As I sit at my Kinglee Xperience stall on a humid March day at the Indian Institute of Technology Indore, waiting for the next person to ask me about my work, as I prepare for my next event. I am jotting down my learnings and as I get to the end of the page, I바카라m interrupted by a man in his early 50s. He asks me my name in Hindi. I reply: 바카라Aubrey King-Lee바카라. He asks me with a smile, 바카라So you know Kung-Fu?바카라 I reply: 바카라No sir, I don바카라t. I am an Anglo-Indian.바카라 He asks me: 바카라Wo kya hota hai?바카라 (What is that?).
I give him my presentation. Impressed as people usually are, he gives me a run-down of his organisation and leaves. I바카라m a rural entrepreneur who creates income and employment opportunities for rural communities through handmade products. We use our organsiation as a platform for social change. I work in a village called Udaypur Gaon in Madhya Pradesh, 150 kms from Indore. To showcase our products for a day at various start-up events, we travel back and forth.
As the day draws to a close, my friend Dilip and I head back. Recounting the events of the day, I stop at 바카라Wo kya hota hai바카라. I stare at the beautiful scenery passing by and I am filled with anger, trepidation and confusion. Down the line, did I forget that I am an Anglo-Indian? I have a five-hour journey ahead of me and I need something to distract me from the traffic and bad roads. This was perfect. So I start pondering about what being an Anglo-Indian means to me.
When there is a problem, I usually break it up into microcosms and solve it. How many Anglo-Indian friends do I have? I count fewer than 10. How many Anglo-Indian families do I know that I am in touch with? I count fewer than five. Apart from my grandfather, who was an Air Marshall in the Indian Air Force and a few near and dear ones, I don바카라t look up to anyone. I rack my brain to find someone, but I can바카라t. You may throw names at me, but I would still shake my head. Am I so disconnected from the community that I can바카라t find anyone that I could relate to?
My parents keep telling me about the amazing Anglo-Indian schools and their Anglo-Indian friends. When I ask them where they are now, they say: 바카라All abroad. Australia, New Zealand, Canada. Everyone is all over the world.바카라 I have been told by many of my Anglo-Indian and non-Anglo-Indian friends to leave as life abroad is way better. 바카라Will they ever come back?바카라 I ask. 바카라Never. Never in a million years. Even if you pay them to return, they will not. 바카라Leave and don바카라t look back바카라, 바카라Those were the days바카라바카라 I am told repeatedly. But I didn바카라t live in those days. I live now and I live for the future, not in the past. I only have a few or no Anglo-Indian memories, know nothing worthwhile about the community. Anglo-Indians love song and dance and I have been to a few Anglo-Indian get-togethers; like the one at the Rangers Club in Kolkata and the one in Chennai. But what happens when the songs and dances stop? Are we only a song and dance community!
My father was a planter, working in the Dooars in North Bengal. I studied in Siliguri, which was the nearest city. My closest friends were MarÂwÂadis, Punjabis and Bengalis but no Anglo-IndÂiÂans. The way these communities looked after their own was so heartwarming that I wished that my community had what they had. From get-togethers, to business meetings to supporting each others바카라 businesses, I kept asking myself: 바카라Why can바카라t we be like them바카라.
바카라You are too negative. You work in rural India and you don바카라t spend time in urban India to mingle with like-minded Anglos. There are meets but you don바카라t attend them,바카라 I tell myself. Playing devil바카라s advocate, I question every complaint that I have. Apart from 바카라Anglos in the Wind바카라바카라a Chennai-based community magazine for Anglo-Indians spread across the world바카라that has been a beacon for this community, I don바카라t see anyone else. I would be lying just to make you feel good and shake my head when you spout names, but I don바카라t know anyone else.
Last year, my parents and I were invited to an Anglo hockey tournament commemorating all the Anglo-Indians in the armed forces. I had the pleasure of meeting Leslie Fernandez, the goalkeeper of the Indian Hockey team that won the gold at the 1975 Hockey World Cup. It was my first meeting with an Anglo- Indian legend. Why aren바카라t there more like him and why don바카라t we celebrate them more often?
By now Dilip and I have crossed 70 km, with another 80 km to go. We make our first pit stop. My legs are killing me, but I love it. The grind, the travel, the pain is a reminder of the work I have taken up.
Apart from my family and a few sponsored events by the State Bank of India Youth for India fellowship, I have never been helped. Ironically, I break into a smile. Things will not improve unless we keep fighting for our place and our due. Applying the same process for our community, yes, there is a problem, but no one is coming to help us. All we can do is look within for answers. But, the question remains: who is going to put their hands up and fight?
With 10 km remaining, we stop at my favorite dhaba (food joint). The waiter looks at me and says, 바카라BPM바카라바카라 short for Butter Paneer Masala. I nod, and the order is given. We wait for the order in silence as I am lost in thoughts looking to find a solution. We have already lost our seats in the Lok Sabha and Anglo-Indians have either gone abroad or have married into other communities as a safe bet. What options do we have? When do we convert thoughts into actions and start staking our claim? How can we get Anglo-Indians abroad to invest in Anglo-Indians in India? How can we get Anglo-Indians to start creating employment opportunities within the community? I am grateful for 바카라Anglos in The Wind바카라 because that바카라s the only way I know what바카라s happening in the community and our history.
With the meal done, we begin the last stage of our journey. What if we have an Anglo-Indian-only online store that sells Anglo-Indian products? What if we could have our own Anglo-Indian-only chain of restaurants that employs Anglo-Indian cooks that could be crowd-funded through Anglo-Indians? Why not an Anglo-Indian crowdfunding platform? How can we provide grants and financial support to Anglo- Indian entrepreneurs and mentor them? How can there be a better network that leads to better and firmer action-oriented goals? How can we get the youth more involved in Anglo-Indian associations? Can we have Anglo-Indian open mics?
As I reach my room, tired from the long day, I am engulfed in despair that I may not have a clear vision for our community. Is our community in such a decline that answers are so hard to come by or is it easy to complain because I know nothing will happen and I should let things be because this community is bound to fade as we are our own worst enemy? As I begin to unpack, I find the book of poems I had co-authored with a friend to find solace. It was in times like these that I had to look at my own words to pep me up and look for hope because as a community we are in a long dark tunnel with no light in sight.
I walk along with my head hung,
Anger, disdain and pain a constant reminder,
Love my biggest friend turned foe, emotions my strength turned weakness.
I walk slowly, lost in the nothingness of time that frowns on me as it passes by,
knowing that I am my own worst enemy.
There is light at the end of the tunnel, but how long the tunnel, I do not know.
(These are a few lines from the poem 바카라There is no light at the end of the tunnel바카라 from the book Silverblood. It is a collection of poems and photographs by Aubrey Maurice King-Lee and Hokhevi Zhimomi, published by Anglo Ink)
(This appeared in the print edition as "The Search For Identity")
(Views expressed are personal)
Aubrey King-Lee Is a rural entrepreneur and founder of Kinglee Xperience
