Bulgarians are everywhere!

Yes, it's true! We are just about 8 million of us, but wherever you go in the world, you would meet at least one. It is a mystery how exactly we do it and yet survive as a nation. The phenomenon of 'brain leakage' out of the country has been written about ever since I can remember myself. And one Bulgarian out of three you meet on home soil will definitely share with you an elaborate plan or at least a dream of living abroad. I guess it is in our genes. Maybe because we have always been a people on a crossroad, and our very DNA fabric is made of migrating tribes (which is why in Bulgaria, on such a small territory, you will find people who look like Indian gypsies, alongside people who look like nordic Vikings).
As a Bulgarian, I have to always be careful what I do or say at international airports, because you never know where a compatriot will be lurking and listening. I have myself been a 'victim' of flirty lines in the Parisian metro by two guys who thought I don't understand them. I just missed a violin concert by a Bulgarian musician visiting Mumbai from France. I have met countless people from countless countries who either have Bulgarian friends or have studied with one.
I have been asked many times if I am the only Bulgarian married to an Indian in Mumbai. To which I had always replied that in a 16-million people city, you never know. But as far as I know, I was... There are a few ladies married to Indians living in Delhi, whom I had met. There are plenty of Indians studying in Bulgaria, and a few of them had also found their life partners there. Women of different generations, who had gone through different stages of the development of India. An elderly one, married to a veterinary doctor, remembers stitching her own kaftans upon arrival in Delhi. Another bubbly girl married into a traditional Sikh family and her beturbaned husband speaks better Bulgarian than me! I have heard of a couple of others who are married into such staunch families, that they don't even come to the receptions at the Bulgarian embassy despite being invited.
So while I was highly amused, I was not very surprised when the other day a French friend of mine smsed me: "Your child's position as a Punjabi-Bulgarian interpreter at the UN is compromised! I just met a friend whose brother-in-law is married to a Bulgarian girl!"
So now I know - since 8 months I am not the only one!
"A" met her Punjabi husband in New York while they were both studying together. They also had a tumultuous long distance relationship before she finally shifted here 8 months ago. We met over dinner at my French friend's friend place and had a fun dinner sprinkled with lots of alcohol (I was just watching, of course) and laughter. I discovered that most Punjabis are the same - they love driving (our host had done something that till now I could attribute only to Gurtaj - driving to Goa for 11 hours just to have a beer on the beach and head back), drinking, stupid jokes... So even there I am not the only one!
A was curious to know how the first few months of my arrival in Mumbai were. She is not working currently, and finds it extremely difficult to be independent in a city where someone has to drive you everywhere. She is still very rough at edges where I have softened - like unexpected and endless family visits. And she has a big advantage over me - she has the guts to drive here!
She has come to India at a very different time. Nine years ago when I arrived here, Bombay was not the same city. There was strictly nothing to do and nowhere to go out, except to 5-star hotels. Foreigners were a rarity and I was cheated and ogled at everywhere I went. Finding food I like was nearly impossible. It was tough.
I tried to explain this to A and tell her how lucky she is to have come at a much more exciting time.
She also shared my views of living here with candid and upfront honesty. Difficulties that I tend to brush under the carpet and things she does not agree with. So I wondered if I am compromising too much with what I believe in. I was shocked to realize how Indianised I have become (I am not saying this is a bad thing) and as our hosts admired my Indian accent, I wondered how much of myself I have lost along the way, how much I have forgotten and mutated to fit in.
It was great to have this sort of a mirror in front of me which brought upon all these reflections again. I hope I can meet A again and get in touch with my inner Bulgarian more often.

Beware, your dreams may come true!

Even in my wildest fantasies, I never imagined that after living in Paris, I would live in India… I didn’t know anything about it. Actually, in my mother tongue (Bulgarian) there is an expression “it’s India to me”, meaning “I don’t understand”. But I fell for a Sikh. And soon the Euros I was saving for a backpack trip around England materialised into a Paris-Bombay-Paris ticket. Then two more later… I was getting addicted to life in Bombay, Goa trance, rum & coke and cold coffee, the crows waking me up, drives in an open Gypsy on Marine Drive, lunches at Fountain Sizzlers. I imbibed the Bombay accent like a sponge, learnt to bargain like a pro, had a crush on Salmaan Khan and learnt to eat garam khana (with a tissue handy). Until one day it was just a one-way ticket.

