Memoirs of a Foreigner

The otherday, Sy a friend of mine who is an 18 year old American boy was scolded and shooed out of the kitchen and told there were plenty of women to wash the dishes. He left out of shock and decided that he will have to sneak to take his dishwashing turn when none of the houseworkers are around.

Later the same day he told me about that, I was comming home from a friends house with three other friends. I wanted to get home quickly but the other three people wanted to stop at McDonalds for rs.20 burgers. I said, no problem I can go home on the metro on my own. I insisted and they left me. I was just about to call my mother and complain that my friend Thungboy was driving me insane–when someone tapped me on the sholder. It was him. “I can’t let you go alone,” he said. I half smiled. I know it’s thier culture. When we got down to the train he realized he left his cell in the cab. For the next six stops he was occupied trying to get the phone. I was happy not to talk.

In the U.S. it seems like I am the most scattered person around–here I end up being the one who is more put together, who has a concept of time, and does not forget things. I’m not sure if I am just becoming more responsible here or if the culture just produces incredibly disorganized and late people. I think it’s a little of both…and by the way being organized and ontime isn’t everything. Indians tend to understand how to really “be together” in a way that often escapes Americans. We always have to be doing something…fast.

I’ll spare you the details that pushed me towards the cliff of madness but if you come from a similar cultural bent as me just image that a ride that should have taken a 1/2 hour took an hour because of unexplained detours ment to help you when you didn’t want or need help.

Now we were on the metro together. We both had to change trains and I tried to tell him to stop there for a burger–he wouldn’t. He said, “Don’t worry about me.” “Ok”, I said and walked as if he wasn’t with me, “but you are getting down at your station.” He insisted on going the extra 5 stops with me. I started explaining about how culturely–I like space. I need independance. He kept saying that I was in India and here, in his culture it was hard for him to let me go (or any girl) on my own. “I know,” I said, “But you have to meet me half way on this one.” We agreed that he would get out at the station with me, see me get on the rickshaw and go back, but when we got to there he said, “I’ll just go with you, buy a coke and get back on the metro.” “No,” I said. “Please, go.” He was about to get on the rickshaw with me when I said “Jow,” the Hindi equivilant to “Go, get out of here.” All the rickshaw drivers were watching and Abel had to turn around because if he instisted I think those rickshaw wallas would have jumped him. They know me, they don’t know him. Considering he is a friend, I hope they will bring him to my house next time when he comes on his own and they won’t think he’s a bad guy.

We laughed about this a few days later. “Indian girls like that sort of thing,” the guys said. “Yeah, but I don’t.” I said, shaking my head. Sy, said, “That’s why we’re west and you’re east…Our ansesters needed thier space and they went west.”