28 March 2012
Culture Shock: a state of anxiety and confusion experienced by someone upon encountering an alien environment.
It certainly felt like I was on Mars. The heat was oppressive. The city was so crowded that buses were actually LEANING OVER because people were hanging out the doors for dear life. Later, I would learn that buses hitting people waiting at the stop was not an infrequent occurence. Instead of walking their dogs, old bearded women would be walking their cows. Little kids were using the side of the street for their own personal toilet. Forget about wiping. I didn't see a toilet paper roll hanging on a tree branch or anything. Everything was a shock to me on the most superficial level. But what really drove the point home was that in this country, the women wore pants and the men wore skirts. Ok, so the skirts were called "mundas" or "lungies", and thank GOD the women didn't wear skirts because none of them shaved their legs. But if it sounds like a duck, walks like a duck, and swims in the company of other ducks, it's not a rhinoceros, let me tell ya. So in essence my first day in my new hometown was a shock, to say the least.
Before I left Madras, Aunty Selma told me that she had met a boy who would be attending the same medical school as me.
"His name is Abilash and he is from Philadelphia." "Oh good, so I'm not the only American there. That's a big relief." "Yes, I told him all about you and he'll be expecting to meet you in Coimbatore I'm sure." "Well, thanks for the tip, Aunty Selma. Be good and don't do anything I would do." And we were off to "The Detroit of India"(ooooh how original).
My dad and I had arrived at Aunty Dorothy's house. Her husband's name was Rufus (I can't make this up, I swear). They had three children. The oldest was Ashok, who was a big brute of a man with a scowl that could ward off storm clouds. Next was Suresh. He was the quiet one, but you know what people say about the "quiet ones". He was missing the ends of his left middle and ring fingers after a window came crashing down on them. Anita was the youngest but she wasn't around because she was living in Bahrain at the time. When I was 1 year old, which in hindsight could be construed as an omen of things to come, my parents took me to Coimbatore and left me with Aunty Dorothy and Uncle Rufus for a couple of years. My mother was a resident in family practice at the time and my dad was the owner of a Chinese restaurant specializing in egg foo-yung. Needless to say, they didn't have time to give me the care and attention I needed. So they entrusted my aunt and uncle with the duty. So, I guess you could say at the beginning of my childhood, Aunty D was there. You could also say that at the beginning of adulthood, Aunty D was there. The lady was reliable, no doubt about that. The family was happy to see me and let me know by making my favorite dish not called McDonalds, crumb chops. Imagine if KFC or Popeys made fried pork chops and you'd get an idea of the delicacy I was about to devour. After lunch, like clockwork, the current went out. This was a daily occurence all over India. In order to conserve power, the electric current (hence the term "current") would be shut off for several hours. The biggest torture was at night because that's when the vampire bugs of kthulu aka mosquitoes sought their prey. I swear by the end of my first week there I must have had over 1000 little bumps covering my arms and legs. You would have thought I had a bad case of chicken pox. At least that affliction goes away. Mosquitoes never go away. They just keep coming back. Plus, if you have O-positive blood, they bite you more. What type of blood was I? I think it goes without saying. Since the current was out, I couldn't watch tv. My only choices were to read a book or go to sleep. Since I figured I wouldn't be sleeping much in medical school (I had no idea how wrong THAT statment would prove to be!), I decided on the latter. In India, life was all about routine-much like prison. You just figured out a routine so your day could pass by quickly. Lord knew nothing much else was going on around you. The routine in India for most people went something like this: Wake up-eat-sleep-wake up-eat-sleep-wake up-eat- sleep. And that's if you didn't have school or a job. If you did, you could just insert those activities somewhere and adapt the schedule. One thing I forgot to mention about the routine was tea-time. It's a well-known tradition passed down from the days of the British Empire and maybe even before. At 4 o'clock PRECISELY, the world around you stopped for tea. People driving motorcycles stopped at the nearest bakery for a glass of chai. Hell, even when India was playing cricket (a sport which I will describe more in detail later), there wasn't a "halftime". Nope, there was "teabreak". And Indian tea is different from all the ginseng and what-not you see around you today. Over there, tea is mixed with a little bit of milk and sugar. It's quite delicious. But it's funny when you look at a country with over 1 Billion people, and all the chaos and disorder that is to be expected with a population that high, it's simply amazing that everyday like clockwork, the daily grind is halted for a sip of good ol' Lipton and some stale biscuits.
