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It was in the dark room of our home in Punjab’s Daroli Khurd village where I was midwifed into this world.
I grew up hearing the light-bearing tales and fables of Punjab’s haloed warriors, freedom fighters and sportsmen. We had started living in Patiala by the time our farmers too had sort of joined the ‘celebrity league’ for ushering in the green revolution.
However, the common thread running through these legends showed itself to me only after I reached Lancashire, England. I was there in the mid-1990s to pursue a master’s degree in business, after completing my undergraduate degree in computer science, which was followed by a couple of years of work in Dilli.
In England, I met legions of Punjabis (Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims) who had arrived in their much cherished Vilayat in the 1950s and 60s to work in the cotton mills—once the pride of Britain. The majority of them now faced the challenge of finding a job. The resulting crisis of financial distress and low self-esteem was proving to be a fertile ground for sprouting the social and addiction problems I saw in abundance.
Except for the urban post-millennials (Generation Z)—maybe—who in Punjab doesn’t remember the glowing aura these Vilayatis carried in the land not too long ago? Their presence in the village, street or neighborhood was synonymous with Mauja hi Mauja!
But when their career and economic situation became tough in the meman-di-land, they, in actual fact, had nothing more than their tall and handsome physiques, and physical bravery to offer—the same attributes that had catapulted the heroes of the light-bearing, myth-like stories.
Undoubtedly and unfortunately, it was not only in the time of Tennyson, but even then, that the old order was yielding its place to the new. These physical talents were no longer an asset for them to earn an honourable living and a dignified life.
What began as a trickle soon became a creek, and then a river. These newly arrived ‘e-pilgrims’ in America were IT—overwhelmingly software—workers.
While Punjabis remained busy finding reliable Aagants and arranging large sums of money somehow (illegally) to place foot in Amrika, American companies were busy convincing software techs in Bangalore and Hyderabad why they should join them and not their competitors.
Limousines were sent to pick them up from the airports. Hotel stays were arranged and provided for, for the first two weeks or more, as temporary living quarters. Other needs were catered to as well including classes in American English and cultural familiarity.
I know that what you read nowadays about H1B’s is far different from this glorious account. Yes, that is so over, and so much more over now than when the dot-com obsession was around. It started to fade in 2000. Then it simply disappeared after the 9/11 tragedy. Nevertheless, for the IT industry and the Indians, in hindsight, it was just a cyclical trough. They were back in demand as the US economy began to reboot after several months of downtime.
The internet became ubiquitous. The entrepreneurs and visionaries in the US kept working to create applications, packages, products and platforms around the internet that changed how entities interact, communicate and transact business.
It was my second job after returning from England. The first one was in Bangalore. Over two decades, I have done thousands of H1Bs and green cards and know a thing or two about them. First, all the problems are not just because of Trump (although I only feel happy when he is blamed for them).
The Trump regime is happily implementing further changes through memos and interim regulations.
Individuals still carry the worker mindset. Brought up in India on an overdose of the “silence is golden” principle, they are struggling to add value in the current agile environment, where communication and punctuality carry premiums.
Notwithstanding their claims to the contrary, the much-respected and admired Indian software companies are still largely “body shopping boutiques”. I say “largely” only out of my love for them.
I have nothing against their hunger to create land banks for robust share value, but they should have shown the same jugaadbaji (innovation) in creating products, applications, platforms, and a culture of creativity and innovation.
Nonetheless, I wholeheartedly lend my voice to their 2020 resolution: Trump Bin, Acche Din!
(Charanjeet Minhas is a Delaware resident and Founder and CEO of Tekstrom, Inc, a 25-year-old software company. He is also the founder and chairman of Delaware Sikh Awareness Coalition (DSAC). This is a personal blog and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)
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