BrahminBoss
Boatsman from river of Styx triple 6
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When we got to Italy, i was surprised to find the place full of Indians. Some were obviously tourists like us, but others seemed locals.
"What part of Bharat Mata are you from, bhaisahib?" i asked a passer-by. From his incomprehensible reply i assumed he was from Greater Noida. Greater Noidans speak a special language that no one else can understand, sometimes not even other Greater Noidans. But it dawned on me slowly, as all my dawnings do, that what was being spoken all around me was not in fact Greater Noidanese, but Italian.
How had i confused Italians for Indians, from Greater Noida or anywhere else? There could be several reasons. While many Italians are blond, not a few have what we in India call a ‘wheatish‘ complexion. But the resemblances are much more than skin-deep. Like Indians, Italians love to talk – about politics, scandals, sports – with their mouths as well as their hands, which they wave about like semaphore signals. Like India, Italy is gesture, the more the mudra. Like Indians, Italians are very family-oriented and religious-minded. Italian churches are works of art, their gilded interiors gleaming jewel-boxes. As with Indians, Italians think their food is the best in the world, and the Sienese pici (pronounced peachy) – fat, chewy spaghetti drenched in a sauce made with tomatoes as round and red as summer sunsets – is truly delicious.
It was easy to imagine the galloping thunder of steel-shod hooves sparking flashes of lightning from the stones, the flaring nostrils and the storm-tossed manes of the horses, the flailing whips and whoops of the riders. Perfect setting for a Bollywood extravaganza starring SRK or Hrithik as the dashing Palio rider who wins both the race and the beautiful heroine in the end.
Yes, Italy has a way of making Indians feel they are in their home away from home. Just as India can make Italians feel the same. You don’t have to believe me. Just ask Soniaji.
"What part of Bharat Mata are you from, bhaisahib?" i asked a passer-by. From his incomprehensible reply i assumed he was from Greater Noida. Greater Noidans speak a special language that no one else can understand, sometimes not even other Greater Noidans. But it dawned on me slowly, as all my dawnings do, that what was being spoken all around me was not in fact Greater Noidanese, but Italian.
How had i confused Italians for Indians, from Greater Noida or anywhere else? There could be several reasons. While many Italians are blond, not a few have what we in India call a ‘wheatish‘ complexion. But the resemblances are much more than skin-deep. Like Indians, Italians love to talk – about politics, scandals, sports – with their mouths as well as their hands, which they wave about like semaphore signals. Like India, Italy is gesture, the more the mudra. Like Indians, Italians are very family-oriented and religious-minded. Italian churches are works of art, their gilded interiors gleaming jewel-boxes. As with Indians, Italians think their food is the best in the world, and the Sienese pici (pronounced peachy) – fat, chewy spaghetti drenched in a sauce made with tomatoes as round and red as summer sunsets – is truly delicious.
It was easy to imagine the galloping thunder of steel-shod hooves sparking flashes of lightning from the stones, the flaring nostrils and the storm-tossed manes of the horses, the flailing whips and whoops of the riders. Perfect setting for a Bollywood extravaganza starring SRK or Hrithik as the dashing Palio rider who wins both the race and the beautiful heroine in the end.
Yes, Italy has a way of making Indians feel they are in their home away from home. Just as India can make Italians feel the same. You don’t have to believe me. Just ask Soniaji.
