Proud to be an Indian!!??

My friend Rohan’s blog got entitled as above kept me pondering… He put forward this very interesting argument indeed, which me made me think, why am I “proud to be an Indian” which has an equally interesting justification carved out in my head.

Referring to www.rohubhai.blogspot.com where Rohan mentions that being born in India is a matter of chance and not of choice, which needs the least effort. Henceforth, is far off from what we call an ‘achievement’ and so its nothing to be proud of. Undifferentially, I accept his view. But, the choice you make is not about which place you are born but whether you’re proud of it or not. Now, let me elucidate my opinion for which I’ve to start from the start…

What is a country? Just an agrarian domain on earth that has a defined, though variable population. You find people all around the whole world, so what’s so special about a particular population of a country? Or rather let me rephrase it as what is so unique about Indians, Americans, Chinese, Germans or Zulus? The answer is pretty simple… they are the people who are headed by or pay taxes to the same government, follow the same national rules, follow the same time (like the IST for Indians), sing the same national anthem and foremost, are born and brought up in a common ambience…yet again defined by their country itself. So what makes them proud of the country to which they belong? You may not have a rational reply for this question if you believe in this sense of pride if you’re in 6th std and say this because the Indian cricket team calls for your cheering.

Now let’s look at it this way... You’ve the right to vote. Your opinion, though by a least fraction, does matter for the party that presides on the ruling throne. In fact this very opinion of yours becomes a question of chronic criticality for parties at the edge of victory or loss, when competition is fierce. And that is where you can say you’ve an indispensable role to play in portraying the rules and regulations of your nation. Likely, your role is not just restricted to such indirect means. Annually crores of money piles up at the government treasury, which is employed to craft the infrastructure of the country. All this money is pinched off from your dad’s or perhaps your own pockets as what you call as tax. So you see…that’s the way you are also architecting your country in a more than least direct way… politically and economically. Grooming one’s own country directly or indirectly is no less than an achievement. And where you’ve an achievement, no one can question you if you impose pride over it. That’s what makes an Indian proud or an American proud or a Zulu proud of his or her country.

If Abraham Lincoln is one of the greatest presidents that the U.S has ever had, then I believe, it is the people who deserve the credit, for voting him in. Hadn’t it been their consummate judgment regarding this man, Lincoln would never have had this opportunity bestowed upon him.

Coming down to my country, the pride of being an Indian still remains a choice. U.S is certainly not the best nation in the world according to me, even though the index to rate a country as the best is to scale its economic growth. But I guess, the attitude of people plays an equally important role to render a country happy and at the least worthy enough to dwell.

Indians, by default, are acutely adaptable, unlike the rest of the world. As I had mentioned earlier, ambience influences one’s growth and grooming. Indians share this “Desi” attitude that is driven by the “chalega” funda that makes them flexible in any circumstance : P Its like, traveling in British airways or the bullet train or the Caribbean cruise is an effortless task unlike commuting in ST buses and local trains of India…A country that furnishes your acumen to sqeeze yourself in anywhere…any situation.

Your country provides you the soil where you build your house. It is the salt of its seas that you taste, the vegetation of which feeds you, your daily bread. If your heart is vulnerable to the slightest of emotions, I bet, it’ll behold the loyalty towards your own motherland. That’s what I call “proud of being an Indian”.



I’m a Malayalee, born and grown up in Surat. I’m pursuing my graduation in Tamil Nadu and aspire to set my career in Bangalore. That’s four states in one paragraph. A country cradling in a wide stretch of cultural incongruity has never restricted me to dream beyond state boundaries but has designed me to pave my way towards my destiny all by myself. This imbibes in me the feeling…that yes…being an Indian certainly makes me proud. Thought, it’s not a house that’s doored with a tag saying “The Ashokans”; it’s still some place I’d call ‘home’…coz I love being here…its hell of a feeling that never makes me sad.

A beginning...

“Amma, how are u gonna get that baby outta ur tummy? Do u have a zip anywhere around there?” a very amusing question that my baby cousin asked innocently to her pregnant mother. No idea for what my aunt replied to that, but the possible answer is just what I bumped into as serendipity.

All we friends were on a holiday in Kerala at Andy’s (Anand) place. The final day… a lazy Sunday… I was blissfully floating in my dreamland till Anna (Purush) and KY (Satish) came into the room and started creating a racket to get me off the bed. I tried to drive them away, but like bees swarming around a sweet flower, they kept buzzing me. Finally I decided to get my ass off the bed and marched toward

s the wash with my toothbrush and paste to kick start my day.

Downstairs, I’d auntie’s homemade idly sambhar waiting for me. Under the control of my right brain (left brain’s still sound asleep), I started munching my breakfast…Sharan was sitting beside, bickering about the so called “inappropriate” proportion of sambhar & idly that I was grinding together…. Boy!! This boy’s got some ideal ways of going about things else, it’s all “FISH!!” Anyways, no offence my buddy :P

It was pretty silent in the dining hall. All I could hear someone turning pages, noises of munching, Sharan grumbling, auntie offering people tea…. Just then the hero of my story walked into the dining hall and announced that he was heading for a Caesarean for which he can afford to take not more than THREE VISITORS.

CAESAREAN??!! In big bold letters flashed in my head. Something in my mind claimed that it’s my birthright more than anyone else sitting here to see this. An uproar of cacophony of the interested candidates filled the room, but my screech preceded all… I can shut up for 2 whole minutes, not laugh for a silly joke, avoid coffee for a month, share my chocolates with someone… but CANNOT let this chance pass by….No way!! His proclamation succeeded mine that I’m definitely going. I was still mid way breakfast, the caesarean call woke my left brain too. I finished off the idlis in a flash of light, got changed and jumped into the car. Inside, were the other two candidates accompanying me - Anna and Deepak anna. I was really glad that anna came along with me for he’s my walking biology encyclopedia. But, best of all, uncle was there with us. So I can imagine….everyone back home would be praying that we (anna & me) don’t kill him with our questions. (That’s the only thing I expertise;)).

