Vanity Fair

I was at a first Holy Communion party yesterday. It was a fun party, the music was good, the hosts were gracious, the food was superb and the guests seem to be enjoying themselves. Yet despite the company and the social niceties around me, I found myself bored silly. And I came to the horrifying conclusion, that somewhere, over the course of the last few years; I have turned into a social snob.

I don’t consider myself to be anything special, nor do I for a moment imagine that I am better than anyone. In fact, I’ll gladly attest to the fact that there are scores of Indians whom I’ve met that are far more talented, skilled, educated, socially and financially better off than I. So just what is my problem? Why, I ask myself, can I comfortably make friends with a Swedish girl in Edinburgh, but find myself so prickly in social gathering of Indians – people of my own community.

I am not ashamed of my Indian ness. Both my parents and my best friend still live in India. And I’ve had the good fortune of retaining some good associations with the Indians who still live in the motherland. Yet, my experiences with the Indian communities overseas particularly in Auckland have not been impressionable in the best of senses.

I’ve found the relationships that are fostered within the Indian community here; tend to be based on a mutual sense of utility – a need to use each other to get ahead. Solidarity is perceived but fragile, as competitiveness and the need to demonstrate financial well-being through outlandish displays of wealth, take precedence. Little groups or cliques are formed as people with common goals hover together. Gossip is usually rife in the community as is small town mentality. It’s awful that these despicable patterns of behaviour seem to be the socially acceptable norms. But that, I guess is a by-product of immigration and I’m sure this happens in other ethnic communities.

I’ve never been good at pretending to like people or exchange social pleasantries just for the sake of doing so. Mind you I don’t go around deliberately being nasty, but I just can’t muster up the energy to be nice when I don’t mean it. I’ve been at the receiving end of some of this dreadful conduct and there was a time, when I too ashamedly indulged in some of it. But I’ve changed a great deal – both in my thinking and in my behaviour.

I find that I no longer desire to be surrounded by people of my own upbringing to feel adequate. I also find that I increasingly enjoy the company of my family. I’d rather spend time just with them that flit around town. And I’m just at ease with spending time on my own.

I love meeting people who are different, people who have a bit more of a world experience than me. I find that conversation with them is often intellectually stimulating and enjoyable. But I’m perfectly comfortable in the knowledge that most of the people whose company I now enjoy, will really only remain acquaintances. And I’m fine with that. And just once in a while, one will come along who will turn out be a really good friend and that is a bonus.

A good case in point would be my friend Frendehl. She’s not Indian, but I thoroughly enjoy her company. We first met in Auckland about 5 years ago and developed a friendship that has lasted. We recently met up in Brussels and had a great time. We live in different cities, but we chat on the phone occasionally and it’s great. We have a friendship that is not based on a mutual need to feed on each other, to be seen together or to gossip. We, quite simply are just friends, that is a good thing and above all it’s not pretentious.

So is it a sign of old lady syndrome or just pain conceited vanity that keeps me away from fellow Indians? I’m not sure. Perhaps it is a combination of both. But if it is a choice between superficial social popularity and self- imposed social ostracism, I’ll gladly choose the latter. Because the truth is the former requires a skill set that I’m not equipped to cultivate or perfect – a thick skin, quite wittedness, shrewdness, fictitious affability. Frankly, it all sounds so terribly exhausting that I just can’t be bothered. So I’ll continue to be my narcissistic self. At least that, I know is sincere. And what's more is that I can live with it.