I am Firangi, but an Indian at heart. I am an Indian, but an Italian at heart. I am International, totally phoren at heart!

Wrote this for my friend Muzayun a long time back as a guest author on her blog. Recently she decided to clean up her blog to make it more acceptable, and this was first amongst the many things that got dumped. I spent quite sometime writing this, so am publishing it again nevertheless.

"I am an Italian by soul". And I am not the only one who strongly believes in that. Silvi and Helena have reaffirmed my belief by subscribing to this fact, without any provocation. And Sid is a witness to it, check with him if anyone has any doubts. Now there are different theories about what part of Italy do I belong to. My favorite crush Michelangelo (Torino) believes I am from Napoli, and his wonderful curls convince me of that. However, others feel that I am more Milano. Sid is different, he thinks I am from a region called cold Bihar. I hate that.

Personally I also believe that I am Iranian, my family and close relatives tell me so. The fact that I look like one also convinces me of that.

The ghodawala also feels that I am not Indian. When I travel with Sid, people ask him for driving license as proof and me for my passport. But I like it. Though we make for an odd combination, a phoren mem back-packing with a desi bihari. My disastrous luck! Where are you Michelangelo?

When I visit Diu, people look at me and stare. The fools haven't seen many with Multinational personalities like mine. I bask in the glory of my Internationalhood!

But my passport is Indian. So I am making distinct efforts to learn the local lingo, starting with the desi gaalis. Though they sounded disgusting in the past, am getting used to them now. Local and low-level friends like Sid come handy!

My sisters are Indian and pro-India. This statement becomes highly relevant when it comes to my home, which is badly hit by violence and destruction, apart from the fast spreading anti-state sentiment.

My daughter, Snehal, is also very Indian. And her last name is Joshi. We all call it coincidence, rather a nice coincidence. She sings beautifully, and I like whatever she sings. Her songs are distinctly Indian. Now I am thoroughly confused!

Many of my REC friends are based in Europe, but they also hold Indian passport. God I am so so confused now!!! Oh, but Filipe, Helena, Silvi, Jan and many many more are not Indian. Thank god my International credentials are still intact.

And every time I try speaking in the local language (including Kashmiri), people look at me with open mouth and appreciate the efforts I have taken to learn an Indian language, after all not all phoren mems take the effort to mix so nicely with the locals. When I tell them that I was born here, and learned the language in school they are less than impressed.

I ignore all of this. I know who I am - 

"I am Firangi, but an Indian at heart. I am an Indian, but an Italian at heart. I am International, totally phoren at heart!"

Perfect Strangers

'So are we perfect strangers once again?', I asked.

She didn't respond, still looking out of the window into the constant rain. She would occasionally shiver in the cool Napoli breeze, but refused my offer to use my jacket. There was something about her, something unusual. She would go silent when others would find it easy to talk, and smile and talk her heart out when you would least expect her to.

Somehow I had assumed that my question would bring her out of her stupor, but I slowly realised that I was wrong. This was my third attempt in the last one hour, and she had been quite for a long time this time. I could see a small tear building in her left eye, but wouldn't dare make a move. We were after all only strangers, and she might take me wrong. So I just waited as the tear dried off, even before it could roll down. She was holding something back, and it was taking a toll on her.

As I stared at her face, she turned and looked right into my eyes and said, 'Yes, that's exactly what we are.'

Before I could respond, she was already out in the rain, soaked to the bones and walking fast into invisibility, uncertainty and wilderness. I thought for a moment, but then reluctantly followed her into her dark, unknown world. She was too precious to be lost, I was ready to lose myself for her.

We already were strangers who knew each other too well...