Amrit Chima
Daniel warned me that the diversity I had taken so much for granted while living in Manhattan and the Bay Area was almost nonexistent in Hungary. It’s true. My first time in Budapest in 2007, after a full week of exploring the city, I finally saw one black person turn a corner, and despite all my worldly exposure, I gaped.
But this time, only an hour in Hungary, I encountered Dalbir.
On the ride home from Budapest Ferihegy Airport, his larger-than-life billboard image emerged from behind a dismal-looking apartment complex on the city’s outskirts. I have since seen him a dozen more times throughout Budapest. He wears a bright orange turban, a well-fitting executive suit, and a roguish smile while pointing at the Budapest Bank slogan, “Szeretem a bankom.” I love my bank. Appearing somewhat airbrushed, sharp and clean-cut enough so as to still be acceptably different in this predominantly white country, Dalbir—the Indian Sikh—tries to convince the general public that Budapest Bank is the bank for Hungarians.
Dalbir’s Two Television Commercials:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8xOtskttrA&feature=player_embedded
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxneJ0zm0Yw
It’s been a challenge to unearth information about Budapest Bank’s reasoning behind their choice of spokesperson. One new acquaintance said that it was a social experiment to demonstrate that Hungarians are not racist. The alternatives were a Fin and a Spaniard, but the overwhelming vote was for Dalbir.
And I’ve also seen a Chinese man modeling clothes in a storefront poster, a token next to the other three white models, posing confidently and with a dour expression meant to convey his sex appeal. So I was not surprised then when I saw an Asian woman, flesh and blood, walk into a gyro eatery. It’s not exactly a melting pot, but perhaps it’s getting there—slowly.
Surprises
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Billboard of Dalbir, the new spokesperson for Budapest Bank
An entire aisle of herbal remedies: Patients come to this store after their doctors recommend the best combination of herbs to quell or lighten the pain of their ailments.
Eye-openers abound. One of the aspects of U.S. living I believed I would miss most is access to healthy food. Yet our first grocery-shopping outing was to a market that sells primarily organic and chemical-free products: fruits and veggies, toiletries and cleaning supplies, coconut oil, Himalayan salt, herbal remedies for various ailments, and vitamins. I learned from the produce lady that in addition to nurturing the natural interrelationships between soil, plants, and animals, some biodynamic farmers in Hungary also meditate, requesting that the universe infuse their crops with good energy.
Hmmm...
At least their intentions are pure. It harms nothing to make a request for good energy. Governmentally regulated definitions, particularly of "organic", allow for some contamination. In the U.S., where organic means ninety-five percent untainted, a five percent margin is left for pesticide and chemical use. Would you drink a clean, pure glass of water with only five percent of crude oil in it? (I read that somewhere.) Not so pure anymore. I’m definitely open to trying fruits and vegetables imbued with the good energy of meditating farmers.
There were, of course, exceptions to the store’s organic stock: some candies and familiar bottled drinks, like Arizona brand teas. Most notably, they sold Kentucky Moonshine Whisky Painmaker BBQ Sauce. Why am I only now just finding out about this?
Painmaker BBQ Sauce
