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Here I am, wide awake at 2:00 AM like it's 2:00 PM. I think my body is rejecting the idea that I'm anywhere else but America. As always, my most articulate thoughts happen when I'm laying wide awake in bed, in between prayers to get a good night's sleep.
And finally when I give up on those prayers and pick up my laptop, my poignant thoughts vanish sometime between the bright light of the laptop screen and scoldings from my mom to just go to sleep.
I guess I'll just begin with a few interesting things that happened this week and maybe those "profound" thoughts will return :)
At snack and tea time, a light eyed man came up to our table of interns looking directly at me and said, "How come we have never met before? We've seen each other, but these idiots didn't even introduce us?"
Like all Indians, he bombarded me with a sea of questions. What department I'm in, what college I'm from, why on earth I chose to take an 18 hour plane ride here, what I hate about India, etc. He was open person, not afraid to speak exactly what was on his mind, something that I admire in people.
Holding true to the honesty I value, I responded back openly by telling him that I try to not see things from the lense of comparison, but instead as two separate entities that teach different lessons. He kissed his hand and opened it like a flower and said "Good answer. What do they teach you there that all of you can speak this way? How do you have an answer for everything? You ask any Indian your age or with 5 years more experience in industry, and they'll shrug their shoulders and say they don't know with an uncertain grin." I started laughing at how once again American education was being extolled.
He started rambling in Hindi " Okay now don't put any masala on anything (Indian version of don't sugar-coat your answer) and tell me exactly what you hate about India? Or like? Tell me"
All 5 of us interns laughed for a good 15 seconds arguining about which list would be better, the long bad one, or the short good one. He quickly pivoted into a new topic, asking me if I knew Hindi.
It felt as if this man had plopped a file cabinet in front of me and had thrown 50 full files all over the room and expected me to pick up all at once.
"Hai, muje Hindi puri samaj athi hai." The room broke into laughter. I, myself probably getting the biggest kick out of it. I can never take myself seriously when I speak Hindi outloud because I go into this monotone trance where I focus on correct grammer, butcher that anyway, and then sound mentally challenged on top of it.
Again, kissed the hand, and opened it up, the light-eyed man again took the reigns of the conversation and commented how hearing an Indian born abroad speak Hindi is a beautiful thing. I agreed, it was so nice to be able to have my 5-year-old-equivalent level of Hindi to hold onto. That, and the jewlery, and the clothing, all help me identify myself as the product of a hybrid culture.
While I have learned about importance of the self, fighting for myself, having self worth, and never doubting my dream from America, I can appreciate life from a humbled, comedic, and relaxed perspective from my Indian roots. They're two completely different contributions to my character and have helped me gain a respect of both cultures.
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