The Country of the Unexpected

“Can I have a flat to live in?”
“No, you’re a bachelor, unmarried. No bachelors.”
“But I’m already living here. Will you kick me out?”
“Don’t know.”
“Can you tell me for certain?”
“No.”
“Can I get my gas connection on time?”
“No”
“Can I have an internet connection?”
“No”
“Can I have a bank account?”
“No, must have mobile number.”
“Already gave it to you – I’ve been waiting a month.”
-No Answer-
“Will anyone tell me what is going on?”
No.
“Do you speak any English?”
“No – Do you speak any Hindi?”
“No.”

“India is the Country of the No. That “no” is your test. You have to get past it. It is India’s Great Wall; it keeps out foreign invaders. Pushing it energetically and vanquishing it is your challenge…India is not a tourist-friendly country. It will reveal itself to you only if you stay on, against all odds. The ‘no’ might never become a ‘yes.’ But you will stop asking questions.”
(Excerpt from Suketu Mehta’s book Maximum City)

I read Mehta’s words and immediately identified with them – at every turn I have faced that pervasive “no” – from “No Bachelors” while finding a flat (and even now when currently living in my new flat) to the simple, apologetic no that comes when there can be no communication due to a lack of common language. The lack of common language might be the most frustrating part of it all. It makes me helpless, unable to control my own life. I must rely on my coteacher – and F – but mostly F, to communicate for me. I don’t even have a fridge yet because I have to wait until a Hindi speaker can go to the used fridge dealer with me. Even worse, even if I wanted to try to grasp the reins of my existence, everyone – brokers, landlords, internet salespersons, etc. – have already placed them in F’s hands. I go to the broker’s office to give my brokerage – he calls F – my landlady bangs at my door and doesn’t get a response – calls F to open the door, assuming he’s there with me – F texts me to say internet will take a while, doesn’t explain, won’t explain – Tikona called him, not me. I am helpless.

Except for my neighbors. Except for my kids. They ask the question – “Can you speak our language – Hindi, Marathi, Gudrathi” and when I answer ‘no’ they reply “That’s ok, we’ll both try anyway.”

My neighbors invite me for tea, invite me for festivals, want me to tutor their daughter, tell their little baby brother/nephew/grandson to call me didi, joke that I’ll become I’ll Indian soon and start wearing saris and bangles and bindis.

My kids tell me their stories while I smile and laugh with them – call them silly, paggal – and we all laugh together – no matter that I don’t understand a word they just said, it doesn’t matter. Didi’s silly, acts like animals, Didi gives high fives, Didi hugs us, snatches us up ‘til we giggle. Didi loves us. But Didi teaches too, is serious, calm face, fixed face, facing us stern, unbreakable – sit down. no voice. in your place. Did it take a while to get to this point of understanding? Of course. Silly they understood right away – serious was harder, both for me and them. But confidence is the key – don’t think you can’t communicate because you can, I can, I have control. You see, in this world I am not helpless, I have respect, control, and most importantly connection. I love my kids, all 49 of them – and they seem fond of me too, know I love them – squeal Nicole didi! when I enter the room, reach to hold my hand, flash their lovely smiles as they crowd around me, invite me to their homes. These are MY children. A locus of being barely fettered by the lack of common speech. My children.

So India is not entirely the Country of the No. Amidst all the ‘no’s, there are many who smile and welcome you and all your linguistic short-comings in, saying “yes, come in, welcome,” all cups of chai and little faces laughing.

And sometimes…sometimes it’s the Country of the Unexpected Yes.

June 28, 2010, late, around 11 pm – we had been talking, F and I, hands touch – still talking – curl around fingers – still talking – head in lap – talk – he’s stroking my hair – “I should go, I should go,” he says, bending down to kiss my head. “…so I can come back.” – the words barely breath in my ear – a pause and I turn my head up to face him – he looks at me – pause – he mutters a question I can’t understand, but I know what it is. “You know what I asked,” he says when I ask him to repeat. I do not pause. I know my answer. “Well then answer is yes.” – soft voice, but no hesitation. The sure, unexpected 'yes.'

In the post prior I wrote that I was surprised such a distant connection could transform into friendship. Imagine my surprise when it became something more. How to explain it? I couldn't. This is why I haven't updated my blog. How could I put this in words? I can't, I won't try to explain. I'll simply say that it was unexpected.

I'd like to amend Mehta's statement. India isn't "The Country of the No," it is "The Country of the Unexpected." The unexpected 'no' over something as trivial (in an American view) as marital status. The unexpected knock on the door inviting you for tea. The unexpected struggles of teaching. The unexpected joys of connection. The unexpected question. The unexpected answer. The unexpected 'yes.'