Being an Indian living in Australia, I often hear curious questions from friends and family back home.
“Do you see kangaroos on your way to work?”
“Do you know how to bargain?”
And my most favourite,
“How do you say no?”
Since someone would want an Aussie to show how they say “no” because it’s not just a word – it’s an experience. Aussies have mastered the art of turning a simple “no” into the dramatic, drawn-out “naur,” complete with a dip in tone and a slight upward inflection at the end.
@maddy_macrae_ Replying to @gdamnsam naur we don’t say it like that 🥹 #comedy #skit #sketch #australia #aussie #australian #naur #cleothecondensation ♬ original sound – Maddy
The fascination with Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) is real. But let me spill the chai on what life of an NRI is actually like – or at least what some stereotypes say.
The day starts with a phone alarm playing Lata Mangeshkar’s golden hits because apparently, we NRIs are more Indian than Indians in India. We then perform a dramatic mental battle: Should I make my avocado toast Instagram-worthy or stick to the ever-reliable paratha and achaar? (Spoiler: It’s paratha. Always paratha.)
Next up is wardrobe selection. The stereotype insists that we live in a perpetual “diaspora identity crisis.” Do I wear the crisp kurta to prove I haven’t forgotten my roots or a chic blazer to flaunt my integration? Sometimes, I mix them up and wear a kurta with sneakers because “fusion” is my brand.
Post-work, it’s time for every NRI’s favorite pilgrimage: the Indian grocery store. Here, I pay almost $10 for a packet of Maggi and pretend not to care. It’s a small price to pay for nostalgia. On the way home, I inevitably receive a WhatsApp forward from an uncle back home advising me what sorts of water I should drink before I brush my teeth or what I should do for constipation relief. Thanks, Uncle. I’ll think about it after my second helping of overpriced maggi.
Weekends are when we truly embrace our NRI identities. If we’re not attending a week-long wedding, we’re on WhatsApp video calls with our relatives, explaining for the millionth time why we haven’t bought property yet. (Because house prices in Sydney require selling a kidney, Ma!)
Truth be told, being an NRI isn’t just about blending cultures or living up to cinematic expectations. It’s about cherishing little things – like the joy of finding garam masala in Woolworths or teaching your Aussie friends how to say “jalebi” correctly. (Hint: It’s not “Jelly-bee.”)
One of the great burdens in the life of an NRI is living with linguistic redundancies like “chai-tea” and “naan-bread.” Both phrases mean the same thing twice over, but that doesn’t stop their rampant misuse. Imagine explaining to someone that “chai” already means tea or that “naan” doesn’t need a bread suffix, only to hear, “Oh, that’s so exotic!” At this point, I just nod and move on with my life because at the end of the day, “Sanu ki!”
So, the next time someone imagines us as saree-wearing, curry-cooking, IT-working, cricket-obsessed caricatures, I say, let’s lean into it. Because if there’s one thing NRIs excel at, it’s turning every stereotype into an entertaining story – much like this satirical take on the life of an NRI.
READ MORE HERE: Our Favourite NRIs in Bollywood
