himself was responsible (in some big way) for India’s triumph. I can’t help but pose the question, “Millions of people in India suffer on a daily basis for those basic commodities which most of us take for granted. Wouldn't Indians benefit enormously if they stopped splurging money on inconsequential amusements such as cricket (say), and invested it properly to bring about the much needed change in its financial condition?”

Dad looks like a pricked balloon for a few seconds, but he’s back in the game in next to no time with an inspirational comeback! “India is a developing nation. We are rich in raw materials. We have an abundance of human resources. It’s no small feat, what we have achieved in such a short time, after the British left behind utter chaos. We have come a long way after independence. We've pulled ourselves up from the smoldering remains of slavery and plunder and we’re well on our way to becoming one of the greatest nations of the world, if not the greatest. We are rich not only in monetary aspects, but also in culture and diversity. And cricket is one way of getting India on the international map.”

I know better than to retort, so I sit back and listen to him analyzing the strengths of family relations in India and those in foreign countries. No surprises about who gets to take home the accolades.

I used to love the vacations we spent in Kerala, which usually coincided with the monsoon season. The ride from the airport to my maternal grandma’s house used to be one of the highlights of the entire trip for me and my little brother. We used to drink in the diverse little wonders along the way; the beautiful seaside, with its monstrous waves, undulating with a fierce yet fascinating rhythm; people running to and fro to escape a sudden bout of fury unleashed by the heavens and the thatched mud houses miraculously withstanding the pounding of the rain. We wished we could join the half-dressed striplings running around cracked and overgrown wells, and welcome the rainy season with them, drenched in rain and joyful yells.

Just gazing at the world through rain-streaked car windows used to shift the gears of my perspective. Each blessed crystal drop is unique in its beauty; I believed each one had a special story for my ears alone. It’s hard to imagine all the places they have seen, all the people they have touched. If it were not for the phenomenon of surface tension holding each drop together, I could swear they would burst on touch like an over-ripe pomegranate, spilling wondrous tales of magical journeys. It made me wonder at all the injustice in the world, about all the lives searing anguish at that very moment, trampled upon by the vicious cycle of poverty, set in motion by those who hold power.

The rain made me glad I was alive, that I could see, feel and experience such exquisite loveliness. I felt blessed. I felt that I could make a change, and I was yearning to change so much about the world which struck me as unjust. I felt humbled by the poverty-stricken environment I saw around me, and I saw hope when I glimpsed the smiles worn by those who struggle ceaselessly to make both ends meet. When I heard laughter emanating from the dregs of misery, I felt inspired.

Some incidents, however, wounded me to such extents that I was loathe to step foot on my own soil. I still distinctly recall one such episode I witnessed at the airport. My family was strapped in and zooming towards the exit, when my searching eyes lingered on a large family, obviously well-to-do, loading an expensive-looking car. Every member of that cosy unit, from the overdressed uncles and the aunties bowed down with the weight of gold to the over-nourished kids, assiduously overlooked a handicapped beggar who was literally crawling at their feet for a few coins to satisfy his constantly aching stomach. I saw him flash by for a mere second, but that second was all it took to etch every pitiful detail of his pathetic existence into my mind. The tattered and grimy clothes, completely incapable of shielding his weak body from the biting cold wind, his pencil-thin legs curled limply on the worn-out wooden board on which he dragged himself around, the matted hair hugging his face, shielding the bedlam of emotions on his countenance.

The longing in his eyes and the patient smile omnipresent on his lips, even when he was being treated like less than dirt, changed something in me forever. I can’t define what has changed; I only know that something has. That one could be so callous to ones ’own blood is terrifying.

I’m trying hard to stop taking things for granted, but of course, I slip up now and then, sometimes rampantly. I’m only human, and I’m nowhere near perfect. But I’m content in the knowledge that I’m striving to become a better human being, one that is not blinded by the good things in life. I do not wish to be complacent with the way of the world; I would rather attempt to see past the dazzling splendors of life, deep into the labyrinths of harsh reality. Instead of staggering in the face of adversity, I wish to be emotionally equipped to embrace each new day with a welcoming smile, and a steady state of mind.