Foreigner in own country

‘Travel is the only thing you buy that makes you richer.’

                                                                                      -Anonymous.

My father has a transferable job and out of it, I get a chance of visiting

quite some places. Recently one of such places was Tumkur. Located in

the state of Karnataka, it is around 2 hrs drive from the city of

Bengaluru.

Truly said, the more we visit, more we come to know about the diversity

of the places in all aspects; culture, people and physical vividness.

Gradually we start adapting to the surroundings, the climate, the people

and add to it the accent of people. But adapting is no piece of cake and

peculiarly when it comes to language.

Reminds me of an incident, where every morning I went to milk parlour.

An old man sits there in his kingdom of packed milk bags. His homecum-

shop has a 4 feet boundary wall and a gate, which he generally

keeps shut, and he does his business from a 15cm X 10 cm box holed out

in his wall. Here comes the worst part for me; he neither knows English

nor Hindi.

Day 1: I asked him to get me 1 litre milk, the blue packet. The moment I

finished, the look on his face gave me a clear perception that my

language was from some other planet. Immediately I pointed him the

packet I wanted and he returned to me with it. I handed him the

hundred rupee note and then began the mayhem. He launched series of

‘Kannada’ arrows. Might be he was asking for change or some other

things if I wished to buy but it was totally out of my syllabus. And while I

was bombarded, I tried looking for help from any other customer nearby.

In return they gave me a, ‘Yes, you deserve this for not knowing

Kannnada’, look. In my defence, I tried convincing him that I don’t know

your language. God! He spoke like continuously for literally a minute.

And I, from freshly woke up went back to exhausted. I guess he also

realized that he had failed in being ‘Kannada Guru’, returned back with

left-over money and some candies.

I decided that I am not going without any shield in the battle field the

next day. I went to Google Translate. Learnt a few basic ‘Kannnada’ lines

which would be needed for my face off tomorrow. Now that was suicidal.

I said, “Ondu litar halu, nili pyaket” (yes, it is easy to learn simple

words). And what followed was a wave of his dialect going out of my

simple domain. I realised my blunder. This time his minute long speech

had phases, the optimistic phase where he thought I am getting what he

is saying, the frustrated phase where he knew his speaking is no more

good and the last one, the retarded phase when he left with “he is a damn

retard” look on his face.

For the coming day I had a policy; you see me as dumb, I will be dumb

for you and deaf as well. I took the exact change required, pointed him

the packets and handed over money. He spoke sometimes but of course

those words were of no meaning to me. So, me kicking off with another

language, I guess we weren’t synced. Apart from him, the other shops

were generally English/ Hindi friendly, luckily.

In ‘Tumkur’, what makes you fall in love with is the weather. The

wonderful breeze in evenings and slight cold at night, enough to pull

your blankets out. And add to it is the untimely drizzle of rain. Once

returning from a med shop I was stuck in such a down-pour. And when it

rains in our country, you will eventually find a ‘chai-shop’ in the vicinity.

I took shelter in one of the chains of ‘chaiwala Inc.’. Now chai stall is

such a magical place, where you can’t estimate the exact number of

people which can be accommodated. And find any chai stall across the

country, all the people will discuss is politics. I could make out the

intermittent BJPs, CONGRESSs and DMKs used in their conversations.

Amidst their aggressive conversation, I kept mum on one side. Probably

they grew suspicious, and one of them again asked me something which

to their disappointment I didn’t understand. I told them that I have no

idea of ‘Kannada’ and I am new to this place. And after that it was like

they left the territory of politics and I became the prime focus, the guy

from the other side of the same country.

Now, while in Tumkur, all the people will at once will recommend you to

first visit the ‘Siddaganga Mutt’. I said yes, I have already visited there.

So, then they began explaining about the history of that place. Then

someone started from the other side of the bench, that the Mutt has its

origins in 14th century. When Sree Haradanahalli Gosala Siddeshwara

handed over his headship of Mutt to next successor and with his 101

followers, went to hills for meditation. After a long time to quench the

thirst of one of his disciple, he hit one of the rocks and a stream of water

came out of it. The holy water was named ‘Sidda-ganga’. This water is

believed to have healing powers. Then I realised that now a days while

visiting places, we have restricted ourselves to selfies and pics only.

Then they latched to other places which I must consider visiting. The

Lakshmi Narshimha Swamy Temple, the local markets and some of the

local dishes, which were too volatile to skip my memory. But the best

part was the enthusiasm with which they were trying to explain me. It

kind of felt the same way we try to elaborate about the little part of India

we know about, to foreigners. Despite not being fluent in Hindi, they

tried to add up whatever they had to explain to me. I felt kind of thankful

for the effort they put in. Then I realised how vivid is our culture and

how small part of this vividity do we occupy.

“Travel makes you modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the

world.’’ 

                                                                                        - Gustav Flaubert