I know its been only abt half a month - but I feel like I have been to another world and back. Like so much has happened. Probably because when I travel, my mind works at a pace thats over my usual speed limits. I like nothing better than staring for long hours out of the window of a moving train. There is something uncomparably liberating in the incessant passing of the greens, the occasional cow on the field or the lone passerby. I love the silence, when long forgotten thoughts are pulled out of my memory and restacked after much deliberation. No idea is too stupid. No thought is too random. I am the philosopher that I never get to be.

The more I travel, the more I realise the borders are so thin - we are all just travellers on the path of life - on a never ending race in which we dont know where the finishing line is. We try to plan our race - to pace the middle and to sprint the last lap, yet the white tape could just be round the corner. Whether we are Spanish, Indian, German or Portuguese or anyone else for that matter, we are just people who yearn for the same things in life. Who are hurt by the same old things. We try to be different - yet we are not. We try hard to belong - but we already do.

I have more blisters on my feet than I have had for a long time. I have a lost a couple of kilos and am a few shades darker. As we trekked the Pyrenees, I discovered muscles on my body that I did not know existed. The harshness of the arid mountains was unlike all the tropical green treks I have been to before - it made nature seem so much loftier and human life so much more trifle. I am physcially tired. Yet I feel like its my mind that has done most of the work. I relived my childhood memories of when I had read about Don Quixote, Christopher Columbus and Vasco da Gama. I used to learn French from an old Goan lady, who had a lot of stories to share about Portugal and Portugese. As I was browsing through a book store, I came across a book about Goa - the colony that was invaded and conquered by the Indian Union - It was almost like hearing the other side of the story in a court trial.

While each civilsation tries to outshine each other by showing off their prowesses in their fantastic museums, no one really understands who sets the benchmarks. What if someone discovered tomorrow that the ancient people who did not have a written form of language communicated by telepathy which makes use of the collective human conciousness that modern science has not yet been able to completely reject or embrace; if writing and recording was irrelevant because their memories and brains were sufficiently well developed to capture and retain even the minutest of details; would these same museum curators run to hide the remnants of writing and to pretend that their ancestors were of the higher developed kind? Are these projected supremacies and discoveries of each ancient civilsation as relevant as they are made out to be? Whether they are from the Roman era or the Indus Civilisation or Egyptian remains (which btw, I have seen exhibited in so many European museums, it makes me wonder what is left in Egypt), they all tell the story of the progress of the human race. As I see more of the world, I see more links than I see differences.

One of the many wonders of travel is that it makes you realise the beauty of what you leave behind. Its great to be back home. The routine somehow seems welcoming. Yet, I know the feeling wont last long. As soon as my wallet and work permits, I hope I can travel again. As I stood gazing Christopher Colombus’ and Vasco da Gama’s tombs and the ships that carried them to the new found lands, I was somehow reminded of a poem I had learnt in school:

Beyond the East the sunrise,
Beyond the West the sea,
East and West this wander-thirst,
That will not let me be.

Across the centuries, across the continents, some things never change.

I havent been hit by the jolt of reality yet. I am still in the realm of random thoughts and unreasoned out musings. My head feels happily muddled. A post on my impressions on Spain and Portugal will just have to wait a bit. Its also probably not the best time to blog. Moreover, its time to go to bed. To my bed.
Good Night.

“A handshake is a universal token of friendliness here. Be it in office, or at home or in the street when two cab drivers greet each other. Something that may not be done even in offices back in Trichur.”

I came across this at a post in the Girl-with-big-eyes’ blog and was reminded of something that happened a very long time back. I had gone back to India for hols and was attending a friend’s brother’s wedding in Trichur. This friend and I had been to school together, but after high school, we had gone our separate ways. She was introducing me to her new college classmates, and I, like a normal person would do, held out my hand for a “how-do-you-do” handshake. The guy looked positively shocked. My friend (we both had studied in a conservative all-girls convent school) looked so scandalized that I thought she would faint. Well, now that I had shook my hands with one, if I didn’t shake hands with the rest, that would be too much favouritism for everyone to stomach. So, I bravely kept at it. After shaking hands with abt three ppl, everyones gazes made it pretty clear they thought I was an alien. Oh what the heck - to my credit, I shook hands firmly and politely with all 8 of the new people I met that day. Trust me, I was embarrassed - I had somehow forgotten the old Trichurian rule of just nod and smile when you are introduced. But I didn’t think much about it until on a recent trip to India, I came across one of the guys I had met that time and he remembered me as the “girl who shook hands”! I am not trying to belittle Trichur - come on, I love my home town, but really! whats wrong with a handshake?

