All through my childhood, and well into the undergraduate years, I did not entertain thoughts of going to America. The angry radical mind in me put America in the same basket as the old colonizing Europeans who came from Britain, France, and Portugal. Spain had already suffered enough under Franco and I thought that was well deserved for its colonial adventures.
As I began to understand the world a tad more, it occurred to me that there is no saintly country. The rich and powerful countries talked the big talk like liberté, égalité, fraternité, but we essentially lived in an Animal Farm where all of us were equals but some are more equal than others. I began to reformulate my view of the US.
My parents, who were fully aware of my political leanings were surprised to know that I quit my job in order to go to America for higher studies, after which I was not planning to return.
Back then, I had no idea about everyday America. Sure, I knew enough about the political process, about racism, and the big picture. But, I was uninformed about American music, television, and even movies. There's only so much one can understand about American life from potboiler fiction, which too I consumed in good proportion!
Outside the university environment, Americans of all shades had difficulty understanding my accent, I realized. Some made it clear that they couldn't be bothered. I was both surprised and offended. A French accented person who barely knew a few English words could be found to be charming, but an Indian-accented me with a good command of the language was not worth their time.
Back in India, most of us always got excited if a foreigner spoke even a couple of words of Tamil. It told us that they spent the time and effort to learn those words, and that meant a lot. I am willing to bet it is still the same way. Heck, it was the case even with Indians who were from other parts of India. I recall once two families came over for coffee--this was back in Neyveli. These were wives and children of two contract folks who were colleagues of dad's and they were from West Bengal. Because my father had worked in that region early in his life, he wanted to help them on his home turf. It was an interesting evening, as I recall--the men folk conversing in English, the women struggling with a scattering of English and Hindi words.
After such experiences in the old country, it was off-putting when listeners couldn't care for what I said. The introvert that I am, my world did shrink a tad more. But, I figured that improving my pronunciation would help me in the long run. However, I was firm that I would not try to roll my tongue in new ways and consciously work towards sounding like California's white Americans, as a few others did.
It is one thing to speak and be understood. It is another to be fluent with the content that others could relate to. Conversation is about all aspects of life, and I genuinely wanted to know more about American life. Television--especially late night television--helped a lot. Johnny Carson, David Letterman, and reruns of sitcoms were interesting and funny, and also highly educational. As a fresh off the boat (metaphorically!) graduate student, I was an equally enthusiastic student of all things Americana.
Over the decades, life has changed. Immigration now is of a completely different flavor. On the one hand, incoming students from India are way more familiar with the US than I was at any comparable age. America is no stranger to the newbies, thanks to the phenomenal level of global inter-connectedness, and with India having opened up its economy and culture to the external world.
At the same time, it seems to be increasingly possible for newbies to be comfortable within their own preferences and not explore and understand the American quirks. Immigrants can now easily stay with their compatriots, shop for Indian groceries, watch Indian movies and shows, socialize with Indians from work or otherwise, ...
I prefer the experience I had. The unfamiliarity made me a sharp observer of life around me, instead of settling into a comfort zone. Though, as I get older, the idea of moving to a new place seems terribly scary. If only we had throughout our lives the courage that seems exclusive to the youth!
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