The youth of today

My parents left India over 20 years ago, and now that I am middle aged, I finally went back to Delhi for a holiday – for the first time in 25 years. Auntyji, to say I am shocked is an understatement. Everything is so different! Yeh kya hua, kaise hua, aur kab hua? Ok, I admit that I am a fairly non-judgemental type of person and because I don’t have a lot of Indian friends or relatives in Australia, I did not have preconceived notions of Indian people. I occasionally watch Bollywood films for the heck of it and this is mainly so I can keep updated with things of an Indian nature. But Aunty, the Indian people I met in India seemed to be a parody of what I see in films! Ok, let’s just talk about anyone below the age of 30. They only spoke English and behaved as they were on reality TV. Their clothes, their mannerisms, their culture.... Auntyji, what happened to the courtly Urdu that was spoken by Delhi people? What happened to all the classy young people – who were trendy and cosmopolitan yet retained their Indianness? What happened to manners and charm? It seems as though Delhiites are so keen to ape the west that we have lost sight of who we are. I was so disappointed that I cut short my holiday and came home early to nurse my shock with gin and tonic. I have not gotten over my experience, and I was hoping you could help me through this painful period.

Auntyji

Says

Arre, kya baat hai! Who told you to go to Delhi for a holiday if you now have gora sensibilities? There are so many other places to go to in India to experience culture and traditions, and you choose Delhi? Serves you right for not doing your homework. Everyone knows that everything changes, and if you wanted courtly charm and manners, you may as well have stayed at home and watched Jodhaa Akbar from the familiar safety and myopic view of your sofa. Why you had to leave your house to get this is anyone’s guess. But my dear, nothing stays the same – everything changes. Ok, so the jawan people speak English and have unsavoury manners and questionable culture. But this can be true of young people in almost any city. Except maybe in Ladakh. And at the citadel in Erbil. And also Samarrkhand. As India comes of age and finds itself on the world stage, the behaviour of young people, as you witnessed, is to be expected. These same people, 10 years from now will be reverting to the courtly charms and traditions from the previous era that identifies them as Indians, and they too, will look down on the youth of their era and call them unsophisticated philistines. Youth, as you know are impressionable. So, I suggest that being an old person, you continue to look down on these young folks for doing exactly what you did when you were young, I am sure.

Mujhe aapki salaah chahiye, Auntyji. I am a 35-year-old female, so I really should have known better, but I am hoping that you can provide me some guidance and some akal. My husband started his new job 3 months ago at a medium-sized firm and everyone was invited, together with their whole family to a Christmas barbecue at the boss’s house. Everyone was there. Peter from the mail room. Krystyna the cleaning lady. Even the occasional sour-faced militant courier. I know this because my husband politely and proudly introduced me to everyone, including the dozens of kids who were there screeching their heads off because they had had too much red cordial and were now going off their faces and screaming for their Christmas presents. To cut a long story short, sub kuch theek thaak chal raha tha, until I found myself left alone with the children, and much to everyone’s surprise, including my own, I found myself telling all the bachche log that Santa is not real, and even if he was, he was probably a pedo because why else would he want children sitting on his lap. Well, aunty. You can only imagine the hullabaloo and tamasha that ensued. The kids went running to ask their parents what that word meant. And the adults stared at me as though I was on medication at worst and a puppy killer at best. I was gobsmacked and did not have another word to utter. I felt the same way Rajesh Khanna must have felt when he sang Zubaan pe dard bhari dastaan chali ayee in Maryada except on my zubaan was not a dard bhari dastaan, but a fazool ki dastaan. Krystyna the cleaning lady glared at me. Peter the mailroom man snickered at me. The boss looked at me with open mouthed wonder, and it wasn’t because I was wearing as short red dress. In any case, I don’t remember what else happened because I snuck to the car and blotted the event out of my memory with a bottle of scotch I stole from the drinks table on my way to the car. Yes, I am a besharam. A behaya. But what to do, aunty, the damage is done. Can you make me feel better?

Auntyji says

Oh my poor chameli, my poor madira-loving akal ki dushman Ab mai kya kahoon - aap ne to sub kuch keh diya hai. Aap to ghungroo ki taraa, har waqt bajti rahengi in your husband’s boss’s mind. But not to worry. Move on. The party is over. Every Christmas party needs at least one scandal, and you gave it to that party good and proper. Your husband is probably a legend now and is due for a promotion. These things happen at all parties and it’s good. You are now the stuff of legends and lore. You are a hero in the minds of all the pissheads who were there, drinking away. The kids will move on too - and it’s up to the parents with how they handle such enlightening moments in their children’s lives. So, really, don’t worry about it. At least you didn’t strip naked and dive into the pool. At least you didn’t come onto the boss or his wife in front of everyone. At least you didn’t vomit into the gardenia bushes. So, chameli raani, things could have been worse. I say learn your lesson and move on. And honestly, what else can one expect from a boozer like you? A whole bottle of scotch? Honestly? Where is your maan and maryada, bahenji?

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