INDIA CALLING

I have decided to add one more season to the many seasons of Mumbai. I am naming it the NRI season. It comes twice a year.

My husband and I have kept in touch with our college “gang” over the year,  even though it is at least 25 years since we graduated. Modern tools of communication have also contributed to this happy situation. Over the years our friends have taken wings and gone to far-off shores like UK, USA, Canada and Singapore to seek their fortunes. What with the world being a global village, our small community of friends is now trans-Pacific and trans-Atlantic.

More often than not these friends visit India once a year. The time could vary – either June-July, when the kids abroad generally have holidays or during the “holiday” being the Christmas to New Year week and a few days beyond.

When my NRI friends land into Mumbai en route to Indore or Jaipur or Bangalore, we open our home and hearth to them for a few days. Dealing with NRI friends requires special skills.

Earlier I would try and show-off my culinary skills and make a nice pasta in pesto sauce or a great lasagna but now I have realized the error of my ways. A good Tandoori Chicken and Mutton Kheema ordered from the neighbourhood Irani joint along with Gulab Jamun and Rasmallai or Natural’s Seetaphal ice-cream takes these people straight to gourmet heaven. Dosa, idli, bhel and pani puri (made from Bisleri water) and samosa are had with yummy relish, nostalgically accompanied by King Fisher beer or Old Monk rum or Jaljeera. Fruits have to be mangoes followed by cheekoo or guava or lichees. (I didn’t know you don’t get chikoo or guava in most other countries.)

I am convinced that the Western world has no barbers, dentists, tailors or shoe shops. The first thing on the agenda is a haircut, colouring, mani-pedi followed by dental fillings and root canals. Saree blouses are given for stitching and pure leather shoes are bought from good old Bata.

And of course shopping!! Thank God for the malls those have sprung up all over. Take them to In Orbit or Phoenix Mill compound and most of the shopping gets taken care of. Then one trip to Bhuleshwar or Santa Cruz market and we have finished the list of items like bindis, bangles, pakad, kadai, tawa and Sumeet Mixer with the heavy-duty chutney grinder. Some of them also want to go to Oberoi Shopping Center and others to Dharavi to get cheap leather jackets. I always hear at least five stories about how these Non-Returning-Indians were just going to buy that awesome skirt or cool shirt or a sharp leather jacket when they saw the tag and it said “Made in India.” So they retracted their hand and waited to go to Dharavi to buy the sharp leather jacket!!

I have not even touched on the entertainment activities that we indulge in. The latest pub/disco or eating joints have to be visited. So the evenings are spent at Salt Water Grill or Hawaiian Shack or Trishna or Rajdhani Thali. Thank God that my NRI friends remember that the dollar goes much further than the rupee and insist on paying all the bills.

I have variously heard, “India is so cheap”, or “India has become so expensive.” I have given up trying to figure this one out because all I see is north-ward bound prices.

Apart from personal shoppers and entertainers, we have now taken on the roll of financial advisors as well. “Hey man!! I want to buy property in India. Help me yaar. “I want to buy some shares. Do you know some good portfolio managers?”

Late night discussions on Modi and Kejriwal, Congress and corruption and then boozy, meandering and nostalgic conversations about college and old friends.  And while these jet-lagged NRI friends sleep in the next morning,  husband, kids and I rub our bleary eyes, tip-toe around and catch the school bus or doze off in the back of the car, head in hand, nursing a hangover.

We love our friends and look forward to their arrival every year. We have now become adept at finding solutions to problem like sleeping place, having kids prepare for tests in the chaos at home and juggling month-end meetings with late night boozing.

In my late twenties and early thirties, when these NRI friends used to visit us, I used to be a bit envious of the power of the Dollar, the stories of the cars and malls and supermarkets and highways and technological advances.

But, today, a comfortable 50, I am very happy that I didn’t leave India to make my fortunes. I have made my fortune in India. The corporate India is now paying world-class salaries. So I earn well, even in dollar terms. Thanks to the stock market and the boom in real estate prices, my share portfolio and my house on Pali Hill have multiplied many folds. And I have a Protima to cook, a Mala to wash and clean and a Ramesh to drive me around on the pot-holed roads and carry my bags. I order my groceries, my wine, my medicines and my movies on the phone. I can have teekha Bhel and Pani Puri or delicious Sushi and Sake as my fancy takes me.

And I don’t have to wait a full year and more to visit my mother who lives in Indore.