Riverside Theatre buzzed with Indians who called Australia home. Seizing the once-a-year opportunity of donning Indian dress on an Australian occasion, they had come from all over Sydney in their traditional, colourful attire.
The banner read: ‘Republic Day of India and Australia Day Celebrations - 26 January 2010.’
The dignitaries had settled in their deep chairs on the stage. Dull discussions amongst men, about jobs and property, were interrupted by shrieks of appreciations by women for each other’s sarees and gold jewellery.
I glanced at my wife, Sara - Saraswati - and kids next to me. My son Krish and daughter Priya, both now in high school, were trying their best to be attentive. Krish turned his head and shrugged at me.
On his first day of school Krish had folded his small hands and wished ‘namaste’ to his teacher. Having just arrived from India it was the only greeting he knew. He had lowered his eyes when the teacher didn’t respond the same way but had followed her delightedly when she had offered her hand to take him to his spot in the kindy class.
On his first day of school, Krish had folded his small hands and wished ‘namaste’ to his teacher. Having just arrived from India, it was the only greeting he knew.
Over the years he and his sister had become interpreters for us. They had giggled when I thought ‘flat-out’ meant someone is sleeping on their tummy with their arms spread out. They had corrected me saying it meant busy. When I had wondered why a work colleague, not turning up one day, had admitted being ‘crook’, they had squealed in laughter at the dining table and said he meant he was sick.
The MP had finished his speech, and now, a smartly dressed Australian lady was praising the contribution of Indians in various fields. “Lamb vindaloo and naan bread are a match made in heaven,” she said, not realising that they belonged to places thousands of miles apart. Vindaloo was from the south and naan was from the north.
I smiled, recalling my horror in the second week of my first ever job. The boss had walked up to me that Friday. “Would you like to join us for a team piss-up this afternoon?” he had asked cheerfully. The image, of the entire team facing the wall in the boys’ loo, must have made my face flush. I was pleasantly surprised when we ended up at the corner pub that afternoon. My clumsy effort at the pool table was jeered but I felt amongst friends. The next morning, I had to resist raising my eyebrows when the boss said he was ‘pissed-off’ at a team member for getting ‘pissed’ the night before.
The boss had walked up to me that Friday. “Would you like to join for a team piss-up this afternoon?” he had asked cheerfully. The image, of the entire team facing the wall in the boys’ loo, must have made my face flush.
From the corner of my eye I noticed Sara frowning at me, finding me lost in thought. A group of girls, about the age of our kids, had begun Bharat-Natyam. Their graceful turns in their bright, colourful costumes had the attention of the entire audience. Giving her an assuring nod, I tried to focus on the stage.
Sara had to endure a lot over the years. Highly qualified in India, here she was advised to hide her qualifications by the other Indian ladies. “You will never be considered for higher positions,” they said, “and you will be rejected as being overqualified for lower jobs.”
“You should train to get into Information Technology,” someone suggested. “Most Australians think an Indian in the city is by default in IT.” Sara and I had laughed the suggestion off.
The issue had always been the perception. At both ends.
In the early days, the expensive weekly phone calls back home were filled with white lies. We had to force delight in our voices, responding to our parents’ endless queries on our wellbeing in the unknown place. Friends wouldn’t have believed that life could be a struggle in the land of opportunity. Our shoulders dropped after ending the calls.
At this end, for most employers, skilled migration meant a demure, orderly supply of fodder for their industries.
Reviewing the images of my building projects from India, the interviewers had narrowed their eyes, lines forming on their foreheads. Back then, the only images Australians saw on their TV were of poverty and slums in India. Seeing cars on streets in front of the modern buildings, they queried where the cows and the elephants had disappeared.
Back then, the only images Australians saw on their TV, were of poverty and slums in India. Seeing cars on streets in front of the modern buildings, they queried where the cows and the elephants had disappeared.
Just when we were questioning the soundness of our move, old Mrs Jones from the unit below had brought little Priya a gift. The petite lady, rarely seen or heard, had knocked on our door one Sunday morning and had asked for the little princess. Tiny Priya had greeted her with a confident “How are you?” and shaken her hand. Trying hard to repeat Priya’s name, Mrs Jones had gifted her a doll she herself had knitted.
Things had looked brighter since. Both Sara and I had stuck to our guns and aimed for jobs we deserved. Our journey had taken us from the rented unit, to a home with a backyard in a leafy suburb of Sydney. Every time our plane landed at Kingsford-Smith airport after a family trip abroad, Sara and I exchanged contented looks. We knew we’d arrived home.
There was another round of clapping. My eyes rested on the flags of both nations, as they stood next to each other on the stage. The audience began to rise. I got up with a lump in my throat as I joined a few others to recite both the Indian and the Australian anthems.
I noticed Sara glancing at me with her lips curled up. I think I saw tears welling up in her eyes.
An architect by profession, Arni loves reading on a wide spectrum of subjects, and has begun writing recently. His stories and articles have been published in community magazines in Sydney and Adelaide for the past two years. He lives in Sydney with his family.
Arni Nadkarni Source: Supplied by Danyal Syed
This article was chosen from the 2021 SBS Emerging Writers’ Competition.
a selection of dedicated programming, special events and news highlights with a focus on encouraging greater understanding of Indigenous Australian perspectives on January 26. Join the conversation #AlwaysWasAlwaysWillBe
