Losing perspective to money: Times of India

Women in salwar-kameez sporting Elvis-like side-burns…SIES college

My First week In America

The flight had been long. First thing I did was call up my sister from the pay-phone at the airport. She was working, it was Thursday. They would by flying down Friday night to be with me, to introduce me to this strange new land. I had arrived a month in advance to settle in.

It was cold. People don’t look at you directly, in fact, they hardly seem to care. I was doing fine all by myself. I was in the Big Apple!

It was an amusing experience but also one that made me realize that this was not my home. I was on the Subway, my first time, there was an old lady, perhaps around ninety, sitting some distance away from me. A few minutes into the ride and her observing me closely, she came up to me and said,

“Excuse me, but are you Brown?”

I was surprised and didn’t know what to say and so I just looked at her.

“Yes?” she arched her eyebrows, nodding her head.

“Uh…”

“Well, what I mean is, are you Indian?”

That I could answer, “Yes, I am.”

“Oh good then maybe you can fix this.” She handed me her mobile phone and sat next to me. It was a big black box. I stared at her. Other passengers were observing the happenings; the old lady was too loud to miss. They seemed to mentally cringe at this.

This lady was too old for me to correct her, I thought; my defenses were wary. I looked around impulsively expecting someone to tell me what to do. Everyone was looking away but secretly paying attention to…this.

“I...uh...well, am not good with cell-phones.” I said as I fidgeted with the box having decided to just let it pass.

She smiled, pleased. I smiled back.

‘It won’t go on” she said.

“Wait …” I opened it up, someone had inserted the battery it wrong way up. I corrected it and handed the phone back.

“Why thank you” She seemed delighted.

My station was nearing, I stood up to leave. The co-passengers seemed apologetic and smiled at me in way that didn’t quite say that they were smiling while acknowledging me, a stranger at the same time. The tall blonde standing in front of me gave me a small smile and made way for me to pass. It was their way of making up for political incorrectness to a stranger in their land, America. I returned their goodwill.

This wasn’t the last time something like this was to happen. It got me thinking, why were thinking, why were the Americans so guilty? They suddenly seemed to remind me of urban Indians back home. Religion was a touchy topic back there and any reference to it, especially if the person belonged to a minority religion (a particular one, specifically) was a no-no. You were never to make a minority person conscious of his/her difference. Any of us doing so obliged us all, as liberal Indians to do/say things vehemently against that said act, reassuring a person of minority his/her comfort. Religion in India: race in America. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so home-sick after all.