FOB (Fresh Off the Boat)

interesting...
sad....

Now this bose guy makes it seem that the place to be for journalists is UK. I wonder if he thought about the many excellent people in his profession in India who even though they had a chance to work in the west prefered to be in india may be at times with lesser comforts and salaries.
Similarly I can vouch that at least a couple of the large software companies(because I have friends in decison making roles in those companies) are finding it a bit tougher to get mid level managers to come to US and often the reason is not that they are getting more in India but because they perefer to be in India for cultural and family reasons and times it is better for their careers.

Perhaps this guy Mihir needs to have pull to get into the profession. I know three people who are are in journalism and media and they did not need any ``PULL`` they got there on their own steam on the basis of their capabilites.

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Poems sometimes develop a life of their own.
There is certainly life here in this brush with words.

Ras

joys of immigration:

http://www.observer.co.uk/comment/story/0,6903,866052,00.html

We didn`t come here for the money

The prospect of prosperity lures some to Britain. Others have found that its greatest riches are not material after all

Mihir Bose
Sunday December 29, 2002
The Observer

Twenty five years ago, when I decided to leave India and come back to this country for good, Shiva Naipaul invited me to dinner at his flat in Maida Vale and mockingly admonished me saying, `So you have come back for more of the old colonial lash.`
Now as I try and follow the frenzied debate about immigration I have often wondered about what Naipaul said: what is it that lures so many to this country?

The way the debate about immigration is presented it would seem this is just a question of material possessions. Britain is presented as a modern El Dorado and the many hundreds of thousands attracted to it are only seduced by the prospect of making undreamt of wealth.

Such a scenario makes it easy to present scare stories of immigration but in so doing the very patriots who propagate such views are selling this country short, indeed demeaning it.

There is so much more on offer than merely the chance of making money. In fact its greatest riches are not material. In my case the colonial lash Naipaul said I hungered for was not money but success and recognition in my chosen field of writing and journalism. Had I continued to live in India I would have had a lifestyle far richer than anything I enjoy here.

Indeed, leaving India impoverished me materially but it enriched me in various other ways: culturally, intellectually and it made me realise my dream of becoming a writer, something I doubt if I could have achieved in India, or at least not without a lot more hassle.

Like many members of my family, I had originally come to this country to go to university. I had then qualified as a chartered accountant and wanted to continue living here in an effort to become a writer. But under immense emotional blackmail - the Hindu mother`s capacity for such blackmail exceeds that of any other faith, even perhaps the Jewish Mamma - I was forced to return to India. My brother-in-law was then a leading chartered accountant in India and in the nepotistic way these things work there I was offered a partnership in a leading firm.

I was immediately sucked into what my brother-in-law called the good life: a very comfortable flat in the family home, servants who did my every bidding, chauffeur-driven cars and membership of clubs - indeed, there were few material wants. But when I tried to keep my dim hopes of journalism alive I found how limiting India was and how much more open and liberating England could be.

Before I had left England I had made some progress in becoming a journalist and was agreeably surprised that, despite the fact that I was an unknown, it was possible to open some very august doors.

I had become a broadcaster on the nascent London Broadcasting Corporation, persuaded the Sunday Times to allow me to string for them, got a publisher to commission me to write a biography of the Australian cricketer Keith Miller and even managed to interview one of my journalistic heroes: Anthony Howard, then editor of the New Statesman.

In India, by contrast, I had, as the Indians say, no `pull` in the media. In business my family contacts made life easy, in the media I knew nobody and, unlike London, cold calling was not welcome. The editor of a Calcutta paper did finally see me but treated me with the sort of disdain that my grandmother inflicted on the untouchable woman who cleaned her toilets. And the head of a sports radio station made it clear to me that if I wanted to broadcast cricket commentaries I would have to keep giving him and his wife presents.

After three years of such an existence - material comfort in an intellectual desert - I decided to abandon India and take my chance at becoming a writer. When I arrived back at Heathrow I was almost the archetypal struggling writer: I had one completed book with a publisher, another incomplete manuscript in my case and £400 in the bank, but no job or even offer of one.

