India is just so hard to deal with, man!" began the expat banker, "just all the chaos and the poverty".

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India is just so hard to deal with, man!" began the expat banker, "just all the chaos and the poverty".u00a0 Surrounding him were his subordinates, locally born and raised, ergo less verbose, not sure whether to refute that the generalisation was very late 80s or to be impressed by his accent that could be best described as Texas-meets-Dhaka.

The event was a multinational bank's quarterly gathering. A tragic thing that Human Resource tries to motivate with words like "go wild" or "come set the floor on fire." Usually, no lunacy or arson ensues. As global companies explode in size in India, especially in financial services and technology, they bring with them certain notions hitherto unknown in old corporate India--doing away with calling people "sir", speaking one's mind and having fun.

On that last point though, despite the best efforts of westernising employees, the following happens at parties: Technology professionals, all men, dance with each other, salwar kameez clad women with PhDs giggle at them, senior managers gossip about their staff and at some point, after much sweating to Vishal-Shekhar songs, someone, most often male, has to be carried home drooling. People look on in embarrassment as he declares love for a married colleague, thanks to one Officer's Choice peg too many.

There is, however, an entirely new demographic plopping themselves in the middle of these multinational gatherings. With the west's 12 per cent unemployment and 0 per cent growth, as people run out of work options, the New York andu00a0 London Indian thinks on his feet and asks to be moved to the only economy his firm sees hope in ufffdhis. "We are trying out India for a while, just for the experience. I mean, so many New York Times articles and stuff, you know," said our expat-accented banker from earlier. Another expat returnee whispered, "What he's not telling you is that his only other choice was being fired. So, when he says 'a while', he means, for good".

However comic the pretence might be, there is a sort of Arthur Miller tragedy embedded in the story of these professional hot shot corporate Indians, especially bankers, once gallivanting important world cities as important people, throwing down their Amex black cards, now having to show off their experiences to 20 year-old college students at some banquet hall in Malad.

As another expat banker who has been here a few years, explained: "If you bumped into these guys in London or New York, all their tastes, habits, movies and websites were Indian. From Crick-info to Shah Rukh to NDTV. All their friends were Indian. Once back, they need to differentiate. So, the accent, the random reference to a steak house, a New York bar, all out of nervousness."u00a0u00a0

"I don't watch Bollywood movies, so I don't recognise your stars or whatever. If you've gone to Harvard Business School and worked for the world's biggest investment bank, like I have, Bollywood's just cheesy man," continued the gent. "But sir," interrupted a brave new IIT hire unconcerned about seniority, "You were born in Bombay, no? And you left only in the 90s, so you must know Amitabh." Nothing would stop the confidence of new India. "No," said New York banker. And gulped.

At some point in the evening, as most parties go, a DJ with a one-word name like Bhoot or Khoon said something into a microphone which could not have been any anthropologically known language (Wanna see Guuuyyys ufffdEvrybodaaay gttn flooaaahhh rock it in the housaaahhhh sexiiieee).

It invariably led, as it always does everywhere in India and abroad, to songs from Karan Johar movies. Civil people suddenly become jubilant cavemen after harpooning prey.u00a0

As the perennial favourite Desi girl reached its crescendo, what began with a little leg move to a rhythm for Brioni jacket-wearing Harvard Business School man, ended up with him rolling on the floor, swinging jacket over his head (a la Jackie Shroff), a circle of interns dancing around him, doing what could best be described as part-Bhangra, part-housekeeping.u00a0u00a0

The message was clear. New India's arms were outstretched. If you could just be yourself, everyone was welcome home.

Anuvab Pal is a Mumbai-based playwright and screenwriter. His plays in Mumbai include Chaos Theory and screenplays for Loins of Punjab Presents (co-written) and The President is Coming. He is currently working on a book on the Bollywood film Disco Dancer for Harper Collins, out later this year. Reach him at www.anuvabpal.com

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