The journey to the hospital lasted for some considerable time, the whole along which uncle answered to my 1^st & only question (we dint’ve time for any other). “How did he know medicine was his call and why anesthesia?” Deepak anna continued interrogation further like a reporter…indeed he turned out to be an interesting doctor with an interesting story. You’ll find it in one of Andy’s posts in his blog…now that I’ve put forward the question....I expect him to post one on this…

(PS. Only for Andy: hehe!!….u jobless ass….u need this ;P)

Well, there we were, outside a small clinic in sometime. We hurried to the operation theatre, where the nurses and surgeons were all pumped up to kick start the anthropological process of parturition. The main surgeon was a well experienced lady. We switched over into greengowns which made me feel like a surgeon myself. The patient looked darn young….a bit nervous she was. Later I learnt that she was 26 which indeed, is a small number as an age for a second delivery. She sat upright on the bed. Uncle held a needle as long as my index finger. It all starts with a first prick, which took uncle 22 long years to perform this adroitly. Pheww!! That’s 6 life cycles for a mouse. A shot of hexane on her lower spine sedated her abdomen and she went on a ride of drowsiness…her next stop??....The feeling of being a mother of two… My heart beat exceeded its speed limit, for I heard something ringing in my head…”Arch…Fasten your seatbelt….your journey through the live insight on a human body in seconds away!!” seemed like a dream… the knife was ready. It made it first incision on the abdomen. Layer after layer the knife made its way to the uterus. “There is the epidermal…& then the epithelial…& wow! The adipose…” my brain started scanning for the appropriate medical nomenclatures. It was like turning the obstetrics’ pages of my biology textbook. Uncle continued deciphering each move of the surgeon, pointing every possible tissue for us to learn. Finally the surgeon hit the door and cut open the uterus. The amniotic fluid gushed out. She inserted her hand into the womb (just like I used to, into my backpack to look for my lunchbox in class 3) and she pulled out the most beautiful creation of nature…a life just few microseconds old. My heart skipped a beat when I laid my eyes upon “him”. He had a white creamy adipose layer smeared aroun

d his body and his head as tiny as a tennis ball. Within a second of its arrival from his tranquil ambience of fluid n cells to the big bad world, it burst into a huge hue-n-cry which sounded as one of the merriest jingle to my ears :P

My mom often used to narrate her pregnancy tales when my brother and I were born which always fascinated me. Now I feel blessed to actually have witnessed one…thanks to Dr. V Shankar.

The two big fellows with me were engulfed with an aura of chronic alacrity on the commencement of the new life. They followed the baby which was taken out of the operation theatre, while I was busy scrutinizing the biological venture in the theatre.

Hmmm… ok, so u’ve cut opened the bag…that’s alright… but hey! U gotta assemble the abdomen back…hmmmm….guess this calls for a tailor now…

TA DA! The surgeon was ready with her sewing kit… well, I wondered that even an ordinary tailor can fix this…looked like piece of cake… Meanwhile, I was so deeply engrossed in the biological details that my eyes were almost glued to every anatomical chunk in her body in sight. I suppose, the doctor feared that I may touch it out of excitement or may accidentally sneeze on it…well, she diplomatically restricted me to my periphery ;P Her every move was smooth which imposed her manual dexterity.

The guys joined in later after the baby was done with a series of examination regarding its weight, breathing etc. Meanwhile, the lady’s abdomen was stitched back and the surgery was successfully over.

After the show got over, while we were heading towards the car, we realized that all this medical adventure was just a 20 minute ride and Deepak anna remarked “Life is so simple.” For which I have gotta say “Tell this to the lady whose anatomy was just under exhibition!!”

It till now surprises me that, the entire paradox of the scenario hovered over the fact that admist the entire operation, the two Y chromosomes with me were floating in an emotional saga revolving the situation, while I was busy rationalizing the science behind it. Now after everything, I realized that, what I saw was something that can transform a girl’s life, complete her womanhood, something which I may likely experience years later and most importantly revived the portrait of the terrestrial angel in my mind whom we call MOM.

My mom used to tell me that, for a child, a dad has an extremely important role to play, whose love and affection is indispensable in its life but, its relationship with mom is invincible and nature explains it all. However, its beauty and chemistry is abstruse. She knows when you need what without you giving her a clue or rather even when you are clueless about it…..She knows it when you’re hungry…..she knows it when you’re feeling low (& also busts you if you’re on a high!!)….sits with you all night long to help you finish your science project…..cleans your comb even without letting you know…..you’re just mesmerized when the aroma of her kitchen projects hits your olfactory sensors that she prepares just ‘coz, once ages ago, u happened to mention that u suited your taste buds…..she smiles and teases you back even if you scream at her coz you had a bad day, and you finally end up smiling yourself. You find yourself in an uncanny connection with her when she reads you inside out…..And it never ends….in spite of which she never expects anything back except that you groom into a successful being with a beautiful mind.

She’s the one who teaches you the purpose of life….that is TO LIVE & TO LOVE…..

you can surrogate the alphonso‘s taste, the irish coffee’s aroma, the Taj Mahal’s beauty,

the Kohinoor’s brightness but never your mom’s hug….

That’s Ma…..purest and unconditional…..