Three months after I had given up my comfortable partnership, the Sunday Times, which had begun to use me, closed down for a year and I confronted the hard realities of the world of freelance journalism.

Since then much has changed for me and the partners I left behind in India. They have grown immensely rich as the Indian service sector has boomed. They earn at a conservative estimate five times what I earn, live in houses that are virtual palaces, do not have to worry about doctors` waiting lists, or traffic, as they are invariably driven everywhere. And when they travel abroad, which they do frequently, they always go first class while I rely on my wits to upgrade to premium plus.

But while I feel embarrassed that I cannot reciprocate the lavish hospitality they shower on me when I visit India, I have never had any regrets about abandoning accountancy there for journalism here.

For although I have not quite fulfilled my dreams, to be a cricket writer like Neville Cardus, a broadcaster like John Arlott, or a foreign correspondent like James Cameron - I did have the privilege of meeting all three - I like to think I have not done too badly and whatever I have done has been achieved without any nepotism or pull or toadying to unpleasant people.

I am well aware that there still remain immense barriers of colour and creed in this country and I have always felt there is a glass ceiling beyond which I cannot go, but within such boundaries it has provided me with opportunities which I would not have had in India.

It is an immensely open, intellectually alive and culturally curious country and it surprises me that in the endless debate about immigration these virtues are not talked of but the stress is only on filthy lucre.

True, the lure of money drives many immigrants to this country, but there are quite a few like us who live here not for the money but more for its values.

Harpreet,

``Lord of the Rings whattamovie!! Its all nonsense of course. . .``

Because you`re such a good person, I`ll forget you said that.

:)

Aamir

Aamir

I hope you get the time to pursue the muse. You have what it takes. You are in posession of a singular poetic sensibility.

re ``Anita and ME``... I have to confess I havent got round to watching that film...I went to the multiplex the other day and the choice was between Anita & Me, the latest Bollywood dirge, and the Lord of the Rings part 2...no contest!! Lord of the Rings whattamovie!! Its all nonsense of course but excellent nonsense and there is an hour long battle scene with fearsome monsters and everything, now thats what I call entertainment!!

:)

-h-

Harpreet,

Thanks for the kind words, yaar! Naw, I haven`t considered publishing my work in a magazine or a book. I`d need to write much more seriously before that could happen and there`s just no time these days.

By the way can we expect a review of ``Anita and Me`` (book/movie/both) from you any time soon? :o)

Warm regards,

Aamir

Shandana, Samina Shah, ferozk, hamidm, semipreciousme; thank you; really glad you enjoyed it. maybe our most honest moments do redeem us after all. . .

Scout; I`m surprised to hear you say that. Most people migrate simply because they have no real choices left. It`s for the children mostly or better job prospects or personal security; some variety of a greater persistent good for themselves and their loved ones. And thus, general managers at Ford become chauffeurs and engineering consultants nightwatchmen to pay for their new lives. What do you think this does to a person? Even the most ambitious inevitably come to a point where they find themselves yearning for some sort of reconciliation with their past. It`s just not fair to kick a person when they`re down.

temporal; I don`t know if you remember me telling you about Faisal, one of my patients at Sick Kids who had recently immigrated over from somewhere in Punjab. We`d go in to see him everyday (he had some sort of unstable hemoglobin we were trying to figure out), ask him how he was doing, explain what we were doing, and throughout his mother would be sitting in the corner watching us silently. One day I went in alone and as the other doctors weren`t there, started speaking to him in Urdu. His mother couldn`t believe it. ``Beta, aap kahan se hain?`` ``Ji, mein Karachi se aaya hun yahaan pe kaam karne ke liye`` She started crying. ``Beta, mujhe sahi sahi batao, Faisal theek ho jaye ga na?`` Turned out this whole time we had been going in there she didn`t understand a thing of what was going on and was too reluctant to ask the doctors. I sat down and explained our management plan to her and throughout she was sobbing, giving me all these duas.
When you`re caught in that transitory phase between two worlds and find yourself lost in an unfamiliar environment, something tangible (a familiar language) can be infinitely comforting. I know from my own experience how, inspite of all the Cinnabons and BK Big Fishes, incredible it was to sit down to a meal of pulao and seekh kebabs and homemade chapaati. :o)

soundmeister; thanks thanks. No, Chowk`s the only place i`ve been published.

sasan m noor; LOL LOL; death by snu snu for you!

