The Western Suburbs

I think every person should be proud of where they come from. One should never hate where one comes from, no matter how dire the circumstances. After all, it is God who chose one's birthplace and where one grew up.

I'm from the Western suburbs of Sydney. My home suburb, Bonnyrigg Heights, is located about an hour's drive from the CBD (downtown Sydney). I'm glad it's an hour's drive. It means we have plenty of distance between the fumes, horns, tourists and ourselves. Not that there's no traffic out our way, but the roads are wider, and parking is easy to find and free. Moreover, we have natural reserves and parks around every corner; wide open spaces to walk and think and feel free. Here, the sky seems ever so wider and thinking becomes ever so clearer.. 

Kookaburras

We have beady-eyed black and white Magpies, laughing Kookaburras, and Blue Tongue Lizards. Lots and lots of spiders. As kids we'd take a long sheath of grass and stick it down a spider hole in an attempt to lure the spider out. At first sight of it's hairy legs we'd bolt (Aussie slang for 'run really fast'). Our street is a cul-de-sac (dead-end); thus, not much traffic passes in front of our home. Riding a bike without a helmet is against the law here, but as kids my neighbours and I never wore helmets because our home is tucked away far enough from the main street that police cars don't patrol here. It was a great place to grow up on Haydn Place.


Surprise, surprise, I've decided to celebrate my love for the Western suburbs with a poem:

The Suburbs

The Sun is shining

On this Sunday morning
Feeling so gay
And alive

Hear the bell
My friends are calling
"Come and play outside"

Grab my hat, 
Grab my bike
We rule the streets
Day and night


Mowers hum
Leaving behind the scent
Of freshly cut grass

We play hopscotch
And drink cold lemonade

While Kookaburras laugh 

I soak in the ambience

Shall remember forever

This magical past

Sky Watching

I love gazing at the sky. On Sunny days there are varying shades of blue and tufts of white. On overcast days there are swirls of white amongst seas of grey. 

It is certainly true that my head is 'in the clouds.' I don't mind being thought of as a bit kooky for this. To be a kook for sky watching is like being praised for stating the obvious. The sky is obviously there, it is obviously real, and it is obviously beautiful (to me at least), who wouldn't want to look at it? If I was given the choice to look at the sky or look at a beautiful face, I'd choose the sky.


Often, when I look at the sky my thoughts turn to God. The Prophet David (peace be upon him) said the following: "The Heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands" (Psalm 19). It is said in the Qur'an, in reference to disbelievers: "Do they not look at the sky above them? (50: 6). Indeed, it is as though the sky is a veil shielding God from the sight of the creatures on Earth; there is just enough to make out the existence of something behind the veil, but you just can't be sure exactly what it is. I feel that the clouds in the sky are telling us a message. They couldn't be the way they are by accident. I've yet to figure out what the messages are, but I'll continue to try to read them. 

Here's a short poem about the sky:

Sky

A carpet that changes colour

Sometimes grey, sometimes blue

A veil of mystery

Hidden rays send a clue

Of something beyond

The Sun and the Moon

Twinkling stars

Smiling down in tune

Who's behind it all?

Looking at me and you

Poems and Aphorisms 2

Patience

Fed-up with patience

Do not ask for the recipe of success.

       *   *   *

 

Barrier

Be careful not to display one's ego

In the sight of another

Don't be a barrier to God

       *   *   *

 

Soulmates

  

Bid me adieu you cannot,

My love is part of your lot;

Your destiny, my destiny,

Were determined pre-eternally;

In wisdom by Him all Knowing,

The love sowed between us,

He’ll keep it growing;

Submit to that which is writ,

On the Preserved Tablet our futures fit;

Together—then and now,

And tomorrow when the Sun sets down;

Our love will endure, so will the song

of love in our hearts - to God they belong.

'Aussie-stani'

My ethnicity is Indian, or Hindustani. My parents are from the beautiful Fiji Islands, about four hours flight north east of Sydney across the Pacific Ocean. Their great grandparents came from North and South India as indentured labourers on British boats to work on Fiji's sugar-cane farms.

I was born in Australia, and grew up in Sydney. Pretty much all my friends in primary school and high school were non-Indian. They were mostly Vietnamese, with a few Cambodians, Chinese, Laos, and of course, Anglo (White). My best friend in primary school was Anglo Australian (Damien). The high school I attended was approximately 80% Anglo Australian. My friends there included Franklin Pho, Van Mai, Ka Hei, Henry Bounthong, Antoine Nguyen, Jenny Troung, Denise Nguyen, Philip Terrill. (For better or worse I've since lost touch with all of them).

Why have I given this brief sketch of my childhood and adolescence? Because I wanted to provide a platform for speaking about how 'un-Indian' I feel. It's strange growing up with people who are of a different ethnicity to yourself. You spend six hours during the day hearing accents different from one's own, until one's accent comes to be like those one hears. You experience different customs, until those customs feel like your own.

At home I dwelt in the familiar sights and sounds of my 'mother culture,' which in my case was/is Fiji Indian. Indian culture has important differences to Western culture. For example, there is an Indian way of responding to one's parents when they call you and a Western way. The Western way is "what?" The Indian way is "gee?" They both kinda mean the same thing, but "gee" is so much more respectful than "what." Another difference between Western and Indian (or Eastern) culture is treatment of the elderly. In Western society it's not uncommon to leave one's parents in a retirement home. Amongst people from Eastern origins this is almost like taboo (unless they need special care). In fact, looking after one's elderly parents is a source of pride and gains one a good reputation in the community. 

On the Western side of things I've learnt a couple of good traits. One is not showing off. Aussies, that is, people of Anglo (White) origin, don't worry about impressing people with a house or how many kids they have, like Indians do. Another good trait is an ability to laugh at themselves. Aussies don't take themselves too seriously, unlike Indians, who I've noticed find it hard to laugh at themselves, as if it's shameful to do so.

I give these examples to show how growing up I've learnt two ways of behaving. One is Western, or Aussie; the other is Eastern or, more specifically, Indian. When you put the two together you get "Aussie-stani," a person who culturally is half Australian, half Hindustani. 

To all the Aussie-stanis out there and British-stanis and American-stanis and Canadian-stanis and Kiwi-stanis I feel your confusion, I feel your dilemma. We aren't exactly one or the other, but a mixture of the two. May we take the best from the West and take the best from the East and integrate them into a special combination.