Its very intriguing how differently people across the world greet each other. Considering how much importance a first impression makes, I don’t think we give enough thought to this.

I never grew up with the tradition of touching my elders’ feet - but I am expected to do so whenever I meet the parents of my close friends from the North. And my recently married cousin’s wife is from the North and she does what my dad calls “a dive” whenever she visits our home. But what surprised me was that my mom was very impressed with her ‘humility’ and ‘good behavior’. Now, I just hope my mom doesn’t get it into her head that it will be a good way for me to show my respects - come on mom! its just a Northie tradition.

Farther away from home, Germans and Americans squeeze your hand! It doesn’t help that some of them are tall and big and strong - I have to remind myself every time “Squeeze, Su, Squeeze harder!” - lest I come across as not polite enough. I had a French friend who insisted on kissing me on my cheeks everytime we met. I was visibly taken aback the first few times, and he nonchalantly explained, “I am French. I can kiss you when we meet”. Hmm..I never really found out if it was just his greeting for girls or if it was really the French greeting.

A Brazilian acquaintance would hug me everytime we met - now I had reasons not to piss off this person - so I googled and found out thats really how the Brazilians do it - and so I endured the hugs. To be honest, it was really only a symbolic hug, nothing that makes even a touch-queasy person like me uncomfortable. But bottom line is, if you are in Brazil (and I have heard this is true for some other SouthAm cultures), you might wanna give hugsy a try, or at least be open to it.

In many Western cultures, men stand up before they are introduced to someone important - and the chivalrous ones stand up for women too. Standing up shows politeness and respect. Same goes for India - but its not the men who stand up - its usually the younger person who stands up for the elder one. I remember I did this once in Singapore, and was met with a startled “is-there-a-thorn-in-your-seat?” look.

I have been asked an umpteen times why Indian men are “so touchy” with each other. People, please dont take offence at me - I have already endured enough being at the wrong end of this question. If you have been to Little India in Singapore, you will know what these people are asking about - you will see Indian men who walk around with their elbows on the next guys shoulder. I have even seen a few hold hands. Now if this was restricted to Little India in Singapore, I could have shooed off the question. But look around you, Indian men are definitely more touchy - with other men (thanks to Indian traditions, they stay off from women - thank god for that!). Even in business contexts, I have decidedly seen non-Indians squirm when an Indian man, with all friendliness and innocence, would give them a hard and a tad bit too long pat on the back.

People around here pass you their visiting cards like it is such a no-issue. Don’t make that mistake in Asia. In Singapore, make sure you look at it if you receive a visiting card. Look impressed - fake it if you aren’t - it would only do you good. I am told its even stricter in Japan - when you are handing out your visiting card, make sure its in such a way that its not upside down for the receiver - hold it at the two tips nearer to you with both your hands. And bow till your nose touches your feet ( Ok, I am just kidding abt the last one! ;o)) But talking abt the Japanese bowing - I have to relate this rather unrelated incident - our office building used to house a lot of Japanese banks as well. So one day I am in a crowded lift, late for a meeting and wishing people would just stop trying to squeeze into this lift - when in comes a Japanese dude - complete with a double-breasted jacket and pin-striped shirt (a digression in a digression: if you doing business with the Japs and you dont know what to wear - err on the formal side - even my strictly-Tshirts-only husband bought a couple of decent shirts and suits when he worked for a Japanese company). Back to single-level digression: The Japanese dude who was standing near the lift door bowed his head low and long as a gesture of good bye to his business associates outside the lift. And the supersensitive lift door that was almost about to close went back to being open! A few seconds of impatient wait - and the door is about to close again - and again our pin-stripe dude bows - i should change the adjective to ‘wide’! And strictly no exaggeration - this continued for three times until someone grunted in impatience and he finally limited his bow to a slight nod of the head!

