Good evening. On the Bangalore-Express 5:22PM out of the City.
A crowded train full of my people. I am, strangely, uncomfortable. Y’see, though in most cases I am as old and perhaps older than the off-the-clock IT and DB staff leaving the financial and telecom HQ’s of the City, I feel like I’m at a gathering at my Parents’ house.
I don’t show it, but like many first-generation Americans, born in the USA by immigrant parents, I have the benefit of understanding my native tongue, but not speaking it very well because my parents emphasized success absolute in CPS schools. Telugu was spoken within the home as we memorized Shakespeare, Thomas Paine, Mark Twain, Emily Bronte, and Emily Dickinson – not to forget Watson, Newton, Pawling, Ramanujan, Liebnitz, Descartes, etc. Academic success trumped cultural continuity.
Not that I mind. I was not strictly a die-hard American or a die-hard Desi. I knew, implicitly, that neither culture accepted me wholeheartedly based on my race or my accent. It was the way things were. I envy, somewhat, the skill my younger cousins have with transitioning between flawless English and Telugu or Hindi. I am blessed for hearing things without overt reaction.
I’d elaborate but I had to field three phone calls. I used a flawless Executive Midwestern accent. I heard the the two Andhra IT fellows laugh. “Heh. A Mumbai native or an ABCD. Let’s talk mortgages!” I frowned as I spoke to my wife on the phone, and was listening to their banter.
Also here are four WWF wrestlers, the IT staff for AT&T Midwest Division, and David Cross. All are armed.
Happy Monday. Nellis. Safe Travels.