I will never be comfortable living in India. I try. I keep trying for sure.
You know the feeling you get every once in a while when a big fart catches you off guard in public making you turn into a spokesperson of embarrassment? You are so self conscious and ashamed yet so relieved and happy. Remember that feeling? That’s how I feel about India.
I was born here. I grew up here. Hell, I was here for 20 frakking years before I moved out. You’d think I’d be one with the culture and know how to navigate around. At least not immediately after I returned but almost 3 years later? Nope. No sign of that doctor arriving on scene!
Just when I try to get comfortable living here and get into a rhythm, I’m completely thrown off the Ferris wheel with my hands & legs tied and mouth shut. For starters, it takes a while to lull myself back to consciousness from the big fall. Then I have to figure out how to get my shackles off my hands and feet. I’m definitely grateful for my mouth being shut though. There is not much I would like or want to share anyway. For the sake of others and mostly myself.
Thank you Universe for making me this way. I’m an introvert. I’m happy with the way I am. Pump some yaeger in and you’re going to pray or pay someone to make me stop talking. So yes, I’m an introvert living and being on my own terms.
India has not been making it easy for me. It makes me depressed. Since I have no proper training on social rules and behavior, I have to constantly guess whether my move is right or not and keep thinking ahead. Even with that, after a particular conversation I’m not sure if that’s how it was supposed to go. Did I do something wrong? Did I offend anyone? Did I say something completely unfunny that only I thought of as funny? ‘Cause I do that a lot. LOL 🙂
But now, I’ve decided I’m not going to try anymore. Not any harder than I need to. Not because it gives me a brain-splitting headache or inexplicable face spasms. Well that too. But mostly I’m just comfortable and less unhappy being me. I connect with people that have the same interests as me – kids (because I have to), fitness, nutrition, flamenco and writing. The rest, I don’t connect with easily, at least not immediately. I am getting better at small talk, but don’t really want to add that impressive skill to my already stinking resume.
What if anyone asks me for my resume? That engineering degree I got? The free lance gigs I did before venturing into chaos? That fitness certification I got? That list of books I’ve read and want to read? The list of movies I saw?
Oh that resume? Don’t have it. Didn’t I tell you I live in India? Cockroaches and rats must have eaten that big pile!
“A great thing in my life was going to India” said Beatrice Wood.
I’m a big fan of her but I think she’s a liar. How could “going to India” be a great thing, let alone a good thing? Then again, may be she’s not. Because she also said
“My life is full of mistakes. They’re like pebbles that make a good road.”