The Experiences of an Indian Abroad

Having recently returned from the United States, I have my share of stories to tell about the perception of the average Indian in a foreign country, which, are even more relevant given the recent news about the president of India and the president of Bollywood amidst the throes of the American immigration bureaucracy. The average Indian abroad deals with constant stereotypes in every social or professional situation. As soon as the Indian lands at the foreign airport, he is immediately perceived as either a potential immigrant, itching to land on the epidermis of the developed nation, pierce his sucker into society to drink of the blood of the average citizen or as a potential terrorist, waiting to cause bodily harm to the state and its people.

As citizens of a country with constant and continuing problems with identity, we have always been aware of the condescending jibes we tend to receive from the goras, and like a battered wife ,we tend to believe that it is somehow our own fault. This idea is perpetuated by the fact that there is really no difference in the way we are treated by foreigners and our own people. I will be the first to admit that I feel embarrassed when I see the IT engineer with coco-nutty hair trying to buy an eggless cake at a fancy bakery in Washington DC or the sweeper carrying around his broom while dodging strutting sheikhs at the Dubai airport but sooner or later everyone who is abroad gets his own taste of racism and, even worse, encounters the self hating Indian in a position of power.

Recently I tried to apply for a new passport at the Indian embassy in Washington DC so that I could subsequently apply for a Canadian visa to have myself a little Quebecois vacation. On my way to the embassy, I was picked up by a Punjabi cabbie, who naturally struck up a conversation with me. I was rewarded with a sympathetic shake of the head when I told him what I had set out to do that morning. He looked at me with a sorry look in his eyes and bid me farewell at the gates of the embassy with cordial encouragement – “Ab jaa ke sar maaro aap.” A few minutes earlier, he had been telling me the story of how he had lost his passport and had to stand in line for months in order to get a new one. After talking to a fellow cabbie with the “Inside Jugad”, he was told to bring a $1000 in cash after which his passport was handed to him in less than 15 minutes. Determined to prove him wrong, I boldly stepped into the dingy basement which serves as the consulate section and took a number. The place was crowded with Indians of every variety eagerly waiting for the babu to grace them with his presence. It was now 10:15 am (the consulate was supposed to open at 9:00). A few minutes later, the great bureaucrat stepped out from the back room and took his place at his throne behind counter number 1.

I looked around me and I saw that a few Americans, who were probably applying for a visa, walk through the door and also take a number. Soon the numbers started to be called and I waited with my document folder and Passport application in hand with baited breath for a chance to present myself to his holiness. After calling a few numbers and seeing the backs of the dejected applicants, the consular officer looked up and noticed the gora gentlemen waiting patiently for their turn and proceeded to beckon them with a smile and a sideways nod of his head. Confused and bewildered, they checked their numbered tickets and casually walked to the window where they were greeted with a beaming consular officer with a “no problem saar” look on his face. He collected their applications and bade them farewell. When it was finally my turn, I asked them if they could process my passport under the Tatkaal service as I had to go apply for a Canadian Visa. I explained to them that although my passport was still valid, it was a 20 year passport to begin with and the childish photo of me when I was 16 was markedly different from the manly good looks that I now possessed. I was the haughtily informed that Tatkaal service would not be possible even if I was willing to pay for it as “everyone will then expect to get their passport in a day rather than the customary two weeks.” Remembering the Cab drivers advice, I asked to withdraw my application and take my chances with my baby picture at the Canadian Embassy.

The next day I proceeded to visit the palatial Canadian Embassy and duly got in line alongside the rest of the third-worlders with my document folder in hand and a neatly filled out application form. When my turn came, I casually walked up the man behind the window and announced that I was here to apply for a tourist visa. He looked at me with a less than friendly demeanor and said “please submit all supporting documents. You will be given only one chance to do so.” Slightly bewildered I handed him my entire document folder. God forbid if I make a mistake and forget to give him a document, I will be duly denied a visa on the basis of being an imbecile. As I looked around me, a Canadian man walked in the embassy with, what I guessed, was his new Asian bride and was greeted by the consular officer with a smile, “Good morning Sir, I have all your paperwork ready.” Thank-yous were exchanged and he was on his way. I ended up not getting a visa because, having recently quit my job, I was considered a potential immigrant.

You could say that I am slightly bitter, but I did realize one thing. I was treated the same way at both the Indian and the Canadian embassies and so were the white guys. When your own people hate their kind, what can you expect from a foreigner? When your own government is soft on the security of its students abroad, what can you expect from the foreign police force and when I cringe in embarrassment as I see the Indian IT professional perpetuating every Indian Stereotype imaginable, how can I expect anything different from the rest of the world? This is a psychological issue and until we start asserting ourselves as a race and a country, nothing will ever change. We will still be the people who smell like curry, steal jobs, illegally immigrate, have a funny accent and, according to some surveys, are known to have non-existent testicles (figuratively) and the smallest penises (literally) in the world.