For the first month of my stay in Coimbatore, this was my routine. Then it was announced that classes would start on August 28th. So my dad figured it would be a good time to go see the college. At this time, I still hadn't gotten admission to the college but my dad figured that was just a formality. So we departed Chez Rufus in the morning and went to the college, which was nearby. My entourage included my dad and Uncle Rufus. The college was located in an area called Peelamedu (Peel-uh-may-doo). The ride to the campus itself was quite bumpy because the road up to the security gate was in the ghetto and had never been finished. But once we were past the gate, the road was paved once again. The campus was underwhelming to say the least. The tallest building was 5 stories if that. The hospital was long but narrow. The medical college building, or "academic block" as it was known, was a 4-story block of barred windows and concrete. We went to the academic office first, requesting a meeting with the principal. In the office, I noticed that someone had gone to the trouble of creating a 3-dimensional scaled-down map of the campus. I perused it and found much to my surprise that there was a cricket stadium, a swimming pool, tennis courts, and a gym with a basketball court. It seemed very modern too, what with there being a skywalk between the academic block and the hospital. It was a pleasant surprise.
"This place doesn't look half-bad at all. I might actually get used to a place like this," I said to no one in particular. "Well get used to having your hopes dashed, then," came a voice from right behind me.
I turned around and came face to face with a tall, skinny boy with a goofy smile on his somewhat cherubic face.
"Hi, I'm Abilash from Philly, but you can call me Abi," he said. "Abi! Boy I'm glad to meet you. I'm Bobby from Washington, D.C." "Oh really? There's another guy from D.C. who's joining our batch(class) this year." "Really? I might know him." "Yeah maybe. His name is Bobby and he's a basketball player. He's like 6 feet tall and played for his high school. We should have no trouble winning the cultural tournament this year with him. I met his aunt in Madras. I think her name was Selma or something gay like that." "Hey whaddya know? I have an aunt named Selma!" "Wait a minute. Your name is Bobby?" "Yes." "You're from D.C., right?" "Yes." "And you have an aunt in Madras named Selma?" "Yup."
The dawn of comprehension on Abilash's face was priceless. Apparently, my aunt had stretched the truth a about me a smidgen hoping to make me some new friends in this foreign place. Yes, I did play basketball, but not for my high school team. I played for the local youth club. Yes, I was 6 feet tall, if I wore shoes with soles that were 4 inches thick. Be that as it may, I met another American and hence, I automatically had something in common with this person. We were both foreigners to this land......or so I thought. Abilash was actually from the gulf state of Doha in Qatar. He was born in India and had spend a few years in Philadelphia. He spoke Malayalam fluently and could speak with an Indian accent on cue. Suddenly, my concern went back to the map.
"So what do you mean my hopes will get dashed?" "Well, you see that map there in the glass case? I know it says P.S.G. Institute of Medical Science and Research, but it's totally wrong." "What do you mean? Are you telling me there's no cricket stadium?" "Man, I'm telling you there is no cricket stadium, swimming pool, gymnasium, or skywalk in this college. But that's not even the worst part." "Oh man what could POSSIBLY be the worst part?" "You see how the land is green on that map?" "Yeah." "Go look outside."
He had me suspicious so I ran outside and looked at the ground. It was true! The ground wasn't green with lush blades of soft, supple grass. It was brown with grains and pebbles and rocks and dogshit (hey could be human shit too) everywhere! What was this nightmare I was entering? What kind of cruel human being would openly decieve people who came to this place and saw that map and think that the college was a haven for philosophers and laureates? Who could be so devious?
"Bobby, let's go meet the principal."
My dad called me back to the office. It was time to meet the Wizard. We walked to the academic block of the institution. When we entered, I found out that the building was like a rectangular ring with an open courtyard brimming with all manner of banana trees and houseplants. There was no roof to the building, just 4 concentric floors on top of one another. We got to the principal's office and were let in.
"Bobby, before we go in let me just say to you t
The Campus That Did Not Exist • Opuss № I