Back to greetings and introductions - have you seen two Saudis greet each other? - They would grasp each other’s right hand, place the left hand on the other’s right shoulder and exchange kisses on each cheek. Even men to men! Thank god, I was a kid when I was living in Saudi Arabia and was generally ignored. And by the time I was old enough, they denied me a visa - do you know the country has no provisions for tourist visa! You have to be invited to enter- and to leave the country, even a foreigner needs an exit permit. So, if you cant get any of the Sheiks to invite you over, you are never gonna see the Laila & Majnu caves and their really pretty oases. This might come as a surprise - but I din’t have too many complaints about wearing the Burkha - where else can you go to the supermarket in your PJs? and never have to worry about a bad hair day? Before I forget - don’t ask a Saudi man about his wife - your intentions will be construed as everything under the sun except politeness.

This has turned out to be a rather long post and I just wanted to narrate my handshake crib. But before I sign off, just one more thing I learned today. In Germany, say only exactly what you mean. Do not exaggerate, do not use superlatives or superfluous words unless necessary. I asked my usual “Guten Morgen! How are you?” to a colleague in the lift today morning. She replied with a matter-of-fact “OK” and a polite return “How are you?”. It was morning, I had just had my coffee and was feeling chirpy - so I breezily said “Great”. And that was a mistake - I got back a quizzical “Great?”. People dont feel “great” around here without a reason - how could I have let that slip my mind? I spent the next couple of floors explaining how excited I am abt my vacation next week and thats why I am feeling “great”. Ah so! everyones happy - sorry - “OK!” again.

Alrighty, end of post. I have tried to put down whatever I can remember, but its kinda limited to my personal experiences. The ads from the world’s local bank have given us all a couple more insights. But there is so much more to go - I shudder at the many blunders I am yet to make.

Would love to hear it if you have any experiences/anecdotes/advice to share.

And I have moved again, this time to Deutschland. A lot of things are different this time. For one, I am not a pauper student or a confused teenager or a “wide eyed young li’l thing”. I don’t speak the local language and so its not as easy as speaking a new strain of English ( popularly known as Singlish in Singapore). And foreigners are not all that common here - you are certainly more likely to meet a non-Singaporean in Singapore’s streets than encounter a non-German in the German streets. Well, that has two effects : one is, despite my Asian looks, people don’t expect me to be a foreigner. And then, when they hear my broken-German, they are very surprised.

As I try to fit in, a few questions haunt me? How far can I go? How far do I want to go? And how far will I go? - On the path to becoming a “German”. Well, I don’t mean in the sense of getting a German residence or passport (they are matters on which I will decide purely based on my head, and not my heart and hence are irrelevant here). Perhaps, these questions haunt me because Germany is a country with a very strong identity of its own. It is less homogenised with the “universe” than several other countries I have visited. “Well, Germany is different” is the favourite refrain of one of my colleagues and as much as I find that constant reminder annoying, I have to admit he is not too far off from the truth.

I like bratwursts (sausages) and potatoes. I like the carnivals and the christmasmarkets and the intracity beer rivalries. And I like jogging by the Rhine. I can now successfully make the German guttural pronunciations. I can now stare at people in trams without flinching when they stare back. And I can be methodical and anal when it comes to details. As I stumble down the path to becoming integrated to this temporarily-adopted society, I wonder where all this will end.

I am no novice at immigration. And I know its possible for a new kid on the block to belong. It is just how much one wants it. And what happens after you belong? When you move again, do you take a part of that with you? And when you acquire a new identity or a sense of belonging to a new place, do you have to give up a part of your old self to make place for the new?

I don’t know how it will be to trace back my steps. If I go back to India now, will I be as much “Indian” as I was 10 years ago? As much as I want the answer to be yes, truth is that I don’t know. Will I have to “Indianise” the parts of me that was Arabianised (I also lived a part of my life in Saudi Arabia) or Singaporeanised or Germanised.

Is there really such a thing as a global citizen? Can you ever feel comfortable in several countries? Now, that I think is possible. The more relevant question is, as human beings, do we need to know that we belong to one country? Or can we be happily promiscuous about our nationalistic identities?

The power of the written word has been accepted in our society for ages. That is the power of words to influence people who read them or come into contact with them, voluntarily or involuntarily. The power of the written word as a tool for documentation is intuitive. Less well understood is the power of words on their source. Man writes when he is sad, when he is happy, even when he is without emotions. As words flow out, he experiences a lightness of heart that is way better than even a heart to heart talk with one’s soul mate. He knows himself better, he makes decisions on for every word that he chooses and each line of thought leads to deeper and broader realms of thought.

So shall be born Silent Eloquence - a blog that celebrates the beauty and power of words.