In the short ten days since I arrived, Amma, my friend’s mother, and I were inseparable. Looking at the small apartment Amma and my five new Indian brothers called home was a bit embarrassing to my friend, my host. Being that I was from America, they thought I would not be comfortable in the small, stuffy, cement floored, old fashioned three room apartments they called home. But, for me, the building did not define this home, but the warmth of the people inside.
We awake before the sun rises on the day of my departure. At this hour, the sun has not yet thought of shining, though people awake at this hour can start to hear the sounds of others starting their day. As I awake, and lay silently, I can hear the sounds of padlocks being opened and the consequent creaking sounds of house gates, front doors, and kitchen doors opening. I can hear the sounds of steel vessels being washed, filled with water and set on stoves for morning chai while Suprabhatam, the morning prayer is being played at its regular loud volume from the nearby temple.
Soon, it was our turn to have our chai and ready for the departure. As we readied the luggage and made our way to the entry to their compound, we were greeted by a neighbor clearing the sidewalk drawing a fresh kolum, or floor design with rice flour. As we carefully stepped around this, the four younger brothers remained at the open gate watching Amma get into one side of the car, and myself and Anna (elder brother) crawling in through the other side. Oh, how I’d miss this place. The cement fence lined roads bordered on both sides by rusty colored dust was sparsely populated with the early morning mix of sleeping cows and auto rickshaws with their driver’s legs hanging out the side as they slept.
As all these images overcame me with a great intensity, I realized I belong here. Though that bought a calmness to me, it also bought anticipation and longing into my being. I wanted to tell Amma or Anna about my thoughts and feelings, but felt awkward. The driver started the car, as I looked out the back of the tinted windows I saw the four brothers there, the eldest of the four, I’ll never forget, seemed to be waving a little more enthusiastically than the others. It was then, without warning or hesitation, I started to cry. I did not want to leave this wonderful place. You could say though I had not yet left, I was already yearning to return. I knew I would soon, and this provided me with contentment. But the tears would not stop. Amma and Anna looked at each other, unsure how to console me. I am sure to have babbled something out of the discomfort of spontaneous emotion. As spontaneous and as real as I was, Anna also spontaneously hugged me to console me. Though I had no ‘blood relations’ with me, my new family in India helped me to feel connected and consoled, though I could not express this in words, I think Amma understood that, too. The thirty minute drive through early morning traffic, slowly gaining momentum and variety- from cars, to bikes and motorcycles, busses and lorries with loud blaring, musical horns, to Bull-pulled carts and of course, the rickshaws and foot traffic, everything encompassing us, reminded us the day was starting and so was this journey out of Tambaram.
Related Posts Sites: India Diary 1999
Thank you for reading and participating!!!
References on Culture Shock from Alaivani (my website):
An American in Ecuador
Cross Cultural Experiences – Keeping it in Context
Educational Entrepreneurship: The First American To Matriculate at Madras Christian College
Honeymoon with Husband and his Family: Experiences in the Life of an Extended Family
How To Choose the Right Path in Studying or Living Abroad (Questioning how much cultural change can you handle?)
Integrating Two Worlds: Life in America with an Indian Twist
Is Mine a Case of Reverse Culture Shock?
This article has been published in the book Culture Shock.
Japan Through American Eyes: Joe Conley
On The Move: How have you absorbed Culture Shock?
Preparing for a trip to India to visit Family
Test Taking Trials and Tribulations in India
Yearning to Return (Why I want to go back to India.)
Relearning How to Communicate (Interactions in an Intercultural Family)
Others thoughts and experiences:
Culture Shock- Moving Back to India by Isheeta Sanghi
A Returning Indian Entrepreneur Reflects
Thank you for reading and participating in this journey with me! E-mail me with your comments, questions or feedback!
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