In Arundhati Roy’s book Mother Mary Comes To Me, which I am now reading, she writes this in response to the question where she is from:

“The more our world fractures into dagger-shaped shards, the more we club each other to death with our genes, our gods, our flags, our languages, the colour of our skin, the purity of our roots, our histories both true and false — the more my answer to that question remains the same. I am here now.”

I am here now too. Having said that, here’s something amusing that happened to me in recent times regarding where I am from.

One day, a few months back, a pretty young woman struck up a conversation with me while waiting in the queue, at the Trivandrum domestic airport, the washroom there, of all places.

“Long queue, eh?” she said.

“Yeah. There are only two stalls at this end. Two more at the farthest end,” I replied.

[This is my cue to start ranting about the injustice, how women’s washrooms have fewer stalls whether it be malls or airports or wherever, and the resultant long queues. I didn’t want to burden her with my problems with society, so I kept mum, keeping it all for my blog]

“Is it so?” she countered. This was obviously her first visit down south. Out of the blue she then proceeded to ask me,

“Are you a Punjabi?” (She meant if I am from the state of Punjab the state north-west of India, for those not familiar with the geography.)

The look on my face was one of genuine surprise. I have been asked many things (about who I am, religion-wise, and where I am from, state-wise), but none so far have asked me if I am specifically from that particular region. In my mind Punjabis are these tall people and my stature just doesn’t fit the bill. I mean, there are always exceptions, but still…

On hearing her, my mind went into overdrive recalling all the Punjabis I knew, and believe me, I knew/know quite a few. You see, the place I moved to right after marriage in the early eighties, was Punjab. The L&M belonged to the Sikh Regiment of the army and that meant I hobnobbed with more Punjabis than you could shake a stick at.

I was mystified as to which part of my five-feet nothing self, closely cropped unruly hair, the corduroy trousers and tunic I was in, the make-up-less mug, the well-worn pair of shoes on my feet, and/or my accent (south-Indian according to “experts”) she found ‘Punjabi’. Could it be that I merely resembled someone she knew? In the meantime, I replied, with a big smile,

“No, I am a true blue Malayali from Kerala.”

“Oh! But you look like a Punjabi!” she insisted smiling right back.

A pause, and then she followed it up with,

“I am engaged to a Punjabi guy, you know! And you look like those in his family. That’s the reason I asked.”

“Ahhh…” was my noncommittal reply even as my brain tried to imagine this family with people like me as its members. Interesting.

She became chatty after that and more of her story followed. She herself was from Gujarat and he from Punjab. They fell in love. The family eventually agreed, and now they were to get married by the end of the year.

Just about then a stall got vacant and she waved me ahead. Apparently, she had only been waiting for someone who was using the washroom. Bummer, though. I didn’t get to find out if her beau’s family was there as well. What?!!! You can’t blame really me. I was more curious than the proverbial cat to see this Punjabi family that I seemed to fit in according to my new friend.

No. The story is not over. Not yet.

On my recent trip to Belgrade, I was waiting for my bags at the Nikola Tesla airport. There was a fidgety middle-aged man standing nearby. He appeared impatient to collect his bags and be on his way.

“It was not that big a plane,” he remarked to me waving his hand at the luggage carousel, “and yet look at the number of bags it seemed to hold!”

Mr. Impatient-but-cheerful-Man checked with me to make sure he was indeed at the right luggage belt. I assured him the bags were indeed from the right flight. He is from Israel, he told me conversationally, and to that I replied politely that I am from India. And then, just like that, he turned to me and asked,

“Are you a Punjabi?”

Two people in the span of a few months. What are the odds? I am now well and truly perplexed. 🤔

©️ Shail Mohan 2025