& çâÌæÚUæð´ ·¤è ¥ôÚU Îð¹Ùæ ÁæÚUè ÚU¹ð´ ¥ÍæüÌ ¥ÂÙð ÜÿØ ÂÚU ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´Ð ãæÚU Ù ×æÙð´, €UØô´ç·¤ ·¤æ× ·¤ÚUÙð âð ¥æÂ·¤ô ©gðàØ ·¤è Âýæç# ãôÌè ãñ ¥õÚU ÁèßÙ ·¤æ ¹æÜèÂÙ ÎêÚU ãôÌæ ãñÐ ÖÜð ãè ÁèßÙ ×ð´ ç·¤ÌÙè Öè ·¤çÆÙæ§ü €UØô´ Ù ¥æ°, çÁ™ææâæ ¥õÚU ©ˆâæã ÕÙæ° ÚU¹ð´Ð ŠØæÙ ÚU¹ð´, ÜÿØ ã×ðàææ ¥æÂ·Ô¤ Âæâ ãôÌð ãñ´ çÁ‹ãð´ ÂæÙð ·Ô¤ çÜ° ÂýØæâ ¥æÂ ·¤Öè Öè àæéM¤ ·¤ÚU â·¤Ìð ãñ´Ð

HIROSHIMA

The Other Americans

MANOSH CHOWDHURY
The document the immigration officer handed me at San Francisco airport in February of this year started: 'The United States has a proud tradition of welcoming immigrants and visitors...' It further said that I had to inform them of my departure every time I visited the US in the future in order to 'ensure the safety of all persons in the United States-citizens, residents, and visitors as well.' Then I signed a paper whereby state authorities could stop, question and arrest me anywhere if they found it necessary. What a welcome, I thought as I ran to board the connecting flight to Orlando, signing away my rights! Here I was, an academic with an invitation letter from an American uni-versity--and a non-Muslim!--and yet.
My conference ( the annual one on film and literature at Florida State University) was in Tallahassee. I had to write a note explaining it. I must have not written it well, because I had to explain it again to a group of immigration officers. For the next ninety minutes I had an insider's view of the 'special' immigration process that Americans now reserve for visitors from certain parts of the world. On my very first visit to America!
After a night bus ride from Orlando to Tallahassee I found the hotel nearby designated for conference attendees. I didn't feel sleepy. I managed to connect to the Web through the hotel LAN-cable and felt a sense of liberation: Ah, the delights of modern communication! I immediately sent an e-mail to the organizers, and almost immediately got a reply from Amit Rai of the English department at FSU asking me to have lunch with him. Amit's mail was more than mere courtesy since he was working under tremendous pressure as one of the seminar organizers. He also had to take a couple of classes that very day. But Amit--a bearded man in his late 30s' sitting surrounded by books--warmly welcomed me into his office. He was playing a Hindi gazal was on his PC, which was followed by a jazz-piece. 'That's my taste,' Amit explained. A poster of Shammi Kapur was pinned behind the door.
He was now researching broadly on Indian cinema, as well as specifically on Bhopal. It was exciting to see a literature professor working on cinema, something quite different from the way
Bangladeshi academia thought. Talking with Melissa, one of Amit's graduate students, about her research I wondered how Subrata Augustine Gomes could be so unnoticed in our universities, especially with his translations and work on Charjapod ! 'So, how do you manage to mix your interests in Indian cinema and Bhopal?' I asked Amit, thinking of course about the tragedy. 'It's very simple. I am doing kind of historical work on a cinema hall in Bhopal.' Amit's family had immigrated from Bhopal to New York when he had been a child. He had gotten his PhD from Stanford University and taught at New York University before coming to FSU. He told me all this while driving to his favorite foodshop, after first asking me if I had any problem with vegetarian foods. I did not.
The food-shop was a fairly old, little house with a wooden sign hanging on the door, crowded at lunch time. The owner's family was Brazilian Vaishnab.
'You mean Iskon campaigners?' I asked (Iskon stood for International Society for Krishna Consciousness, better known as the Hare Krishna movement). 'So you know about them?' 'Of course. How can I be ignorant about them?' Most of the diners were university faculty members. Some popular Indian drawings of Krishna-in-Gokul and Krishna-in-Vrindabana on the walls. Amit smiled when he saw me looking at them. The food--rice, dal, spinach, bara, vegetable--tasted very Indian and delicious. Amit told me about his life in USA, about FSU. About how he got married to Sarah, a woman of Pakistani origin he had met in New York, and their little daughter Afia of 22 months. At the counter the Brazilian shop-owner, wearing a tulsi mala, chatted with Amit before we left.
'So this is what is left of Florida hippie lifestyle?' I asked as we walked to the car park.
'Yes, it is,' Amit answered grinning.
'It gives me a kind of strange feeling, seeing this so far from home, and only read about in books.'
