By Ravi s. narasimhan
India, revelling in its new-found economic might, came up with
what I thought was a catchy slogan at this year's World Economic
Forum summit in Davos: India Everywhere.
Of course, it knows China is everywhere, and got there earlier;
and comparisons - however odious - cannot be avoided.
But it is trying to catch up, and last weekend's Made-in-India
show in Beijing was but one of the many instances of increasing
trade and economic interaction between the neighbors as bilateral
trade booms.
I came upon this growing Sino-Indian equation last week in the
form of a poignant story: a teenager killed in blasts that rocked a
western Indian textile town.
A life cut down in its prime, his parents lamented. He was
studious, smart and the light of their lives. Everything to live
for, with a great future beckoning.
His immediate future: To come to China and study medicine.
Chinese medical degrees are not recognized in India, but that
hasn't stopped hundreds of students - and their parents - from
betting they will be.
This is particularly true in my province, in southern India,
where newspapers regularly carry classified ads on medical courses
offered in Tianjin, Henan, Hubei and Jiangsu among other
places.
But medical degrees are but one small attraction for
Indians.
It wasn't long ago (when I was living in Singapore) that my
compatriots would ask me if Chinese really drank snake blood (true,
I think) or ate monkey brains (don't know in China, but I heard
some Chinese do in Malaysia). The literary types would ask if women
bound their feet to make them tiny. I, the seasoned traveler, would
disabuse (or, abuse?) them of their notions.
It was, however, during a recent trip to India that I was
disabused of what I thought were my countrymen's notions of
China.
At a table for four during dinner at (what passed for) the
town's only club, my brother - who lives in the United States and
loves Chinese food - was the only one who hadn't been to the
country.
In what I thought was my small town (like Malegaon, which
suffered the horrific blasts last week), the two others at the
table had visited at least once. And they pointed to a friend at
the next table who visits Guangzhou thrice a year to buy furniture
and said he could get by in Cantonese.
During the same trip, a classmate from school told me he spent
three days getting to Beijing from Shanghai. Since I knew he was at
least rich enough to fly business class, I naively asked why. The
venture capitalist had traveled in a convoy of luxury cars,
stopping at good hotels along the way, checking out power
plants.
In the past few years, Indians have become familiar with TCL and
Haier, and particularly Lenovo, but the degree of familiarity
caught me offguard.
But familiarity can be a two-way street, as I have also
discovered.
More than four years ago, when I first came to China, I divided
its citizens into two groups. There were those in their 40s and
older, who could hum (and many sing) the theme song of Awaara, a
hit Indian film, which apparently had been seen by everyone of that
generation. The other, younger group would - gently disparagingly -
talk about the running-round-the-trees musicals while fulsome in
their praise for big-eyed Indian beauties who routinely seemed to
win international beauty contests.
Now, they all talk knowingly about TCS or Infosys or Wipro (for
Luddites, they are among the top Indian IT firms making billions of
dollars and have a strong presence in China).
The Shenzhen government, for example, is reported to have sent
about 1,000 of its employees to Bangalore, India's Silicon Valley,
to pep up their technology skills.
Almost imperceptibly, mutual perceptions are changing.
A leading Indian newspaper reported recently that the Indian
foreign ministry had sent a stern letter to all provincial and city
governments as well as state-owned enterprises to clear with it all
"study trips" to China. The reason, the report said, the Chinese
hosts were overwhelmed by the rush - and, in typical Chinese style,
worried about their responsibilities as hosts.
The Chinese, as hosts, have welcomed me right from the China
Daily gate. When a senior Chinese colleague from Hong Kong and
I came to Beijing a few years ago, the guard at the gate would
almost always stop him. Never me.
You're one of 1.3 billion, and I'm unique, I would tease him -
how can he readily recognize you?
The worry is, I believe more than one Indian is joining
China Daily - and I won't be unique anymore.
Just like China in India.
(China Daily September 13, 2006)
