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 neighbours 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
traveller, 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 travelled 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.
Email: ravi@chinadaily.com.cn