Farzana; ``Naam gum jaayega`` is one of my favorite songs. Have you heard ``Saathiya``? ``Shaam ko khirki se chori chori nangen paon chaand aaye ga``

Stuka; yes I know what you`re saying. Some of my relatives recently migrated to Canada and I was talking to a friend in Waterloo about them. ``Where did they move to?`` ``Yaar, Mississuaga mein hain`` ``Acha, haan, all the FOB`s go there.`` That stung. Here these people have given up all they knew to be familiar and comfortable and moved halfway across the world for their children and all this guy could say was. . .it sounded like a gaali and if he wasn`t my friend I would have reacted somewhat more violently than the silence I assumed. Anyways, that`s where the title, and the poem, comes from.

Aamir

Aamir

Another gem.

You are super.

Dont stop writing.

-h-

Aamir

I just read it again and this is a sublime piece of writing. The best of all your poems that I have read.

I agree with the person earlier who said dont waste this on us...Please please please collate your work and get it published.

Just to push you in the right direction, this is one of the most vibrant publishers of poetry in the UK and they are always on the lookout for new writers...

http://www.bloodaxebooks.com/

There is a page for submission information.

If you are in the process of getting your work looked at already and this is superfluous advice please forgive me but I believe that you deserve to be put in prison if you hide your talent under a bushel.

take care

-h-

AAmir; thank you. Duaon mein yaad rakhiyega.

soundmeister #12,

i was thinking the same thing..... i had patience for poetry in high school and it went down the drain after that....i just can`t appreciate poetry anymore, it all seems uselessly sappy

re: stuka

{Maybe I am just sensitive because that`s a not very pleasent term used for us by ABCDs :( }

....stop wearing those polyster dress pants with white sneakers and they`ll stop calling you a FOB...trust me...

Nice poem,but any particualr reason you chose that specific title? Maybe I am just sensitive because that`s a not very pleasent term used for us by ABCDs :(

Dear Aamir:

I started with a problem: the title. And trying to make an immediate connection with something intangible though palpable. I still feel that parenthesis in a poem, even if in a title, ought to be avoided.

But…then I made the leap. From “If you could see yourself now” to (in?) “your memory of paradise”. The chasm between the “touch of plum” and “their worlds mere ice” is, to my mind, filled with a “juicy stain”…could be a fresh squirt or a defrosted one. One belongs where one is….

This poem reminded me a lot of some of Gulzar’s lyrics, especially, “Naam ghum jaayega…”. And I love Gulzar :)

Farzana

...the thing i really like about your writing is that it`s always heartfelt...it seems almost tangible at times...

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Sad...reflective...almost considerate.

Ciao

........i don`t care much for poetry shoetry, but this was pretty good ..........maybe it is the godawful cold winter .........

Sprout,
Stop reading poetry....for everyone`s sake.

Aamir-bhai,
Lovely, as usual. Do you publish all this? Pls. tell me it isn`t wasted on us Philistines :)

Dear Aamir,
Your words ring so true..
Sniff..
You are truly amazing
You are an artist of the highest caliber, if only had your artistic expression. I am arranging a private poetry recital , please contact me if you are interested . It would honor my group if you could chair our session...

ashok,

???????????????????????????????????????????????

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Aamir

who is not FOB?…

the umbilical chord is the ever sustaining anchor… even when some of us are cloned (if you follow the news;))…and once that is cut…then we come off that boat into this big mother….

perhaps followed by not know was a double whammy…how can that be?

…t

Beautiful.

oi! ye kahaan se aa gayi! it seems chowk has a long memory; and our sins really do catch up with us. . .

:)

aamir

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hey aamir,

i really like your work. this poem in particular, for some reason it reminds me of my mother.

shandana

last time i checked, no one forces anyone to go anywhere.... you do it out of your own will to find new opportunities.