Yes you guessed right! The title is borrowed from a movie which could have been better. But that is not what my post is about. It’s about me going distances courtesy my dad.
My dad's first exposure to a foreign land was in mid 2002. His experience of “foreign land” wasn’t quite as fancy as he went to Sudan (oops! Present day’s North Sudan). I don’t blame him since it is nature which injected black gold in places which turned out to be either extremely hot, underdeveloped or in dire crises. He never complained about the place, but instead told me about the enhancement in his technical knowledge and experiences with different cultures. But the only thing which mattered to me after those 2 years was that my dad could pick up the best fragrances in a perfume shop, buy creamier than ever gourmet chocolates, select amazing jewelry designs (this is according to mom), which was mostly courtesy of Dubai duty-free.
In 2005, he decided to move to Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia) with the whole family. This is when I realized my version of “foreign land”. I don’t remember being consulted before taking this decision. All I can recollect is that I was threatened by my parents to obtain a decent score in my present class so I can get admission in a decent school or else they will be glad to save maid expenses! And a few months later I was standing in a huge reception area in my new college with an enrollment form in my hand. At the counter the lady asked me 2 questions politely, which changed my whole perspective about myself and the place I was in. Although the first one was definitely in a questioning tone it sounded more like a reminder to me; She asked,“International student?” and before I could process the information in my head and answer, she threw another one at me,“Passport please?” And it was this, most of all, which made it very clear that I was in fact in a "foreign land", and I was the FOREIGNER here. And that is when the romance of being in a foreign land ended and reality hit me.
I was not in 11th grade anymore. I wasn't even in a school. I was in a world where I was doing A-levels in a pre-university. I was not just Indian but “Indian Indian”. The “Indian Indian” concept was important to the local Indian origin students, hence to avoid confusion I had to repeat my nationality while introducing myself. The first “Indian” was meant for my race and second for my nationality (please this is not racism it’s called avoiding confusion). My classmates found my “thick” Indian accent and ”wavy” hair very appealing. I had to patiently explain to people that I was not married to anyone - thanks to the very concept of child marriage! Unfortunately, for them I wasn’t even a true Indian as I had never had a glimpse of Shah Rukh Khan and his house or The Taj Mahal.
Quite soon I started using 'lah' as much as the locals. This was probably my first step to blend in, which lasted till our literature lecturer started to fine us with every use of this word. It turned out that slang was not allowed in the lectures!
Chopsticks were switched to spoon and fork only when 10 min remained for the lunch break to end. I started wishing for straight hair. And "Can" became a synonym for yes.
The reason for my trying hard to blend in was not because people were treating me differently - I was accepted more than I could ever imagine. According to me it was a gesture by which I could reciprocate the love and support I received from Malaysia.
That's about it for this one! I could go on and on about my experiences but I shall keep that for part 2, and the subsequent parts, if they ever materialize! There are many more countries to visit and many more things to explore. But till then Malaysia Boleh (Malaysia Can!) and Jai Hind!
