Phir bhi dil hai hindustani

There are certain things that only an Indian can do. You don’t need to be gifted, just Indian.
Take for e.g. our inherent ability to do the Bhangra. The ever eager non-Punjabi’s make it look so entertaining and simple. Arms in the air, move your shoulders, add in a few squats here and bbrrruuuaaahhh!!! Who cares, if the music you’re dancing to is Metallica or the Waltz! Another form much loved, termed as the ‘Sumo dance’ is a wedding special, which involves rapid movements of the elbow, usually into the faces of other people. If you belong to the state of Maharashtra, you’ll be familiar with the ‘Ganpati Dhol Mix’. It basically looks like you’re trying to shake ants from your pants while dancing on hot flames. This is the most accommodating form of dance, as I’ve seen this integrated into trance, into garba, into all sorts of other music with three beats and a half.

The other interesting thing is our palette, which is largely divided into pockets assigned as ‘Tomato Ketchup’ and ‘Tabasco sauce’. A table without these is not a table where food’s well enjoyed, then be it with your samosa’s or your pasta. Where else can the components of a ‘burger’ be Aloo Tikki and green chutney?

Being Indian allows you to cut into lanes unapologetically but abuse others who do the same. Where taxi drivers get into fights at signals and continue fighting even after the signal has turned green, then red and then green again! You will litter within your alley, but will be gung-ho about Singapore’s ‘keep this country clean’ drive. You are also capable of thinking any girl who exposes a shoulder/calve or smokes is ‘challu’. One of the few places I know of, where hundreds of cinema halls thrive on B Grade movies. Where programmes like ‘Thunder from Down Under’ take great pride in their size 22 heroines getting ‘jiggy with it’, but the same people in hundreds, take the streets to burn effigies of Richard Gere for an innocent peck on the cheek and politicians label cheerleaders as ‘ashleel’

We give death looks to anyone who dares to knock during our hour long conversations from public booths. Large hoardings scream ‘Apni behen ki maang bhari sitaroon se, aur apni khoon se?’ Kids have pet names. Most sardars are either ‘Titto’ or ‘Rocky’ and all dogs are ‘Tommy’. The Rock culture still rolls, as do hand pulled rickshaws. Auntie’s, dolled in saris’& bindi’s, drink alcohol out of steel glasses to maintain the ambiguousness of their preference. Police mammu’s will even accept ‘chillar chai ka paisa’ especially if your offense cant be listed under an ‘offence’
We swear by road side pani puri, pepped up with a sand storm and huddled together by hands, which will no time soon, be passing the bare requirements of health and safety . Yet we diligently wash our hands after eating.

But these are all flavours that make my country the spiciest on the continent!