28 March 2012
So we come to the end of my youth in America. Little did I realize that I would spend the better part of the 1990s in a third-world country (by the way, people who live in third world countries hate it when you call their home a third world country.....they prefer the term "developing country") . Before I departed this beloved soil, I had several months to come to terms with my fate. And I did it the best way I knew how. Denial. Not in regards to going to India, but more along the lines of what was waiting for me on the other side of the world. Senior year of high school is a crossroads. The people you see and hang out with on an everyday basis soon fade into memory. You're lucky to keep even 2 or 3 of those friends 10 years later. When the topic of discussion turned to what people's plans after graduation were, the typical responses were, "UVa., Va. Tech, James Madison, George Mason (which often drew a snicker coz at that time, Mason was the typical safety school. If you couldn't get in there, you didn't deserve higher education. Now, things are different thanks to my sister's constant reminders). " There were even a few "Harvards, Yales, and Princetons" thrown in for good measure. When it was time for me to answer, "P.S.G. Institute of Medical Science and Research" sounded like some sort of trade school a la Lincoln Tech.
"P.S.G. what?", my friends would ask. "P.S.G. Institute of Medical Science and Research," was my reply. "Where is that?" "India." "What does 'P.S.G.' stand for?" "Hmmmm....never thought about that. Maybe it means 'People Study Great here' because there is nothing else to do." "So why India?" "Because my parents are making me go." "You mean this isn't your choice?" "Nope." "Well why are they sending you?" "The company line is that it's cheaper and shorter than going to medical school here."
Yes, it was true. For the nominal, one-time-only fee of $75,000 you too, could get a shiny, laminated, albeit cheap-looking medical degree from the subcontinent. I guess that worked out to about half the cost of undergrad and medical school here. That's all my parents needed. Oh I forgot one teensy-weensy detail. The medical school was in this "city" called coimbatore. It's a city based on it's population of 3.5 million people. But in my opinion, it was "The World's Biggest Truck Stop." One of the denizens of this "Manchester of India (another clever moniker.........who's the idiot who thought of these?? I looked up Manchester once and found out it's an utter craphole!!!! Only good thing to ever come out of there was Oasis)" was my mother's sister, Dorothy. What a nice name. Makes you think of the Wizard of Oz and sweet Dorothy and her little Yorkie, Toto. Well, let me tell you that Aunt Dorothy was more like the Wicked Witch of the West. Bless her heart, she meant well. But she was extremely over-protective of me. So my parents' bold plan included having a "watchdog" on my ass 24/7.
"You're very lucky Aunty Dorothy is there, Bobby. She'll take good care of you. She'll cook for you, wash your clothes, and wipe your ass." "Hey!" "Ok the dhobi will wash your clothes (dhobi: n. a person who cleans and irons clothes in india for a small fee......sort of like a human washing machine only there's no slots for quarters.)"
See how cunning my parents were? It sounded like I had it made! I mean I had some good home cooking, someone to take care of the chores, and my own personal bidet! How could I lose?
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. The dreaded day had arrived. July 30, 1994. I will always remember it as a boil on the ass of my life. But let me rewind 24 hours. A few friends had a sort of going-away party for me at their parents house. And this was the first time I ever had a beer. Man did it suck. I finished two sips and couldn't take it anymore. Here I was, the guest of honor, and I couldn't even get inebriated enough to enjoy the moment. I guess I had a lot on my mind. The next day was spent saying my goodbyes and see-you-laters to my friends. There were tears. There was laughter. Aunties, Uncles, friends, siblings of friends, all called to offer their best wishes and condolences. It was like "Dead Man Walking". I knew the end of my youth brought on the beginning of adulthood. Soon, it was time to go to Dulles International Airport. It was me, my family, and some friends who wanted to say goodbye from there. My dad and I were the only ones going to India. I don't remember much from the ride over there, but I do remember my life flashing before my eyes.
"How did I get to this point?" I asked myself. "Is it too late to jump out of this car to a most certainly gruesome, yet welcome, death?"
No, I thought it better to stick it out. Checking in and going through security was a blur. This was before 9/11 so everyone could come to the gate to see me off. The flight was called and it was time to say goodbye. My godbrothers came first, Jacob and Johnny. At this time, Jake was still a dimunitive dork with thick glass-bottle eyeglasses. Johnny was even smaller. Jake gave me a tape he made for me. It contained some nice hip-hop and dance songs. I cherished that tape for years. Next came Peter Uncle and Liz Aunty, his wife.
"Study hard," he said sternly. Peter Uncle don't mess around.
Liz Aunty was crying and gave me a hug. Next was my mom, who of course was crying. She cries so easily. And finally, the bane of my existence, my sister Nina. She was BAWLING! It SHOCKED me to see that. At this point in our lives she was my best friend and my worst enemy. We couldn't stand eachother sometimes and yet we couldn't live without eachother. I hugged her and asked her to stop crying. I told her I'd be back soon. The one thing that upsets me to this day about my departure was that I felt numb about it. I didn't cry. I didn't feel ANYTHING. I think that stems from the fact that I truly had no idea what awaited me once the plane landed in India. I had no idea what to expect. I was going into this blind as a bat and it terrified me, so much so that I couldn't concentrate on anything else. Imagine you're going to a place you've seen before but only in a superficial way. I was going in deep to this place and going to be LIVING there on my own. It was certainly a lot to think about.
20.5 hours later, we were in Madras. It's a big, dirty city in Tamil Nadu, India. The heat there was so oppressive. Luckily, my Aunty Selma (another of my mom's sisters) had air conditioning. I just stayed in her flat (it's amazing how quickly I started talking like a FOB once I landed, isn't it?) and watched the tele. I found out that classes were going to start on August 28. So after a couple days of sleeping the jet-lag off, we took a train to Coimbatore. One thing about almost anything in India is that it has a very peculiar smell. A little bit of shit mixed with fumes of burning trash and/or bodies. It's also very feral, what with all the cows, goats, dogs, chickens, lizards, water buffalo, and ocelots running around. This was to be my home for the next 7 years. Be it ever so humble...........
The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning • Opuss № I