'I do understand what you mean.' 'One question, Amit. Don't they have problems with the state structure?'
'White hippies have no problem,' Amit said carefully.
'I guessed that.' Empty streets, with just cars. Amit was in a hurry for his class.
'But one thing you can be sure of
in Tallahassee.' 'What's that?' 'These people are exclusively anti-Bush and anti-Republican.' I started laughing and Amit continued, 'They consistently vote Democrat.'
'The limit of their political actions.'
'Yes. You're right. The limit.' The first session of the conference was about race in the films. Two of the three presenters were black. A fascinating paper was about how black campuses were being portrayed in the recent films. Later in the evening two documentaries by Alan Rosenthal, considered an important documentary-maker these days, were screened. The first one was on Palestinian issue, while the last one on the antiSemitic doctrine in the Nazi movements, a juxtaposition that was a little discomforting. Especially against the backdrop of overt Western support to the Zionist state. Though I was very interested in listening, I simply couldn't keep my eyes open. So, unhappy, I left the hall for my hotel room.
The big occasion was the next day. Almost twenty different panels along with the speech by Prof. Hamid Naficy from Rice University, a guru of contemporary film studies, followed by a reception party in the evening. Four presenters from South Asia crowded in a single panel, which I couldn't resist telling the organizers later was an "area studies" framework not used for any other region except South Asia and Middle East. However, next morning only the panel chair Tamara, a faculty member of archaeology at FSU, turned up. Bev Curran, an energetic Canadian professor working in Japan, came to boost me up. Amit also came. The discussion afterwards was fascinating, though conducted loosely since other presenters had not turned up.
'So you maintain that any local film genre is obviously global to some extent?' someone asked. 'Yes I do. Especially if we consider the contemporary processes of visual production.' We talked about different things. About why I didn't feel that, even with the enormous influence, Indian cinema couldn't be compared with Bangladeshi cinema. About the significance of having a diasporic perspective and a defined viewership that Indian cinema is celebrating these days, not only in terms of the specific codes but also in mate-
rial terms the emerging consumer around the globe. Amit was from India, Tamara's specialization was largely on the temples of India, Bev had a deep interest in sub-continental issues.
'So this is your first presentation in the US?" Tamara asked me. 'Yes, my first presentation in English too."
'So how do you feel?' 'Your conference is on trans/nationalism. I would feel more comfortable if it was on US nationalism." I had told them earlier about my experience with airport immigration. The best they could do was to laugh. And they did.
Later I was overwhelmed with Prof. Naficy's speech, given to a full auditorium. His main point was that it was wrong to label as 'marginal' films made by diasporic populations since they had their own, unique 'accents.' At the reception later I met Sarah, Amit's wife. She talked to me as if we knew each other for years. And within a few minutes asked me if I wanted to go out to a faculty party. We chatted as she drove. After finding the house, we went inside. Her friends were very welcoming and warm, even though I was a newcomer to their party.
The host offered me gin and tonic. I talked with his partner Helen. I also chatted with Karen. 'So when did you come in US?' she asked as others listened. 'Yesterday.'
'You mean you arrived here yesterday?'
'Yes.' Sarah smiled.
'How can it be? You look as if you're familiar with the US.' 'Yes, I am. Very simple. I know your lifestyle. To me it is global.' 'C'mon, this is Florida. There are other parts of America. And we have different lifestyles even among the Florida people, too.' 'I know that. Still, this is my position.'
'How long are you here?' 'I leave tomorrow.' 'Tomorrow? Why were you here?'
'To attend the conference ... or maybe to see you all.'
'You are going tomorrow This
is too bad.'
'Not really.'
A brief silence. And then they invited me to come again. I said I would. These were the other Americans, open-minded and kind, who I knew were sincere about their invitation.
Manosh Chowdhury is currently at the Institute of Development and Cooperation in Hidagi-Hiroshima, Japan.