'...par dil hai Hindustani...'

My visa for travel to India came through last week, in what is a somewhat involved, but, efficiently administered process. On account of very understandable security reasons the Indian consulate wants you to mail the application instead of personally visiting the consulate office to get your visa. I was a bit concerned about sending my Canadian passport by mail, and, invested $35 in special courier processing. Since I had followed the well drafted check list attached to the application, my visa came through fast, and, I was very pleasantly surprised when two days later I checked on the internet and found that the special courier was trying to deliver the package at the time I was checking.

Rushed home that evening, worried that the courier may have left the package outside my house and the wind may have blown it away. Everything was fine, and, the package was resting like a well behaved toddler in my mail box. Opened it, and, saw the Republic of India stamp, authorizing me to enter India, that is Bharat, my country of birth, multiple times during the next six months. Reminded me of my eldest brother’s response when I told him some twelve years ago that I had sworn allegiance to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors at the time I became a Canadian citizen. “You have undone all that the Mahatma fought for…” was his somewhat wry response. One of these days I shall take on the more onerous checklist of filing for Overseas Citizenship of India. I guess I would then have to swear back allegiance to the Indian Constitution. Does that make me a bigamist ?

In the last six or seven years, traveling back to India for those brief sojourns when one forgets all the office politics and caste rivalries that made one leave the country in the first place, is an event that is filled with tremendous promise. This time, as on the immediate past occasion, the provocation to visit India comes from an alumni reunion of the Class of ’71, those who graduated (‘passed out’ is the Indian expression, means something different in North America…though passed out may connote what exactly happened to some of us at IIMA) from IIMA in the year 1971.

The Class of ’71 has, over the thirty seven years since it got born as the Class of ’71, produced a few captains of Indian industry and academia, and, several able seamen (and women) who have tended the decks well. However, the seminal event in the history of this class is when two of the classmates started an e-group, in 2000, at a time, when e-groups were just being formed.

On the days I travel, my wife takes care of my Yahoo mail since my employer’s internet policies do not allow access to web mail. On those days she is shocked, startled and surprised with the twenty or so emails everyday from this august group of Management graduates of yore. She is shocked with the low level intelligence and absolutely risqué humour that floats around. (How did you guys make it to IIMA, rated as the most difficult business school in the world, to get into) She is startled with the occasional bursts of genius. She is surprised with the camaraderie, or, as one of the group members put it recently, espirit de corps, that exists among this bunch of fast becoming senior citizens. (Most of the class hit the age of 60 this year, with some notable exceptions like the writer who has a few years to go…point needs to be made) My wife barely remembers her classmates since they are not in touch, and, I suspect, though she will never admit it, hides a tinge of jealousy at the closeness of this group.

Well, in now what is turning to be an annual affair, the Class of ’71, along with spices (singular, spouse) meets in some location in India. In 2004, it was in Bengaluru, where the first Makkal Koota (People’s Celebration) was celebrated. Then, in 2006, Aati kya Khandala ? was celebrated in the hills near Mumbai. And this, February, the Class of ’71 and spices will meet in the deserts of Rajasthan for three days, for the Grand Desert Milan, 2008, or, GDM2008. I am told that those who will not be accompanied by their spouse will be provided a camel, for company…whether they will have to share one camel or whether there will be enough camels to go around, I do not know...

What will transpire during these three days comes under the category, ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ and so I cannot reveal full details. However, what I can tell you is that there will be a song in Bengali sung by the Evergreen Bong, a campfire replete with humour that cannot be published for family reading, and, much good food and drink. And, as GDM2008 winds down, there will be plans made for the next get together…

The rest of the five days in India will be spent, sampling the sulphurous air that hits one as we land in Mumbai, early morning walks to Rama Nayak’s for upma and idlis with the elder brother, a visit to the twenty first century living sage, Ramesh Balsekar, and, a day in Chennai. This, done in the style that the strong Canadian dollar permits one to, will refresh one enough to last till the next Milan of the Class of ’71…Thanks to my blog, I am connecting up some long lost friends from Chennai and am looking forward to meeting them, however brief that meeting may be…and, as I pack my bags Raj Kapoor's famous song comes back

'...mera joota hai japani
patloon inglistani
sar pe topi laal roosi
par dil hai hindustani...'

My clothes may be from foreign lands, yet
deep down, in my heart, I am an Indian...