Opus

I went out the other night to a nightclub called "Opus" with the son of Visthar's director -- he is from Bangalore, but going to college in the US. Opus was, by and large, one of those very striking “globalized” sorts of places. Of course, Opus' only claim to actually being an opus was the extensive tribute it seemed to be making towards western culture. It was lovely, and weirdly familiar. There was supposed to have been an acoustic band playing, but when we got there, “Smack That” was on the loudspeakers and the place was full with girls in impossibly tights jeans and tank tops and poofy hair and makeup and looking very much like they were sitting down at Cabaret West in Des Moines, Iowa. The place was designed as a courtyard, white rocks on the ground shown off by white rope lights and tables built low, so the under-25 crowd could drape themselves over the cushions on the floor. It was gorgeous; it was mood lit; the band was singing “Free Falling” and drinking Red Bull. Incidentally, one of the guys we were with is employed by Red Bull to go around to parties with cute girls (this is key) and to hand out Red Bull to revelers. I had to laugh… the whole thing felt totally natural, in the sort of way that I only felt uncomfortable in that a) I was the only one wearing a kurthi top, and b) I was skewing the age demographic, up.

But on the way home, I started to find myself frustrated by the evening, this most American of evenings—why didn’t we just stop at Perkins on the way home and get it over with? What is the worth in coming halfway around the world just to revel in the things that are most familiar? I was working myself into the rant about why we of the West immediately cling to those things most Western... But then, a realization: Can I really lay claim to the Opus experience as “Western” anymore? At what point does culture leave the confines of its origin and become global? The kids there were certainly not dabbling in a foreign experience, and just because we arrived at the door in an autorickshaw does not mean that Tom Petty was inaccessible to them. Honestly, there was more in common between me and the kids at Opus than the kids at Opus and the people who grew up in the slums nearby. I was reminded of dinner, only a few weeks ago in West Des Moines—a few girls were sitting around at Simo’s, the Cajun restaurant, drinking margaritas and complimenting each other. One girl had on a kurthi, not unlike the one I wore to Opus – she got it at TJ Maxx, the discount chain, because “Indian clothes are all over right now, they’re really popular.” I have never been a fashion maven (which is why I have Kathleen vet so many of my outfits), but, really? Think about the confusion of a system when you can wear a kurthi to a West Des Moines bar but not to a bar in Bangalore.

So, today’s thoughts: Is this “global culture” merely an exchange of ideas by the rich? And is this global culture actually global, or rather a process of dominant societies impressing their own traditions and culture upon another while co-opting the “pretties” of the culture they are assimilating?