Thus started my great firang experience. My husband’s jeeves welcomed me in the house with trepidation, but soon realised that I was clueless about the local ways, and sunk comfortably in his role of the boss, twitching with displeasure every time I entered the kitchen and watching over my shoulder every little thing I put in “baba’s” food (I had to significantly curb my creativity to fit his standards). The cleaning lady came in shyly, throwing curious glances at the strange new m’em sahib, who let her fake cleaning, sitting in a corner with her feet on the couch. Then in came my Hindi tutor, who, excited to have gotten her hands on such soft clay, proceeded to teach me with great enthusiasm how to pronounce “Mera pati parmeshwar hai” ("my husband is my god"). My driving school appointed the most handsome and perfumed instructor for me, who reassured me, with artistic gesticulations, “Madam, India – many people. You kill one, two? No problem!” And of course, I fell head first into every single tourist trap imaginable.

But I have to admit, my fascination in return was not less. And I almost miss it now, having acquired a significantly thicker skin and having learned to play the firang game to my full advantage. For example, if a policeman stops me for honking (in a country where survival depends on honking) in front of the Bombay Court, I can look at “uncle” with blue innocent eyes and pretend I don’t speak a word of Hindi. Until poor chap, frustrated of me not understanding that he simply wants a bribe, lets me go. Or when an exasperating repairman gives me an insane estimate, I just act dumb and say I need to call my husband (it works every time!). I revel the moments when I can give a full lecture in civic sense to an unsuspecting taxi driver, in Hindi of course (pathetic grammar though) and shout at him to watch the road and not turn around, giving me a surprised look. I now even reply to other newcomer’s puzzled questions “we are like this only!” Thus provoking even more puzzled glances from my Indian friends. Has the big adventure really turned into a comfort zone? I struggle to keep it alive, and search for a hint of the old me in the enthralled eyes of every foreign guest I give the grand Mumbai tour to. And just when I get desperate, Bombay makes sure to throw something or the other at me: It keeps me awake at night with the story of a little boy who ran 68 kilometers just to see this crazy city; makes me thank god for surviving another ride with my driver who thinks my red Alto is a red Ferrari; or makes me want to become a neuroscientist, just so that I can understand what’s going on in the brain of my carpenter who beams with pride every time he infallibly hangs a painting upside down. And keeps me longing for my daily dose of chaos whenever I travel abroad. I am far from having enough of it.

Married To India (compiled from the net)

Picture: still from the Bollywood movie Marigold, based on the Indian romance of an American girl

INTERCULTURAL MARRIAGES: Assumptions... My Way—The Right Way?

Just something interesting I read:

1 - Problems and conflicts often involve assumptions and expectations that are so much a part of the fabric of your background and identity that you aren't even consciously aware of them. Partners must explore their core beliefs and first feel clear about their own identity before deciding how these beliefs will mesh with those of a partner. All couples negotiate differences when marrying. Two individuals from two different families form a new identity and must choose what traditions, habits and beliefs to bring into their marriage. This process is more complex for couples who are from different cultures, races and religions.

2 - Successful intercultural, interracial and interfaith relationships have special challenges, but also special rewards for those who are willing to manage differences in core beliefs not only with their partners, but also with their families, communities and society at large. This doesn't happen automatically. It will take work and sensitivity to self and others.

3 - Whatever decisions and choices you make as a couple about resolving and managing your cultural, religious and racial differences will affect your children. Their reactions to these issues and the reactions of others to them will need your attention throughout their childhood. This is true whether your children look different from one or both of you and other kids they know - or whether the differences are more internal. While our society is becoming increasingly multicultural and mixed, kids are sometimes much more confused and less tolerant of differences than adults are.

Food for thought:

- Do show mutual respect for one another and for one another's cultures. If your differences are creating problems for you, brainstorm together for some solutions.
- Do keep your sense of humor alive.
- Do remain realistic about your differences and about what you have in common.
- Do not ignore your differences thinking that they will just go away. They won't disappear because you don't talk about them.
- Do not defend your parents if they try to interfere in your marriage. Take a stand together and set boundaries.

PS: Thanks, darling, for wearing a Bulgarian football team T-shirt so proudly, and for putting BG stickers on your cars!