Stories of my life – some. – Page 40

I didn’t have many culture ‘shocks’ when I first came to this country, more like culture ‘surprises’! I was surprised (well, that maybe an understatement) when Sean’s three big, huge brothers enveloped me in a bear hug to welcome me into their family. Keep in mind, I came from a land where we didn’t touch, we folded our hands in namaste and greeted others. I came from India, that too mid-nineties India. Not only did we not touch, we didn’t hug MEN, unknown men at that! Goodness! So when the brothers gave me welcome hugs, I was culture surprised! Looked up at Sean to see him smiling benignly at the scene. When we had a moment together, I hissed ‘What was that all about? Why did your brothers hug me?’ ‘They were just welcoming you to the family! That’s how we do it here!’He tried to soothe me. A little tutorial before meeting his family would have been helpful, but that was obviously overlooked by my fiance. No matter, I learnt in due course, now I go back home and try to hug friends to show my love and feel them stiffen!

Another instance of surprise was when we took shelter from torrential down pour, under the awning of Baja Beach Club and peeked in to see what was going on inside. People were trying creative ways to drink shooters aided by scantily dressed buxom beauties. That experience could be qualified as culture shock and not mere surprise but we are not going into nitty-gritties here. Then there was my first Gay and Lesbian Pride Parade in Central Park in New York. Hmmm, I forget if that was surprise or shock. Just remember gorgeous men and women wearing very little clothing or no clothing.

My big issue, as a new comer, was the heavy, Baltimorean accent. I could not, for the life of me, understand a word that was being said! And here I was, a person who took pride in knowing a foreign language so well! I was in for a rude awakening. There was a really nice young instructor in the gym we went to. Gary, the instructor, was a nice man with a heavy, heavy Baltimorean accent. He took a liking to me right away since I was from India and he loved Indian food! He tried to engage me in a conversation whenever he could. After a few ‘I beg your pardon’s (I was very formal those days and spoke the Queen’s English), I looked at Sean to translate. Sean, fortunately, understood my predicament and rose to the occasion. He learnt to read the utter incomprehension in my face and jumped in to rescue me. Despite his help, I felt like a complete idiot! It became so bad that I didn’t dare go to the gym if Sean wasn’t with me! And if I did, and Gary was around, I tried not to meet his eye! It was very embarrassing. Poor Gary! And poor me!!!

Talking about the gym, I must mention another culture ‘surprise’! Sean went to exercise and I went to pretend to exercise but primarily to hang out with my husband. Newly married and all. I noticed, the men who exercised there hardly ever looked at me! What’s up with that? Here was a cute, young woman (I was kind of cute and definitely young) working out next to them and not a single, stolen glance! That didn’t bode very well for my ego. Sean got a lot of stares, and this I noticed! Finally, I asked him ‘Why do the men ogle you and not look at me?’ ‘Because they are gay!’ He answered. Oh, the joy! Phew!! I was just not the right gender. I was ok with that! We lived in a predominantly gay neighborhood, and I never felt so safe living in crime infested Bawlmore. Sean got a few cat calls from time to time, but me? Never! I could walk home from work late at night without a worry. It was great!

In a few months, I got a job as a guest coordinator in a hotel in downtown Baltimore. Things were getting better, I was beginning to break the code of Baltimorean English till bam…..telephone conversations!!! I had to frequently talk to guests on the phone and the thought of phone conversation was enough for me to break out into a cold sweat! I tried to avoid picking up phones, hoping my colleagues would take pity. But they yelled ‘ANSWER THE PHONE!’ I still cringe remembering how many times I had to say, ‘I am sorry, could you please say that again?’

Since, I still didn’t understand what my colleagues were saying when they spoke fast, I kept to myself and didn’t contribute much. One nice lady asked why I was so quiet! I smiled but another lady answered for me. And I am NOT JOKING, this is exactly what she said, ‘Well of course, she is quiet, because where she comes from, if she makes too much noise, the tiger will know where she is and come and get her!’ I didn’t think she was joking but hopefully, she was! Remember, all this happened about 14 years ago, when people didn’t have much idea about ‘incredible India!’

