MY DEAR KAMALA AUNTY
When Kamala Harris became Vice President elect of USA, Indians all over the universe (Yes there is one selling tea on the Moon and looking to open a StarMusk chain on Mars) got very excited. Everyone dug deep and excavated their relationships, scrambling fervently to find a connection. How could we own a piece of history for ourselves.
In fact, it was just within minutes of the nomination that furtive searches started taking place up and down family trees, as our elders are known to do whenever something significant happens to someone we heard about. A discovered uncle here, a forgotten aunt there, a long lost cousin and all sorts of other family connects get thrown up for scrutiny, even if they are difficult to prove. For all we know she could be my maternal uncle’s second cousin’s third niece. It’s really quite that simple.
That particular HARRIS family tree grew a few thousand new branches overnight. If one could not find oneself up that tree, one was quite content to be a nearby plant or a weed, settling for a relation-by-association.
Let me tell you how that works. Whatsapp was abuzz with chats on who had a connection to the Harris Gopalan Family from Chennai, India. More specifically, Besant Nagar’s Elliots beach that was home to her grandparents and the annual family holiday destination. A famous man himself, her grandfather P.V. Gopalan was not unknown to the neighbors. Even my mother, who lives 300 meters away and shares the same initials and name but obviously from the opposite gender, was enquired on if Kamala was her grand-daughter. I got messages enquiring if we were related, having the same family name.
Upon getting our disappointing answer, many of the enquirers
resorted to their own relation-by-association, often delivered with an air of
superiority. “I passed by them every morning when she used to take a walk with
her grandfather, I saw him shape her thinking during those walks whenever I
passed by”. Or, “I used to have coffee in the same place where they had coffee after
their long formative morning walks”. And even “I passed by their house every week
and I got a good look inside and i saw him talking to her on the portico”. Not wanting to miss the party, all I could smugly say was “My dog and their
dog sniffed each other’s backsides as we passed by them on their daily walks.” Ok, you wont get that unless you visualize it.
In India, Kamala Aunty is what she would be called, with our penchant for making everyone older into a relative. If she dared to visit now, she would be garlanded at the airport, received by truckloads of new found relatives and friends, chanting “Long live Kamala aunty, may you prosper and bring good name to our country, our city, our street and our village.”
And that actually, is quite a good new year’s wish, for my favorite "relative" of the year, My Dear Kamala Aunty.
4 comments:
Fun read, Sachin! Hopefully Kamala Aunty has disassociated herself sufficiently from her brahmanical roots to address the systemic inequalities in the US. Would be sensible to not hold our breaths about her doing something about inequalities in India or Besant Nagar! :)
Radio in Bombay had a show called "Kamla ka Hamla". They might now revive it as Kamla Aunty ka Hamla.
Well written and so true! No surprise if a certain leader claims that it was he who named the baby after the symbol of the political party.
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