My Indian anecdote

Attreyee said that the main reason why I am so attracted with Indian men must be that I have been an Indian princess in my past life. I am not sure how to respond to such highly spiritual premonition except to say, I really do not know.

For someone who was born and grew up to be such a nationalistic person and a political activist at some point, who would imagine that I could abandon my own beloved Philippines to migrate to another country in search not of greener pastures as millions of Filipinos have done before me, but to follow a heart that seems to have been transformed with a different beat.

I remember growing up being wary of tall or big and burly bearded men, usually with turban on their head and carrying a black umbrella and riding on a motorcycle. My Mom described them as Bombay, men from India. She or my yaya (nanny) would always say that if I am naughty or if I do something wrong, this man would take me away in his motorcycle never to be returned to my own family. So, whenever I would see one coming along our neighborhood, I would run inside our house and refuse to go out until I can safely see that they have left. That means that I must have done some naughty things then. So I grew up with a notion that all Indian men are to be feared.

In my teen years, as I became more confident of my height (since I am unusually taller than the average Filipina woman) I became less afraid of these Bombay/Indian men. But soon after I would learn another disparaging and racist thing we (meaning Filipinos as well as other Asian nationals, I think) have against Indian men. Oh they smell differently! This we have wrongly attributed as due to the fact that they do not take a bath 3 times a day (like most Filipinos). And voila, we were so afraid to be with them inside a lift. Such was the extent of my racist attitudes against Indian men that when I fell hooked line and sinker with an Indian national and decided to pursue this guy, there was such a cacophony of remarks from well meaning family and friends, from a gentle reminder that we come from two different cultures to concerned religiosity that we may not be compatible with our Gods to snide remarks about the smell and the umbrella to some nasty admonition that they always marry someone arranged by their mothers. And I was shocked to learn that we even call them a different name in their midst so they would not know that we are talking about them. Pana, as in Indian pana kakana kana….remember that childhood rhyme…who could forget it anyway?

Ayyooo, Atet told me the other day, ‘you are definitely hooked man.’ She was referring to the fact that whether I like it or not, she thinks I am destined to be married to an Indian national.

So do not ask me again, please, why it happened or how it happened? I too could not have foreseen such transformation. The only thing I could think of now is perhaps one of those big bearded Indian men I have come across with when I was a little girl must have given me a candy that contains such potion that at some point and time, at the right moment, my heart will be transfixed and gazed only towards his own countrymen.

Is this good or bad? I will let you know when I see my own children a few years from now.
I was in India from 7-16 February 2003.