This is continued from the last post…
Looking out the window and knowing that every building, house, parked car, business we passed meant that I was one step closer to my destination caused my stomach to churn acid, my palms to profusely perspire and breath to become deep with large distraught sighs. “Are you going to be okay, are you sure you want to do this? questioned Mark. I shrugged my shoulders as I kept looking out the window so that he could not see the fear and tears welling up in my eyes.
I was fearful of even being seen with this woman. I wore my Levi’s 501 jeans and my college sweatshirt of course so that no one could ever suspect that while I was at lunch with this Indian woman that I wasn’t anything but American. I shuttered to think that she may wear a sari and everyone in the restaurant would see right through me and think that I may be related to her. My thoughts were racing through my head hoping that since she was a world traveller and had stayed for months at a time in England and Africa that she may be keen to the likes of wearing a pantsuit or a dress.
Mark again asked “are you going to be okay, are you sure you want to do this?” I responded with “no, not really but I have to.”
He was a a sweet guy with a generous heart, always there supporting my emotional ups and downs while he worked two jobs and attended college. His big blue eyes were imbedded with red jagged lines of no sleep and stress but he still had the enegy to flash me that big teethy smile. His face was like that of the full moon; big, bold and filled with promise of an expansive life. He was a man on a mission in his life with every beat of his heart. Never tiring, he seemed to want to be all things to all people. With weeks of minimal sleep he still took the time to go and spend afternoons with his grandparents and help them with odd jobs at their home. With his strong presence by my side I knew I could get through this, he would be there as soon as I finished lunch to pick me up and I could go on with my day.
Driving into the parking lot of the Riverside Hotel I noticed the attached chinese restaurant. In front of the restaurant I saw that my father was already parked in his dark blue Nissan king cab pick-up truck. There was a tiny woman on the passengers side just barely big enough to see out the window. “There is my dad” I exclaimed. Mark slowly pulled into the parking space next to them and all I could see was the small head peering through the window while my dad was obviously explaining to her that it was me in the car next to them.
They both got out of the car as we got out to introduce ourselves. She had a sari on, my worst fears had come true, she was dressed like an Indian. I thought to myself “oh my god, this is so embarrassing!” As we exchanged introductions I was very hesitant to hug her. I didn’t want people to think we were from the same culture or even more humiliating that she may be my mother! I was embarrassed and ashamed of where I came from and who I was in the past. Just a poor girl from the poorest city in the world, Calcutta.
My father quickly departed after telling me that he would be back in one hour as did Mark. I walked into the restaurant with this sari-clad woman with her heavy Indian accent and bangles jingling as we entered. The hostess greeted us “will there just be the two of you today?” I replied quickly with yes so that we could hurry into our seats before everyone could see us standing there. It was too late, there were not many Indian women let alone women with saris on in this town of only 35,000. EVERYONE was looking at us, so with a frantic need to sit down I exclaimed “could we please have a booth?” Anything so that I could hide and not make a scene in this place. The hostess said “yes, I have one booth left.” She shuffled us back to the booth and we sat while she handed us the menu.
As I slid into the red shiny booth the hostess left and softly said “your waitress will be right with you.” Rabeya took her sweater off and I browsed the menu. She questioned me with that heavy Indian accent “Pushpa, why you not wearing Indian clothing?” I looked at her with disbelief and thought to myself was she really asking me this? Anger began to rage, my mind raced with thoughts of how dare she, how could she expect me to be anything Indian after sending me here, where in the world did she think I was living? I replied with “What is wrong with my clothes, I am an American you know.” How did she expect me to wear Indian clothes when I had not even had anything other than American clothing for 13 years? Since I was adopted I had not seen many Indian people, I had not eaten Indian food, I had not worn Indian clothes. I was American! I submerged my anger and just went on to say “okay so are you ready to order?”
Just then the waitress came up and said “can I get you something to drink?” I abruptly answered with “I think we are ready to order, I am sort of in a hurry.” Rabeya looked at me like she did not know what I was talking about, she had barely sat down and looked at the menu. I on the other hand was already angry at her and holding it in so I knew I needed to eat and get out of there before I lost my temper. We ordered and the kind waitress said as she walked away, “I will let them know that you are in a hurry.” “Thank you,” I replied.
Once again it was just us looking at each other across the table. I was sort of intrigued with looking at her face close up and seeing some of myself. Does she look like me? Do I look like her? This was my first time looking at another Indian face so closely. I was examining her in detail. There was not much conversation and then she said to me, “was that your boyfriend that drove the car?” I answered with “yes that was my boyfriend. We have been dating for about six months now.” Rabeya asked “why are you dating an American boy, why not an Indian boy?” “You should be dating an Indian boy.”
I once again raged inwardly with anger, ignoring her questions I stopped the waitress and begged “is our food almost ready?” I was afraid of my own anger, this woman had brought a side out in me that had to defend who I was, who I had worked so hard to become and my country that I was so proud to be a citizen of.
The food came and I ate a few bites but then couldn’t eat anymore. Not many words were spoken, I was watching the clock and dying to get out of the restaurant. My entire upbringing I held in every bit of anger, rarely showing any emotions.
Finally, the time came and I left hurriedly when Mark came into the parking lot. I couldn’t take another minute of it. To spend all of those years diligently working to fit myself into the society and life that I was handed without choice and then to suddenly be confronted with who I had become was my last straw.
Begrudgingly at my mother’s wishes I spoke to this lady only one more time to say goodbye when she left to go back to India.
This one incident took me over the edge, I was really lost as to my identity now. Within months I was suicidal and found myself at the college hospital.
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