Myth of the Melting Pot

Drug peddlers. Thieves. Sex workers. Cheap labour. Isolationists. These are the dominant stereotypes of many immigrant communities in India; only a few escape censure. In an intimate look at the cultural ghettos that dot India, Sonia Faleiro asks — why are we so afraid of the ‘other’? In the attic of No 20 Dhobi Street, 11 Africans knock knees around three tables, eating chicken and beef over rice. Curtains of hot air billow from the window; static from a television provides background music. The men eat steadily, silently. A Nigerian jeweller, fingers bloated with gold, lights a cigarette; his partner languidly rolls his hands in a bowl of water. Off Mohammed Ali Road, renowned for its biryani houses, Puku restaurant offers a taste of home to Mumbai’s 400 Nigerian businessmen and students. Nigerians make up one of the many communities in cosmopolitan Mumbai. Yet, little is known about them. City tabloids occasionally publish photographs of a furtive Nigerian looking suitably dodgy. The words ‘fraudster’ or ‘drug peddler’ accompany the picture. Unfortunately, as most Indians won’t actually come into contact with a Nigerian themselves, the media is free to reinforce stereotypes and encourage fear mongering of immigrant communities in India. And it’s not just the Nigerians. The Nepalis will rob you in your sleep, Russians sell their bodies and Bangladeshis are slum dwellers. Immigrant communities have always been open to unashamed pigeonholing and haranguing from the media, the state and its citizens. The majority of migrants leave their countries in search of better economic opportunities or freedom from persecution. But how are they integrating into Indian society? India has been slow to embrace these vibrant communities. Instead, they often become fodder for political manipulation or exploitation. Bangladeshis are one of the most poignant victims of state manipulation. In 1971, during the war with Pakistan, there was an influx of Muslim Bangladeshis into the porous borders of Assam, Tripura and Kolkata. Although they are routinely deported, in Mumbai the Shiv Sena and in Delhi the bjp, continue to ascribe ills to this impoverished community. However, according to a Fact Finding Report produced by Shama Dalwai and Irfan Engineer under the aegis of ekta, an ngo in Mumbai, “Any attempt to treat such marginalised groups as threats to national security is not only a figment of populist right wing imagination but also a dangerous exercise that could only further vitiate communal politics within the larger society.” Hameeda Sheikh, 38, lives in a hutment on Reay Road. Her left foot is corroded to the bone. She used to work as a steel polisher in a factory for Rs 50 a day until a hot steel container fell on her foot. She has no identification papers that prove that she exists and therefore her employer was able to fire her immediately. Only one member of the family is currently employed, piping beads on blouses for Rs 1.50 per blouse. They have no water or electricity and hire a stove for Rs 350 a month. Hameeda is not even on the margins of society, she is clawing for a foothold on the margin. Demographer Shekhar Mukherjee, who has documented the migration of Bangladeshis into India, says that politicians encourage an uncontrolled population of migrants to secure a reliable vote bank. However, once the numbers swell, little control can be exercised.“There are linkages between migration, urbanisation and regional disparities, which require strategic planning. But not having access to the people and therefore numbers, adversely affects these strategies,” says Mukherjee. Driven from across the border and largely undocumented, Nepalis are a large presence in Mumbai with one or two lakh living in suburban Borivali and Churchgate. Many are recent political migrants fleeing unrest. Nepalis, particularly those with physically distinct features, are victimised based on anti migrant, racist rhetoric much of which has its roots in colonial caricature. Sushma Joshi, op-ed writer for the newly established ekantipuronline, was in Mumbai to chronicle the Nepali community after their flight from fear. She writes: “Success is contingent upon fighting the discrimination that Nepalis face in Mumbai. The stereotype of the “Bahadurs” who work as security guards is hard to escape. Some people change their caste to escape discrimination once they arrive in Mumbai.” Social anthropologist Rahul Srivastava says, “The city is teeming with racism. Mumbai may be cosmopolitan, but it’s