'Of judgements and inhibitions ' & other short stories

Of judgements and inhibitions

It was a cold December night in Minneapolis, reading -20 C I suppose. For the first 22 years of my life, I had lived in only two cities, Chennai and Clemson. Clemson on average was 20 to 30 degrees hotter than Minneapolis at any point during extreme winter, Chennai was 20 degrees hotter than that. Every chill gush of wind scared me. I didn't even know what would happen if I stood there for a few more minutes. My thick woolen jacket was of no help. I ran back into the airport as I kept checking if there was an Uber or Lyft nearby, wearing and removing my gloves over and over again. The airport couldn't have looked creepier.

The grand total of the number of people at the arrival terminal was four, including me. Brought up in a typical middle class South Indian household, I had insecurities about everything. My insecurities had travelled with me all the way to the USA. I somehow felt like I didn't deserve to stand there amongst three American men from the midwest. Maybe the eeriness of the night messed up my thought process, maybe I will never feel confident when I am standing in the middle of an American crowd. I kept clicking on 'Request Now' inside the Lyft app. I strongly hoped it was a non-native driver. I felt like someone from the oppressed classes in India who would rather not deal with the so-called 'privileged' classes.

One of the guys took out a huge cigar from his pocket and lit it with the biggest lighter I had ever seen. He put his left hand inside his pocket as he smoked with the right. At least I was not feeling cold alone. The most frightening thing about being in a situation like this is not the anxiety of what might happen next. It is the extremely difficult work of hearing your thoughts and not reacting to them. You have thoughts about the person standing next to you being a murderer. You have thoughts about being abducted. You have thoughts about a Beethoven tune, for all I know.

My phone rang and I picked up the call. My friend asked me to be careful and reach home safely. As if I didn't know. Another person joined us. It was a woman this time. She walked out of the airport and lit a cigarette. She stood there on the pavement, both her bare hands out of her jacket, just like that. She didn't show a hint of feeling cold. Her head was not covered. I was feeling more uncomfortable about existing in the same world as such highly-adapted-to-cold people, than about not getting an Uber at well past midnight.

'No drivers nearby?' I heard someone speak right into my ears from behind me.

'Whoa!' I shouted in fear as I turned a full 180 degrees to look at who was standing behind me.

'Sorry I didn't mean to shock you,' she said in a strong Indian accent.

If my intuitions were right, she was from Maharashtra. I was still recovering from the shock of hearing someone speak when I least expected to hear any human voice.

'Mantra Kulkarni,' she said as she extended her hand for a shake.

'Raghu,' I said as I sensed the trembling in her hand.

'Kinda creepy out here,' she said.

'Join the club.'

'There are not many Ubers out here today, are there?'

'I have been trying for a few minutes now. No luck!'

'Care for a coffee?' she asked as she pointed towards the lone open coffee shop at the airport.

It's amazing how two Indians from two brutally rival states in terms of every agreeable measure would get along so well, without even a hint of difference when in another country. But, they would stop getting along the moment they enter India. Somehow, the region becomes very important when we set foot in our home country. 'Bloody Madarasis!' and 'Bloody Marathis!' are expressions that you will seldom hear in a group of Indians living abroad.