NRIs have been in the news, thanks to the Pravasi Divas coinciding with the season when these migratory birds touch home base. Scanning through the agendas of the conference, I thought of the thousands of NRIs who are not even aware of the jargon of processes and patterns they are components of such as transitional migration, cultural assimilation and identities. In Britain, one still sees the ‘Bhatras’, the Indian version of the carpet baggers. They were primarily large groups of Sikhs, who went with trinkets, lentils, spices, silk threads, quaint buttons etc. In that period, the media coverage, exposure and interaction were minimal. To the average public person in Britain, India was a distant land of snakes and fortune tellers. These Sikh gentlemen were an awesome spectacle for an average Englishman, as they moved around with large colourful bags which began to be called ‘‘baggas’’ in their dialect. They would ring doorbells, sell their quaint little products and do a bit of fortune telling. ‘‘I see one tall, goodlooking man coming in your life, etc.’’, to the delight of Englishwomen, particularly in the post-war period, when there was a dearth of young men. As their pennies accumulated to create oceans of pounds, they would get their families to sail across to England. The succeeding generations of the early fortune tellers are still thriving in England. They were typically English in speech and approach, except for their apparel and names like ‘Satwinda’ (Satwinder), ‘Davinda’ (Davinder) etc.I would never have known about this community if it were not for a very interesting encounter during our stay in England. My husband was on a sabbatical and I was doing my research at the University of Manchester. As part of my research work, I had to interview women municipal councillors. I was to interview one Dame Mobel Tylecote. I reached her house and rang the door bell. She peeped out and saw us both (my husband was with me) and grimaced. Then she opened the door and screamed, ‘‘Go away, just go away, I don’t want anything’’. She looked particularly at my bewildered spouse, who had merely accompanied me. I explained to her that I was a student from Manchester University, who had come to interview her. She was relieved. ‘‘Oh thank God. I thought he was one of those terrible fellows, who sell charms and dreams’’. I realised then that this turbaned sardar with a bag slung across his shoulder had been mistaken for a ‘‘Bhatra’’.On our way back, we were wondering whether her perturbed reaction was because some fortune teller had predicted a romance that went awry. The lighter side of this was the confusion of identity. At least on alien soil, a bureaucrat had been credited with selling pleasant dreams!
