It is Thanksgiving again and like the Pilgrims, we,
too got to share our Thanksgiving dinner with Indians. Dining with
Indians always brings its unique challenges, but in a buffet situation during
an American holiday, in an American setting, things are downright bizarre.
The American Club tried to host events to celebrate
the major American holidays. It is, after all, the American Citizens
Support Association. The 4th of July is a huge outdoor BBQ, while Easter
and Thanksgiving tend to be buffets. In theory, this should be good as
the main foods for these celebrations, hamburgers, ham and Turkey respectively,
are not readily available in Delhi and is suppose to serve as a slice of home.
In reality, since the Club is managed and staffed by Indians (with loose
Embassy oversight), it usually digresses into weird interpretation of what
Indians think the holiday should be. Feature in the Easter brunch, for
example was a large plate of, not ham, but ham fat. Who eats ham fat and
what book explained this as an American Easter delicacy? Anyway, you get
the picture - not always executed well.
This Thanksgiving, the team down at the club
actually got the food correct. The Turkey meat was good, the stuffing,
albeit bland and institutional, was passable and they actually had cranberry
jelly - you know the kind that comes out of a can with the ridges. Having
spent half my life eating institutional food (let me clarify - boarding school,
college, Navy), this type of grub is a walk down memory lane. I had no
complaints and woofed down two plate-loads in the tradition of Thanksgiving!
There were issues though. The first is the ubiquitous
presents of the American passport-holding Indian. Regardless of the
event, these Indians, usually extremely wealthy and with a sense of entitlement
that would shame a middle-east dictator, show up in force. They bring
their non-American passport holding Indian friends to show them how American
they are. This means that when they show up there are usually about 20
of them. The burst through the door and expect the entire restaurant
staff to drop what they are doing and accommodate them. As well, they
treat any buffet like a black Friday 70% off event at Wal-mart and jump the
buffet like with the alacrity of a pack of pumas. They are rude, ill
mannered and generally disruptive and I am thinking about getting some
pepper-spray to keep my place in the next line.
To give some perspective, I saw an article in the
Indian newspaper explaining Thanksgiving. I am paraphrasing, but it
basically said that this the day that we, Americans, give thanks for all our
material wealth - nothing about family, health, or friends, just the money.
This is how Indians understand all things and it is why simply working 10
years in the United States and returning to India does not make you an
American. It makes you an American passport holder - nothing more.
The second issue with the event was that through
the entire meal, we were loudly serenaded by a live Indian band whose lack of
talent was only eclipsed by the lack of taste in music. For hours, we
were tortured by the Indian scalping (excuse the pun) of hits from ABBA and Crystal
Gayle, to name a few, in harsh Indian accents. The real musical
equivalent of water-boarding, though, came when the duo broke out into their
rendition of the Grammy Award-winning Roberta Flack's "Killing me
Softly with His Song." Yep, everything you need to drive your
average American ex-pat to the brink of insanity on this day of Thanks.
So, as I write this, four days later, the memory of
turkey and stuffing has faded from my mind, the sweet taste of cranberry jelly
has faded from my lips, but the haunting sound of Indians singing
"Killing Me Softly" continues to ring in my head!
Happy Thanksgiving!
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