Hugs, anyone?

I've always been a great fan of hugs, snuggles, holding hands and the like (much to the discomfort of certain people, I admit). A casual conversation with a friend will often find my hand holding hers; I absolutely have to hug people when I meet them and when I take their leave. And I don't mean the pat-my-shoulder-kiss-the-air-behind-my-ears kind of hug. I mean the wrap-my-arms-around-them-make-their-day sort. My brother is by far my favourite target, unfortunately for him.

I think I don't do this enough, neither do people around me. We're always too eager to rush to that next meeting, too concerned about making it home on time, too worried about the next thing we're going to be doing. I should know. My life in Boston is a lot like that. But one Friday, it turned around.

I was walking down Commonwealth Avenue, that long stretch that houses my lovely BU on both sides. As usual, I had my iPod plugged into my ears, hands stuffed into my coat pockets, frown defining my face, mind on all those things I needed to get done before today became yesterday. I was watching my step, but that's all I could see. I saw right through all these people passing me by. And then, as if straight out of a silent movie, I caught a glimpse of an unusually happy and excited group of five or six people. I was intrigued. I took out my earplugs and looked at them with obvious curiosity. The tallest member of the clan, only to happy to have caught my eye, opened his arms wide and said - Free hug?

Hell, yeah!

My confused expression gave way to absolute, unadulterated glee. I crossed over to his side of the pavement and gave him a long, big hug. It must have been quite a sight since I barely reached upto his ribs. I then went onto hug each of the five other volunteers of Hug Don't Hate, spoke to them about why they did this, where they're from, what BU school they go to - the usual chit-chat you'd do with someone next to you on the train for ten minutes.

I walked away a very, very happy woman. Hug Don't Hate had made my Friday, as they did many other Fridays after that. It wasn't just that I had been given a hug, albeit from a stranger, when I probably needed one. It was also the fact that I was just so glad that someone out there was doing this. Somebody understood the power of a hug - a phenomenon so trivial but actually very powerful. A hug, or any other human contact, can make you feel sane again. It reminds you that you're not alone. That beyond those Gtalk usernames and blogs are real flesh-and-blood people. That the guy next to you on the train probably doesn't mean to be rude - maybe he's just having one of those days? That everything will be okay, especially when you, yourself, are having one of those days. Just give yourself a hug.

Thanks to a crazy schedule, I have not been able to volunteer with the BU Chapter of Hug Don't Hate, but I have gone back most Fridays to get my free hugs! They've never failed to put a smile on my face and somewhere deep inside, I think they make me a calmer, saner and happier person.

Check out the Hug Don't Hate original video here. I'll be damned if you don't tear up :)

Looking India in the eye

India is not the next big thing.

Unless we're talking economics, in which case, I will concede - only because that is what the newspapers and magazines say and because I have neither the knowledge nor the inclination needed to have an opinion in any matter economic. But of course, the economy is one, albeit important, piece of this chaotic puzzle called India. We can't just look at that one bit and feel smug. There is much more to us - good and bad. Right?

Who cares, they say. We finally have this going. The world (read Western nations) is finally waking up to how important we are. After years of being referred to as poor, undeveloped, and - wait for it - utterly Third World, we are being heard and respected. Our time is now and don't you dare spoil it for us.

Okay, I say, as I disappointedly slink away. My disappointment doesn't have to do with the world's unexpected approbation, but our heady reaction to it. Our response reeks of insecurity and a gaping lack on confidence.

I'm sorry. I hate to be a party-pooper but there is something very wrong with this new attitude. That something stares us in the face but appallingly, very few of us are able to see how absolutely pathetic we sound when we say what we say. For all our time spent basking in this new-found glory, we still look westward for approval and recognition. It took us this long to say that we are awesome, simply because we never thought we were. Other people had to point it out to us. And when they did, we became ecstatic, seemingly because we are awesome, but maybe more so because they thought so.

Conversely, when they describe us as poor and filthy, we squirm and become defensive. We have had it with being stereotyped. We are done being seen as the poverty-stricken, garbage-laden, uncivilised, far-away country with a large population of elephants, tigers, snakes, and - well - snake charmers. That's the problem we had with Slumdog Millionaire. We don't want to be known for the largest slum in all of Asia, our polluted roads, or for our incessant breeding. But hey New York Times, we'll be more than welcoming if you want to write about our glitzy metros, our rapidly rising number of billionaires, our flashy cars, our new phones, our educated elite - anything and everything that can show the world what a long way we've come in the past 60-odd years of independence. Heck, even America at 60 hadn't made as much progress as we have, we say. And then we give ourselves a congratulatory pat on the back.

My point is: who cares? We are not America (or any other country for that matter), whose story is very different from ours. But more importantly, our slums are as real as our metros. Our poverty, our diseases, our third-world-ness, if you please, is as much a reality as our money, our progress, our first-world-ness. And we don't have to hang our heads in shame or feel like we own the world. We are what we are and we need to accept ourselves - take pride in all that is good about us, face what is unpleasant, as difficult as that may be.

But for heaven's sake, we need to stop getting unnecessarily defensive. Don't be afraid of judgement by the world. Every country has its own set of problems, its own skeletons in the closet, its own ghosts to deal with. So if Danny Boyle wants to make another movie about our slums, let him. Let the whole world see our slums, our filth, our dirt. We are not proud of them, but we are not going to hide them or hide from them. If Boyle makes 20 movies on India, and all of them are to do with our slums, protest is justified. But it's important to see why we're protesting against the continuous typification: because we don't want the world to know the truth about our country or because it leads to cross-cultural ignorance and an international deficit of knowledge. Ideally, I'd go for the latter. But as of now, we are all about the former.

We have to stop acting like we are here to please someone - get over the colonial hangover. If the world praises us, we must accept it graciously and confidently, knowing that there is a lot to be happy about. If they criticise us, we must understand that they may have a point and consider it, being fully aware that we still have a lot of issues to resolve. But most importantly, we must look our country in the eye, warts and all. And get around to fixing it, making it what we want it to be, seeing it through our own vision, not a pair of borrowed Western glasses.

I don't think India is the next big thing, or that this honeymoon period will last very long. Unless - and this is big - unless we can be a little more sure, a little more confident, and a little more accepting of who we are. And stay that way, no matter what the world says.