Around that time, when I was trying to understand my fellow humans, I went into a store to buy some stuff. Probably cough lozenges, I was addicted to those! The cashier, a young man, said something to me jokingly. Of course, I didn’t get the joke because I didn’t understand anything that he said! So I asked, ‘Ummmm, beg your pardon!’ he said it again, I failed to comprehend, yet again. This time I said, ‘I am sorry, I didn’t understand your accent!’ The man must have felt irritated about me not getting his hilarious joke, he said this loudly and clearly, ‘Lady, I don’t have an accent. You do!’ He was right.

The irony is, now I talk like Americans, gone is my Queen’s English. But my Indian friends get somewhat frustrated about this, ‘Gosh, you put on such an accent! Talk normally!’ This is now normal, or I have forgotten what is ‘normal!’ Looks like I simply can’t win!

A very, very dear friend came from the State side to visit us in India. Whenever guests came from outside of India, the first thing we did was to grab them and take them to Varanasi! We felt one needed to see, sense and feel Varanasi if they really wanted to experience India. Most of the times we didn’t give them a choice. ‘Ok, this is where we are going folks! Pack your bag!’ ‘But how about Agra, the Taj?’ they sometimes tentatively ventured! ‘Later, maybe!’ we firmly retorted, and headed for the airport! Jeez, weren’t we in charge of taking them around and planning their vacation? In the chaotic land of India, we were their sole life line to navigate the traffic, the shopping and bargaining, the public transport, the beggars. We were in complete control of their itenerary and time! Wow, feel the power?

Anyway, our friend was very interested in seeing Varanasi so we didn’t have to coerce him to go. We stayed in a little bed and breakfast called Ganges View on Assi Ghat! That place is a real treasure, friends, if any of you are planning a trip to Varanasi! We were having a delightful stay and a simply wonderful visit. We woke up before the sun came up and sailed along the river Ganga watching the sunrise and seeing the city come to life. Walked along the ghats taking in the peace, serenity and timelessness of Varanasi. We trudged along the narrow lanes and by lanes of the ancient city, dodging the holy cows and holy cow dungs, little boys playing cricket, peeking in the houses to see what the inside looked like. So wrong, I know! Salivating in front of the sweet shops and tea stalls, looking at the temple of Vishwanath with reverence (we didn’t go in since Sean and our friend weren’t allowed in, being non-hindu) where the widows came to beg, sing songs and try to make a living. Serenity and peace juxtaposed with sadness and poverty. But such is life.

Everything was going great till some pesky foreigners, attired in Indian clothes, came and brought confusion and chaos. The sleepy, little bed and breakfast became a hub of activity, all of a sudden. The owner, who was taking very good care of us, forgot to ask us every two hours, if we were doing ok, or if we needed something. He seemed preoccupied with those foreigners wearing saffron dhotis and saffron sarees. In the evenings, they would play the harmonium and sing songs, accompanied by tabla. My husband and friend kept whispering something about a certain individual resembling Sting. I didn’t pay much attention. Just told them it was bad manners to stare when they were staring! One evening, I was enjoying a beautiful sunset over the Ganges, from the balcony, the B&B owner came to me and asked very politely if dinner at 9 would suit us since Sting wanted to have dinner at that time. I shrugged and said ‘That’s fine!’ When my husband and friend came back I informed them we were having dinner at 9. At dinner time, we were passing the dal and vegetables with these, very polite foreigners, who I still considered pesky and wished them gone. The conversation between my husband and our friend went like this ‘Gosh, I swear that guy looks like Sting!’ ‘Why, even his butt looks like Sting!’ I just focussed on my food.

The next day, we were waiting for our flight back to Delhi, guess who should walk in? The bunch of foreigners, still in their Indian outfits! Going back with us in the same flight. Seriously, are they following us? I groaned. My husband and friend perked up immediately. ‘Gosh, how can two people be identical? I swear he looks just like Sting!’ This time I was listening. I piped in ‘He is Sting. Who’s Sting?’ They whipped around to look at me. ‘What did you say? How do you know? And how do you NOT know who Sting is???’ ‘Hold your horses, I know because the b&b owner told me he is Sting. Who the heck is he?’

My sweet husband did not disown me but very patiently explained who Sting was. For that, I am grateful. Sting was in Varanasi to promote Indian cotton, on a UN mission. We stayed at the same place, ate together, listened to their music. Justifying my ignorance here, I hardly listened to English music those days, didn’t quite get the lyrics. That, my friends, is my excuse for not knowing who Sting was. Now? Now, I roll down my window and sing ‘Every breath you take….’ at the top of my voice while driving till the kids say ‘Mom!! STOP!!!