Nishanth S Coontoor
Its 11.30 am on a warm, sunny Thursday morning. The ceiling fan above my bench continues its attempt to cool my otherwise stressed head. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for the last two weeks writing my Class 8 midterms but this fan hasn’t given up on me. It cries out for help on occasion, but simply does not give up.
Today is the final exam. We are scheduled to end the exam with the Maths paper.
I look outside the window. There are yellow striped-black autorickshaws, green and orange school vans and saree clad mothers in sun glasses on two wheelers locked in a “honk-off” of sorts.
“15 minutes more. Make sure you attach all the additional sheets you have taken,” announced the invigilator from her desk. “And use tags.”
I stare back at the one question I could not answer still.
Find the value of a and b if x-1 and x-2 are factors of x^3-ax+b.
This has got to be the easiest of all questions. It was the first question on the paper.
‘Tring Tring Triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnggg’ goes the bell and with it my 3 marks.
*
“So, how did the paper go?”
“Not good,” replied Prashanth. “It was tough.”
“Sure, sure,” I responded, shaking my head, trying hard not to call out his bluff.
Prashanth was a well-known fraud. Whenever he said he did not do well were the times he topped the class.
“What are you doing over the summer holidays?”
“Oh, I am going to my native place.”
Summer holidays, for most kids, always brought with it trips to the good old native place. My friends returned to school every June 1st with stories from their native place. They got to pluck fruits from trees in their gardens and eat them without telling their parents. They had seen a snake! They played a new game with their cousins from Delhi.
But I wasn’t most kids. I did not have a ‘native’ place to escape to. With my parents, grandparents and extended family all in Bangalore, the only times I went ‘out of station’ was to visit a new place.
I admit I hadn’t given this much thought until a few years later when an acquaintance asked me where I was from.
“I’m from Bangalore,” I responded.
“No, where are you really from?”
“What do you mean? I am from Bangalore.”
“No, you stay in an apartment, so I was wondering where you are from. Where are your parents from? What is your native place?”
My tiny brain then couldn’t identify the relationship between staying in an apartment and being from Bangalore. Several years later, I realized he meant to ask if I was indeed from Bangalore, why then am I having to stay in an apartment and not an independent house. I also realized that day, for the first time, that where I am from was something of great importance to the world around me. Maybe having a ‘native’ place brought with it a feeling of security that you belonged there no matter where you ended up staying. Was Bangalore not my ‘native’ place?
15 years since this incident, now in the USA, this question strangely still holds relevance. Every new person I meet wants to know where I am from. My answer determines if they want to be associated with me. Some Indians have to slice and dice my last name and question where in Karnataka is ‘Coontoor’ as if to validate. Others simply want to know when I plan to go back home for good.
One thing is certainly different today. I’ve come to realize that, irrespective of what that acquaintance had once asked me, Bangalore is that ‘native’ place for me. Despite the traffic, pollution and potholes, it’s still exciting to visit every year. I have to check in on Facebook when I eat a masala dose at Vidyarthi Bhavan. Diets can be broken for Brahmin Coffee bar’s khara bath. Chitrakala Parishad’s Chitra Sante is my Disneyland.
Not everyone is lucky enough to get to visit home though. I have friends in the USA from countries that are in a turmoil now. The home they grew up in, the schools they studied, the stores they bought candy at no longer exist. Their parents have had to relocate to a different country. Their family no longer lives there.
Now add to this the complex green card process. And constant speculation of immigration policy changes. Can you imagine the stress and the feeling of uncertainty this may be causing?
It’s interesting that, at times, where you are from seems to matter more than who you are as a person. It’s almost always the first question and it decides if there will be a second follow up.
Glossary:
Vidyarthi bhavan, Brahmin Coffee bar: Restaurants in Bangalore, India.
Chitrakala Parishad’s Chitra Sante: Arts and crafts festival in Bangalore.
Dose: Or Dosa. Crepe made from fermented batter
Khara Bath: Spicy food made from Semolina.