also insular and segregated. It’s particularly hard for poorer migrants to make space for themselves. They don’t want to segregate themselves from the larger community; this city forces them to be segregated.” Of course, not everyone is crippled by stereotype. Cinematographer Binod Pradhan gained fame with Mission Kashmir; Manisha Koirala is a former super star actress, and Udit Narayan Jha composes music for Hindi films. Following in their footsteps is Manjil Tulasi, 22, who came to Mumbai from Nepal’s Syangja district 14 months ago. He’s worked as an assistant director on the Star One serial Guns and Roses and just completed the pilot of a TV documentary Mumbai Mein Nepali Tara, which profiles Bollywood’s Nepali heroes. “There are Nepalis working in every capacity in the film industry,” says Tulasi. “From the tea boy to the director, almost 50 percent of Balaji Telefilms comprises Nepalis.” Dilli Bahadur Rawt, 29, who has a BA in political science from Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan University, travelled to Mumbai two years ago. “I came here to be a director in Bollywood,” says the diminutive young man. When the venture fell through, Rawt began freelancing with local Nepali newspapers including the Nepali Times and is now an outreach worker with Saathi, an hiv awareness programme. Although Rawt’s is an immigrant success story, not everyone he knows has managed to thrive as well. It was through Saathi that he encountered the vulnerability of his people. “Most Nepali men leave their families behind when they come here,” he explains. “As a result, they visit prostitutes. They are at a very high risk of hiv. And they’re illiterate. For example, they know there’s violence in Nepal, but can’t understand why. Being alone and uneducated puts them in a dangerous position.” The city’s Nepalis work largely in the hotel or security industries. Rawt estimates that the average migrant earns as little as Rs 900 a month for a 12-hour, six-day week. Nepalis like Rawt meet monthly for cultural programmes organised by collectives including the Nepal Jana-Kalyan Samiti. With six Nepali newspapers and 21 community organisations, they “feel quite at home in Mumbai,” says Joshi. Abandoned by the State, newly arrived and established migrants must create their own support system. The first step is securing the community in distinct neighbourhoods and assuring its socio-cultural life. Anthropologist Srivastava warns of the inevitable pitfalls of this approach. “There’s a tendency for communities to isolate themselves. For example, through building societies, which are open only to their people. In the long run, this contributes to the isolationist character of the city.” For migrants, living, working and socializing in their environment is a linguistic and cultural necessity that eases transition and assists the assimilation process. Relatively small communities are less likely to face harassment from political forces but encounter other types of pressures. They do not have the advantage of securing themselves within a larger immigrant community and, consequently, are at risk of losing their identities. They struggle to find a voice in a society only too ready to banish them to the fringes. Mumbai’s Iranian Muslims, long associated with the restaurant business and its stock snack of bun-muska, decisively strive to break the stereotype or use it to their advantage. Professor SMA Husaini’s parents emigrated to Pune from Tehran in 1910, during Iran’s Great Famine. However, when a Parsi fortune-teller warned the Husainis that Pune was inauspicious for them, they came to Mumbai. “One day, while my father was travelling home to Madanpura (an Iranian enclave) he passed a restaurant with a ‘To Let’ sign,” recalls Husaini. “When he realised the restaurant was available, he moved in immediately, paying a rent of Rs 25 a month.” Although it is now one of Mumbai’s most famous Iranian restaurants — Lucky, Hotel Bakes & Burger, Tele Communication & Business Centre, on Bandra’s SV Road, its existence as a family business is tenuous. “The younger generation of Iranians is embarrassed by the family restaurant,” he says. Bangalore’s Sufi restaurant is one of the few Iranian eating-houses which has withstood the generational change. It’s owned by MK Karimi, who says he opened the restaurant to educate Indians about Iran. “They know very little about its art and literature,” says Karimi. The restaurant has a library and an art gallery, which sells curios, carpets and paintings he sources from