Ranjini Sharma Blogs

Originally Posted on my other blog page - http://r-sharma.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm

An Indian American Host

The Sanskrit word “Athithi” literally means "without time". It can be interpreted as “one without time”.
Athithi need not have a specific day or time for showing up at someone else’s home, which may be considered very impolite by most Western cultures. But showing hospitality without any expectation or restraint is second nature to us Indians. Even today, it is an accepted custom for Hindu hosts to open their homes to friends, relatives and even strangers without prior notice. According to our Dharma Shastras, hosting is supposed to be a religious duty of every cultured Hindu. It is also improper for hosts to expect that guests would call before arriving at their doors, and hosts should never ask how long their guests would like to stay. Our grandparents followed the time-honored practice of welcoming young students from out of town to reside in their homes during the entire duration of their education. Food was offered to them for free.

Indians have been immigrating to the USA on jobs or as students for many years. We start families and establish ourselves within the community. We take pride in our work, both inside and outside our home. Yes, we are excellent hosts according to our friends and family. We have not forgotten the concept, ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’. Normally our guests are our parents, in-laws, cousins, ex-classmates, co-workers and others that we know and care about. Most of our guests in America have been wonderful. We have had numerous guests over the years. We plan elaborately and go through painstaking efforts to make our guests’ stay in our homes comfortable and enjoyable. We may even keep one dedicated bedroom for visitors to stay. Our hospitality is always reciprocated when we become their visitors.

An occasional guest may never know this, but many households in America do not have servants. Maidservants prefer to work a minimum of 4 hours, once a week, and they are just not practical for busy families with hectic lifestyles. Homemakers and working women alike bear the brunt of tedious household chores, just like our Indian counterparts. All those gadgets and gizmos never mitigated our mothers’ line-up of chores in India and the same goes with women here. Men do their part to assist us in anyway they can. Typically, they take on the role of chauffeurs for you, plan your visits to local tourist spots and they even drive you from/to the airports and everywhere in between. They become your tourist agents. Our families also bear all the expenses incurred during your visit. Yes, that is our Dharma and we do it willingly.

But our home is our Brindavan. No home should be (mis) used as a free motel. It is a place where respectable guests are welcome to stay and in return, treat us with respect in our own homes. Guests should treat us the way they would want to be treated!

Fairly enough, our Dharma Shastras also describe the duties of decent Hindu guests. Not wanting to leave the hapless hosts strung high and dry, the almighty guests also have been assigned certain Dharmic etiquette to follow, if they are the conscientious types. Guests “could” notify their hosts ahead of time about their arrival and duration of stay. It would make the job of hosting less stressful. Dharma Shastras also expect guests to offer help and assistance with household chores during their stay. Guests are suggested never to be judgmental of their hosts’ lifestyle or meddle into their family affairs, especially with regards to upbringing of kids. They should refrain from making insulting remarks and generally be gracious to their hosts. Before leaving, it is polite to extend an invitation to their hosts and to compliment them for their hospitality. After returning to their homes, they should not forget to communicate occasionally with their hosts, at least for the next few months.

I write this essay as an Indian American mother, a wife, a hostess, a friend, and a relative of someone (however distant). I represent many Indian American hosts and women in particular who would concur with my observations here that some of our own fellow Indians take us for granted! This essay is based on several of their accounts as well as my own personal experiences. But hypocrisy is so insidious. It can crop up anywhere or anytime. I could be committing hypocrisy just by writing about this issue since I too have been a guest many times. But hey, I got the pen out first on this topic. So, I will write my heart out. Someone’s got to do it and I willingly volunteer to lay this issue out in the open. Those who are guilty and have a conscience will recognize themselves through this essay and hopefully correct themselves. Those who do not have a conscience have no hope anyway!

Please let me elaborate.

Indian American families residing in California or Florida, generally speaking, are very close to Disneyland, Universal Studios, Hollywood, Sea World, Lego Land and so on. In these states, we hosts also end up spending hundreds or thousands of dollars from our own pockets on our friends and families for tickets to visit any number of these entertainment parks. In fairness, many visitors also volunteer to pay for their own tickets. If the hosts have to pick up the tab once or twice, it is reasonable and understandable. But several hosts living in Florida and California have been complaining that, in recent years, strangers have walked into homes identifying themselves as relatives. “Some” of them take advantage of our magnanimity, especially young bachelors coming to USA on temporary visas. In all fairness, I have to use the qualifier “some” because it is the truth. Besides, if I do not use this qualifier then we Indian Americans would be referred to as being misanthropic, which is untrue.

