~Paramendra Bhagat~
He asked if I wanted coffee or tea, and I did not want either, so he started to talk about the weather, then he brought up some news. I was not particularly interested. I was into news myself, but I had heard him analyze them before, like the first day we met and he had offered to show me how the icecream machine worked, and he had wanted to discuss the news then also.
He beat around the bush a long time. It was warm inside, and I was fighting my need to just get up and go, even if only out into the cold. He talked about some of the books on his shelves. I was going to ask him about one that interested me, but I thought that might prolong the conversation.
And then he shared, like he seldom did, how it had been tough for him to go away to college. The excitement was there, and he felt good to go through the routine. He came from a background where it was taken for granted everyone would go to college, not where if you go to college, especially in a foregin country, it is like you went to the moon or something. But then there were tough times, he said, some boring months, or when the work got overwhelming.
I thought I should talk some as well, since I was there anyway. So I started talking about this guy in my dorm. He lived a few rooms away from me, spent a lot of time by himself, stringing along on his guitar, a harmless, almost friendly looking face. And I could tell, he started feeling uneasy, as if I might talk about something about that guy that he might want to defend, or at least try and understand, so that he could bring back peace to my mind. I started noticing after a few months, he always did that, even about people he had never met. At first I thought it was an act of kindness, not for long.
It is not like we met much. I met this other guy more often. As he sat down smoking, he would throw his big, friendly smile at me, invite me over to sit with him. Often he would talk about his time with the Peace Corps. That was supposed to make me feel easy. I had been longer here than he had been with the Peace Corps, and I even knew the language, and I still did not feel easy. He became part of the reason after I had listened to him talk for long enough. And then he started talking about the personal risks he took during the civil rights movement, and that is when he lost me. I was not big on history, and there were many union leaders who walked in and out of news where I came from.
Even this other guy I took some liking to, he gave me the impression he was trying too hard. He said he came from a poor family, but then I had come to learn that was a subjective term. We swapped books, and that kept the conversations to the minimum.
Through him I met this girl that I started getting along with. The best thing about her was I no longer had to spend time listening to the tea-or-coffee guy, or the Peace Corps guy, or even the book-reader. And she did not sound too interested in trying to not offend me. For the longest time, I thought that was the case. And then one day she told me she liked me for my accent. That evening I called my number to hear me speak on my voice mail message. That does sound different, I thought.
I started hanging out at the local coffee shop. People would come and go. And, while you were inside a shop like that, chances were, unlike when you were walking on the sidewalk, especially in one of those remote ends of the town, noone was going to stick their neck out of their truck and ask you to go back where you came from. In the shop I would pretend to read the newspaper when noone seemed to be looking at me, not that local news was of any interest to me. They talked about school board elections, and that was a foreign concept, as far as I was concerned.
Then I started hanging out with this other guy. Unlike me, he seemed to know a lot of people. I asked him about that one day, and he said, oh, you just go along, play the game. You think these people like me, he asked in a pretended way. People don’t even like me where I come from, he said. I sometimes cooked for both of us, and he really bought into that. He must have noticed, once I found my little place, I settled down, and was not much of a bother. So he let me listen to his music. And then I would go hang out in his room even when he was not there. I basked in his social universe from a safe distance.
Then, to my chagrin, I got noticed one day playing my flute. And word spread. Next thing I know I was invited to play during a performance. A lot of people were in attendance, but I did not care. It was not like you could see those people from the stage with all those bright lights anyway.
And this lady got in touch with me the day after. She talked about her family, and then she asked about my family. I thought that was strange. I bet she can not imagine what my nephew is like, I thought. But I went through it. I was glad when she asked if I could come for a potlcuk at her place. I did not have to bring any food, she said, and that was a good idea, I thought. But then I called the day before informing of other new plans that had emerged.
I could follow the thread of an idea if it interested me, and it happened one day with the deep sea fishes. I must have asked too many questions, for the professor started suggesting how I was like his son and stuff, and that got me alarmed. Next thing you know, the guy will be wanting to spread the word of the lord, I thought. So I let go of my curiosities and stuck to the basic homework after that. I was glad when finally the class was over.
During the summer months, I had taken to long walks past midnight. There was something about that peace and quiet, and the cool breeze. The trees looked greener in the dark. And around one bend, I bumped into this girl who got so scared to see me. She must have first spotted me when I was a few inches from her face, since she had turned the corner, and I had. At first she screamed slightly, and then she walked away in a hurry. I stood there for a while. I thought I might get into trouble, the way she had screamed. But I thought there had been a misunderstanding.
There were people from many countries. And many of them asked strange questions. And so I kept several of my questions to myself. What if they find them strange as well, I thought.
Finally I decided, since I would end up with a lot of time on my hands, that I would get into a hobby. I started collecting stamps. That kept me busy. And I could talk to people like librarians. People started making more sense, especially people so different. Now when people asked me about where I came from, I would bring up the page to go with the question. And they would be impressed. They thought mine was a novel approach.
October 8, 2002
(Source : Parmendra Bhagat’s Blog )
