Finding the Key to Expatriate Indian Appeasement

The head bob is a funny thing, holding so much meaning in one small movement. In Bengal, we do it with just a slight nod to the right for yes, good and any other affirmative. A drop-swing of the nose to the bottom-left means disapproval of any sort. I write "we", as I feel a strong investment in the Bengali people - now that I've dedicated nearly half-a-year learning their language, being, culture, presence and way of understanding.

Today I was walking in our southern Kolkata neighborhood, regulating my head-bob and eye contact; these ever-so-slight though increasingly precious gestures hold a jackpot of meaning. To me, a nice head-bob/rightward-tilt exchange can mean a huge resurgence of happiness and love for this country - all channeled through one old man or endearing housewife's gesture. To someone else, meeting my eye contact - the equivalent of touching in India - can be enough to pleasure his fancy later in the afternoon. It's clear as to why the former invigorates me and the latter infuriates; this is the hot and cold of living in India.

I've always said that some people love India, and others, well, don't. I always thought I fell into the second category, as I often let the angst over social faux pas get the better of me. Handing someone something with your left hand is a very rude gesture here, and I have such anxiety over forgetting this that I end up censoring my hand usage for months after I leave the region. God forbid accidental cross-gender eye contact, because inappropriate assumptions/comments are likely to follow. Murmurs like "white tasty" have always left me gurgling with anger. I've been pissed off in and at India far too often.

This morning I was looking for, searching for, nice head-bobs: invigorating gestures of kindness and curiosity. By now, after nearly a year's experience living on the Indian sub-continent, I have sorted out the right and wrong turns of social interaction, something much more in-your-face here than in the rest of the world. I have such close and frequent contact with people - of all sorts, at all times - in India, that social etiquette, something which Indians have developed over a lifetime in society, has turned out to be a pre-requisite to my comfort here.

No longer is it necessary for me to go around constantly frustrated by people's gestures towards me, anticipation of my gestures towards them, or my presence here. I have learned and bred within me enough social norms - quite literally, on-the-road strategies - that I can lead a happy life here. I've unlocked the handcuffs of stifle and fear for my foreignness in India. I have found the key to expatriate Indian appeasement.

Where was it, you ask? Why, it was in my pocket, clearly, all along. This, just as all answers in life, was right inside of me; all I had to do was inhale and ask. I made eye contact with that old man this morning. With him, because he was old enough to think of nicer things than me taking my clothes off, and a head-bob, because I was looking for invigoration.

Invigorated
I grew
for India
I know deep down that
indeed, I love you.