论文部分内容阅读
An expatriate life has a certain thrill to it—a new country， a new culture， the exploits and escapades—but it is the interaction with the people that we carry with us on our last fl ight back home.
My China sojourn began in the summer of 1999—September 20 to be exact. It was supposed to last a couple of months， and as it happens to many of us， I ended up staying longer than I had planned to.
I fl ew into Shanghai’s Hongqiao Airport， less than a month before the modernistic Pudong International Airport opened its door to the world. It was a safe flight and I was looking forward to the new assignment， but a part of my baggage didn’t make the trip. After what seemed like an endless wait at the baggage carousel， I fi lled in the mandatory “lost luggage” form. Obviously， all this took some time， and the young Chinese HR staff member who had come to pick me up at the airport was both relieved and angry， only half listening to my explanations for the delay.
As we got into the car， I inquired about the hotel， and was told that we were headed to the offi ce， and not to the hotel！
That was a bit disconcerting. In those days， there were no direct flights from India. We had to transit through Bangkok， Hong Kong or Singapore to reach the Chinese mainland， a journey that would take almost 12 to 13 hours.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I checked into the hotel fi rst before going to the offi ce？” I tried to be brave.
“But you have nothing to check in！” was the prompt and honest reply.
I rolled down the car window and quietly stared at the city outside. Tired and hungry， doubts and fears slowly began to creep in. The hazy skyline only added to the desperation. Honestly， I couldn’t help thinking of all those stories about China that we read in the foreign press. Could it all be happening to me？
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The welcome I received at work helped to calm the initial jitters that follow you to a foreign land. In the following days， I was introduced to a China that I had never read or was remotely aware of. In the close to two decades of my time in Shanghai， I got to interact with the locals at every possible level—at work， while traveling， weddings， seminars， universities， hospitals， the marketplace and even funerals， with the language constraints a mighty lesson in patience and perseverance.
It was because of their selfl ess support that I managed to put together a short film on Indian poet and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s visits to China in the 1920s， a subject that was of personal interest to me. One of the highlights of the fi lm was an interview with a 90-year-old Chinese translator of Tagore’s works， Wu Yan， on a cold winter morning. His immense joy at our visit was uplifting and welcoming at the same time， something that I will treasure all my life. They were equally of massive help as we dug through layers of fi les and records at the archives and libraries to uncover a former temple of the Indian community of Sikhs in Shanghai that is now home to some Chinese families. The structure stands as a protected site， thanks to the local district government， which is aware of its role in history.
Both the film on Tagore， and the research on the gurdwara， the temple， involved a considerable amount of time—and money—and without any grants or funds， it was one big favor. Not once did they flinch. And for that， I will remain indebted forever.
A colleague even took on the role of nurse to help my wife translate inside the delivery room of a local maternity hospital as I waited impatiently for the arrival of my fi rstborn.
There are stories galore—many good， a few bad， others strange and some comical—all worthy of a memoir. In the end it is really all about developing interpersonal relationships. Being friends does help. The barriers had become the path， just as Tagore had wanted.
One day， when we do decide to pack up and head home it will seem like the end of a trance， with only memories to light up the evenings.
My China sojourn began in the summer of 1999—September 20 to be exact. It was supposed to last a couple of months， and as it happens to many of us， I ended up staying longer than I had planned to.
I fl ew into Shanghai’s Hongqiao Airport， less than a month before the modernistic Pudong International Airport opened its door to the world. It was a safe flight and I was looking forward to the new assignment， but a part of my baggage didn’t make the trip. After what seemed like an endless wait at the baggage carousel， I fi lled in the mandatory “lost luggage” form. Obviously， all this took some time， and the young Chinese HR staff member who had come to pick me up at the airport was both relieved and angry， only half listening to my explanations for the delay.
As we got into the car， I inquired about the hotel， and was told that we were headed to the offi ce， and not to the hotel！
That was a bit disconcerting. In those days， there were no direct flights from India. We had to transit through Bangkok， Hong Kong or Singapore to reach the Chinese mainland， a journey that would take almost 12 to 13 hours.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I checked into the hotel fi rst before going to the offi ce？” I tried to be brave.
“But you have nothing to check in！” was the prompt and honest reply.
I rolled down the car window and quietly stared at the city outside. Tired and hungry， doubts and fears slowly began to creep in. The hazy skyline only added to the desperation. Honestly， I couldn’t help thinking of all those stories about China that we read in the foreign press. Could it all be happening to me？
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The welcome I received at work helped to calm the initial jitters that follow you to a foreign land. In the following days， I was introduced to a China that I had never read or was remotely aware of. In the close to two decades of my time in Shanghai， I got to interact with the locals at every possible level—at work， while traveling， weddings， seminars， universities， hospitals， the marketplace and even funerals， with the language constraints a mighty lesson in patience and perseverance.
It was because of their selfl ess support that I managed to put together a short film on Indian poet and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s visits to China in the 1920s， a subject that was of personal interest to me. One of the highlights of the fi lm was an interview with a 90-year-old Chinese translator of Tagore’s works， Wu Yan， on a cold winter morning. His immense joy at our visit was uplifting and welcoming at the same time， something that I will treasure all my life. They were equally of massive help as we dug through layers of fi les and records at the archives and libraries to uncover a former temple of the Indian community of Sikhs in Shanghai that is now home to some Chinese families. The structure stands as a protected site， thanks to the local district government， which is aware of its role in history.
Both the film on Tagore， and the research on the gurdwara， the temple， involved a considerable amount of time—and money—and without any grants or funds， it was one big favor. Not once did they flinch. And for that， I will remain indebted forever.
A colleague even took on the role of nurse to help my wife translate inside the delivery room of a local maternity hospital as I waited impatiently for the arrival of my fi rstborn.
There are stories galore—many good， a few bad， others strange and some comical—all worthy of a memoir. In the end it is really all about developing interpersonal relationships. Being friends does help. The barriers had become the path， just as Tagore had wanted.
One day， when we do decide to pack up and head home it will seem like the end of a trance， with only memories to light up the evenings.