As far as patriotism goes, I feel I am schizophrenic. In India, I curse the erratic power supply, the corruption, poor infrastructure, general chaos. Yet as soon as I head abroad and the aircraft lands on alien shores, I ooze patriotism. This scenario was reenacted recently. Till the last moment of my departure from Delhi, I was unpatriotically grumpy as I cautioned the lackadaisical immigration official about the leak in the roof where we sat, and the puddles he seemed to ignore. But once the plane touched down at the sparkling Frankfurt airport, I instantly donned my patriotic mantle. Needless to say, the efficiency in the meticulous airport was impressive, the floors were polished to perfection, officials were alert, baggage arrived on time on the noiseless conveyor belt. Outside, the traffic moved in regimented order. We arrived in the idyllic surroundings of this city of the shimmering River Necker, beautiful houses nestling along its neat banks. The inaugural lecture by an eminent American scholar at the conference compared Mahatma Gandhi’s ashram experiment to the coffee house culture. National pride surged. I was proud to be an Indian. After the talk, we were served tea and I proudly read ‘Assam’ on the tea bag! At the conference, the Europeans seemed to savour and revel in Indiana — textiles and politics, multi-culturalism, you name it. On the Heidelberg faculty, there are a few Indians; most importantly, the first woman to be a professor in the annals of the university’s 600 years history is Gita Dharmpal, an Indian. The highlight of the conference was an exhibition on the cartography of Benares. It was difficult to move in the crammed halls where people were vying with each other to savour the spiritual essence of India’s holy city. Every morning, I would be at breakfast, and the American would show off his Gujarati mirror jacket and the Briton would show off her ikkat fabric dress. I too decided to wear my Rajasthani suit. As one visited one beautiful European city after another, it was the same scene. Picturesque houses laid out in organised rows, the facades lively with geraniums and other colourful flowers, charming lace curtains visible at the windows, no human beings in sight. There was pin drop silence on the streets in the evenings. Quite a contrast to our busy and noisy streets. It seemed to me that these well ordered areas lacked soul. It is probably the noise and the buzzing activity, the human presence amid the disorder and dirt, that is the soul of India which fascinates the westerner. And he is now packaging it and showcasing it for our consumption! As soon as my flight landed home, the disgust seeped back at the smell and the stains. If only along with our great cultural and spiritual wealth, we also had discipline and pride in our possessions.