Iran. “At least three Indian families have gone to Iran on holiday after coming here,” he says, proudly. “They found it very beautiful.” There are 3,000 Iranian Muslims in Mumbai, 2,000 in Pune and 1,500 in Bangalore. According to the Iranian Consulate in Hyderabad, the majority are students, who commune at the Iranian Students Islamic Association. On the Persian New Year, Mumbai’s Iranians gather at the mosque in Bhendi Bazaar. The bond is strong, because they are an established group constantly being replenished by new migrant members. Doori Noori, a single parent migrated to Bangalore last year. “People are very helpful and concerned,” she says. “I find it very safe and have no problems moving around.” Galina Atrey is one of 70 Russian women living in Delhi. When you enter her residence in the posh Defence Colony, you know there is nothing Russian about it. Galina came to India in 1981 from St Petersburg, after she married her Indian husband. “My idea of India was all I had seen in the movies. It was shockingly different here,” recalls Galina. “The bright India of Bollywood was not at all shining. There was poverty everywhere. Although, I had good friends there, it was quite surprising to see the way people lived as a community and the big joint families. These are concepts so alien to the West,” says Galina. Now separated from her husband of 10 years, Galina teaches yoga and describes herself as a “local Russian” saying, “I learnt Hindi before I learnt English.” Her main problem as a single woman? “It’s a very hostile city. Even in a posh residential area people don’t behave. They will unnecessarily pass comments as you move around. Just swing their hands as you pass by, try to touch your body.” Twenty-seven-year-old Tenzin Choedon is among the newest additions to the Tibetans in Mumbai. His parents came to Mumbai in the 1950s. After he graduated, he began working at a call centre in suburban Mumbai. Choedon says, “Most of the Tibetan youth I have interacted with in Mumbai feel strongly about the cause of Tibet’s independence. In Mumbai, we stage demonstrations whenever any representative of the Chinese government comes to the city. A couple of leaders such as writer Tenzin Tsundue have infused a lot of confidence in young Tibetans.” Activist-writer Tsundue has gained prominence over the years for his vocal anti - China protests. According to Tsundue, all the Tibetans who entered India after 1959 are political migrants. “After the Dalai Lama made Dharamshala his residence the Tibetans created their own educational and cultural institutions there. It became literally, a dharam shala,” explains Tsundue. Sri Lankan, Korean and Israeli communities are also mushrooming in India. There are approximately 150 Koreans in India and a smaller numbers of Israelis and Sri Lankans permanently resident here. Israelis can be found frequenting the hill stations of Himachal Pradesh at any time of the year and are often associated with smoking dope, rave parties and outlandish behaviour. Yuval Rosnovsky, who came to India three years ago with his sister, Laura, an accessory designer, acknowledges an element of truth behind this stereotype. “India has become a fertile ground for foreign investment in the past decade or so with the opening of the market and easing of restrictions. The craftsmen in India are so talented and good. You won’t find them in the West. But to make anything successful here you have to adjust to the local taste,” he says. “People are very emotional here. American values of professionalism don’t work here. I had to change my ways. Meetings are fixed at 4:30pm and people call up at 4:40pm to say they will be late.” Meanwhile, in Mumbai’s chic Busaba bar and restaurant, chef Moon Ja Hur, 45, is celebrating a decade in the city. Hur moved here with her husband, a manpower supplier. She says, “India is so different from Korea, and that was initially a shock. But sometimes different is good. The slow pace especially is good for the soul.” The migrant merry go round continues. Ruthless and unaccepting of some, seamlessly embracing of others. Time will tell whether this two-way association fosters a truly multi-cultural, cosmopolitan society in India. The State must create laws that address the needs of these communities; the host society must question its notion of the ‘other’; and the newly arrived immigrants must twist and turn to align their new physical environment with their cultural personality. Only then will India be a true melting pot. Tehelka, September 10, 2005