When Parrilla Meets Pulikachal – Part 1 – Argentine bashing

Warning: My sense of humor died a long time ago when my former roommate Abhi brought with him his poor standard for jokes and ever since, it hasn’t been the same. Sorry.

 

Part one: Argentine Bashing (or, I Heart Argentina, for short)

 

Over the last three months, I’ve felt very alone in Buenos Aires. It’s the only town I’ve ever lived in where there is a genuine shortage of Indians. That’s right, you heard me, not enough fudge brownies in Argentina to make the population dulce minus the de leche. To most Argentinians on the street (who are totally looking at me and my fat phat body all the time), I’m an object of fascination (there are rumored to be only a few hundred Indians in the country (a very LARGE country)), and almost always, on announcing that I’m Indian, the first reaction is almost always a high pitched squeal followed by, “India, que lindo país!“, followed, almost inevitably by, “cruzaste el Ganges?“

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes that’s right. I’ve finally found the one country in the world where Indians are still an exotic hippie bullock-cart-riding, bhajan-chanting, Hare-Krishna loving people that instantly break into song. It’s like the IT revolution never sent a memo to the Argentinians announcing the new India! Well, OK, I lie, some Indian IT companies have fancy office towers here, but sshhh, no one knows about them! Here, I’m a god, the equivalent of a head banging rock star, even though I have no hair. And, I haven’t even crossed the Ganges (but they swear I have even though I vehemently deny it).

To Argentinians, India is a distant idea, an exotic culture, known only through documentaries like this one (watch out for “Do you put some of the Ganga water in your mouth?”:

 

All you BRIC loving, “I heart the new India” people look away for a second, because what I’m going to say will hurt like the first time you fooled around with a Bunsen Burner.

Some Indians that I’ve spoken instantly turn sour like well made lemon rasam when asked about their Argentinian experience. To them, the kings of IT Services, the future of innovation, the epitome of a modern democracy, this level of ignorance is intolerable. They lament that they cannot make inroads into the local market, and, even if an Argentinian wanted his or her toaster fixed by a friendly Chennai call center employee named Juan Manuel José, and they assure me profusely that this is the case, it will never be possible until the country better understands the new India.

Personally, I think it’s a bit unfair to characterize Argentinians as culturally insensitive and ignorant, and Indians as the champions of cultural exchange and dissemination. Let’s look at why this is the case. Emigration is a time-tested genetic trait of the brown clan, whether voluntary, or sort-of-voluntary. But Indian emigration has always centered around English-speaking countries, for obvious reasons (and this obvious reason too)! As a comparison, Chinese migration, free from as many colonial trade hangovers, and with an forced language learning requirement, is more dispersed (well, más o menos)  (Note: Please read this important general data disclaimer, which also applies to my post. And yes, I know, my mommy always told me that Wikipedia isn’t a real source, but hey, I’m lazy, so shut it).

What I’m trying to say is, Barrio Chino (size: 4 blocks) is bigger than Barrio Bharat (size: zero blocks) because brownies were (are if you include me) lazy, and weren’t really interested in learning Spanish. Issok mofos, I’m not passing judgement or anything… I’m just saying, don’t start whining about Argentine non-indulgence in your call-center ways if you didn’t bother to come and share! Most Indian cultural exchange in Argentina is on a private/personal level, with only a few inter-governmental tango for bollywood agreements every decade. And when you have 100 Indians, that private/personal level sharing isn’t really having the network effects that are going to propel universal recognition of Spencer’s Plaza photos among local Argentinians. So, what can we do to fix this problem:

1. Re-start indentured labour as a means for improved cultural exchange. There are an awful lot of soya farms, and not enough farmers here. I’m all for it.

2. Invest widely in a multi-billion dollar ad campaign aimed at promoting chilli consumption (to Argentinians, Pepsi can be a bit spicy at times) in order to attract more Indian (and Bhutanese, obviously!) immigration.

3. Invite Niira Radia, wiretape her conversations, and then play the tapes widely in the Indian press so that Indian businesses realize that Argentina was in fact the country they were meaning to try and fix that telecom deal in, and that someone got the memos mixed up.

4. Divert a few special Air-India Haj planes to Argentina after Haj season, and make sure each plane has at least 20 Iyengar yoga teachers, 20 call-center accent coaches, 20 Grand Sweets maamis, 20 A. Raja’s (who will get on great with some choice politicians here), and 20 Mumbai hijras to appear on Anabela’s Cronica TV show:

 

Until anyone is smart enough to do one of these things (I’m secretly gunning for #4, because my Grand Sweets Pulikachal stocks are already running low — although a BIG big-up to Krishna and Anjana for bringing me the two bottles that I do have!!!!), I think we should lay off the criticism of the Argentinians, who, for all their supposed flaws, probably hold the Ganga to higher sanctity standards than most Indians do, and if you don’t agree with that statement, at least they know where the damn river is (do you know where the Paraná is?)!

Cultural fun fact #1 sums it up best: Did you know that every Argentinian is either born with, or required to develop before age 5, an inherent natural ability to make outstanding agarbathi. (Source: Ministry of the Interior)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s why it’s available at every street corner and market across the country, and exists in more copious quantities than potable water or lingerie stores.

Which brings me to Culture fun fact #2: Argentinians bloody love their bombachas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I say good day. Now get lost.