This problem is not specific to California or Florida alone. Those who reside close to a world famous attraction in certain other areas of this country are bound to get a taste of this peculiar experience. We once had thirteen guests showing up at our door one evening in four cars, and I only knew one of them casually. She was an ex-colleague of mine. These days, young men and women coming to USA on temporary visas ideally work for a few months in the USA before returning to India. They are not compelled to settle in this country thanks to a booming Indian economy. They usually get paid very well both in India and in America. Back home in India, some of these young men are the “ideal” guests, as dictated by our Dharma Shastras. They do not exploit the generosity of their hosts. These days, they probably even make a phone call before visiting. They travel independently; they do not depend on their relatives for transportation and they spend their own money.
But when in America, they “mutate” into these uncaring, unconcerned, stingy yet pompous visitors. The minute they land in one of the international airports here, their mental calculators start performing the same currency multiplication over and over again. They hesitate to spend, and rightly so. Our culture has taught us to spend wisely and to save for a rainy day. Money they save can be converted into a tidy sum after they return back to India in a few months. But the resident Indian Americans have nowhere to return. We live and function with dollars and we have forgotten how to multiply! We can always blame American education for that too.

Why target men only, you ask?
In our experience, when women visit us, they are usually very helpful. They lend a hand in the kitchen; they help and assist with a few other chores, always acknowledging that the poor hostess is doing it all alone. They are considerate and almost always respectful of the host’s domain. Women incapable of such courtesies still have the diplomacy to at least empathize verbally!

Note: ‘Some’ of the conversations narrated below are actual recounts from encounters with some of these guests.

Say, you are that unsuspecting Indian American host family. These young men typically call you during one of the long holiday weekends. They normally do not call their hosts ahead of time. They are lot more considerate if you were a regular mainstream American family, but they take several liberties if you are an Indian family. They do not want to spend their hard-earned dollar savings on such trivial comforts like renting a motel room while vacationing. Also, they dislike American food, generally speaking, except for the occasional visit to a Pizza Hut or Taco Bell.

On one such long holiday weekend, your little family would have planned a mini vacation away from home. Nothing fancy, just a drive to a nearby town and an overnight stay at a motel. It would have been several months of working 5 days a week, commuting back and forth, utter boredom, and your kid is aching to just get away from home. For the journey, you have planned a small riparian picnic with sandwiches. You are getting busy packing your picnic basket and right in between the ‘sand’ and the ‘wich’, the cell phone rings. It turns out to be your second cousin’s brother-in-law! You do not remember his name and you have definitely never met him before. Why, you barely know your second cousin!

This young man now attempts to clarify the exact relationship between you and him by muttering a few mutually common family names.
“Owww, so you do know Aunt Malathi?” he questions.

Yep, you think to yourself. Unfortunately, you also know that she’s got a bad temper. If this young man has come bearing her unwritten orders, you dare not disobey her.
He adds, “Aunt Malathi and my mother are cousins.”
Funny, neither one of these ladies ever met you during your numerous visits to India. They never invited you over for a cup of tea.
In the meantime, your kid is upstairs excitedly packing his little backpack with swimming trunks and a Frisbee. Husband has the maps and directions ready to go. It is close to 11:00 AM.

“So, where are you now,” you ask, hoping he wasn’t in your town already.
“In your town,” he replies, as if he’s read your mind.
“Gee, welcome. You could have called me yesterday,” you say, trying to sound generous. In reality, last week or last month would have been helpful.
“Well, you know how work is in America. I lead a team of software engineers and my boss finds me indispensable. I have worked here for six months now and I believe in good work ethic. Just planned yesterday night to drive down to your place so we can all visit Universal Studios together! We will leave on Tuesday morning,” he declares.

Funny he should mention work ethic because you have one too. In fact, you have to return to work on Monday morning! But he never once inquires about your schedule, ‘cause he doesn’t want to know.
By now, you are quietly signaling to your husband to put all picnic plans on hold.
He does not understand “hand-signals”. Husbands are just not good at that art.

“So, when are you going to reach my place,” you ask.
“I’ll be there in about 22 minutes,” he says.
22 minutes! You look around the house. Your home is not ready for visitors.
No servants to help remember? Your kitchen sink is still full of dirty dishes; you were planning to load them into dishwasher before leaving. You had also taken liberty to postpone a few other mundane chores until after the picnic. Your laundry baskets are overflowing and guest bedroom has become a temporary holding place for son’s guitars. Your mind is racing. You know that the picnic sandwiches are not sufficient for seven hungry souls. The young man has traveled 250 miles overnight, alone, to visit you.
No wait! He said ‘to visit Universal Studios’ and he said ‘we’.
Who’s ‘we’?
“Are you alone,” you ask.
“Just three of my colleagues. They are also my roommates,” he says with pride, as if to please you even more!
Husband senses something’s wrong and looks at you with questioning eyes.
The young man asks for last minute directions and slams the phone down.
Your three days of rest, as you know it, are gone.
After a brief explanation to your confused husband, you compose yourself by repeating ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’ three times. You are not going to make any sort of concessions when it comes to providing food or comfort for your guests. You have a reputation to keep, not to mention facing Aunt Malathi’s nagging tongue. So, you brace yourself to deliver a brief lecture to your kid.
It’s more like a debate that you cannot win.
“Mom, can we stay at the Super 8 Motel tonight, please? I just love their decor,” your kid pleads. He’s breathless after scurrying around collecting his outdoor toys.
Not sure if it’s that queen bed or the generic painting on the walls of Super 8 that’s attracting your kid.
“Baby, Appa and Amma have a few guests coming over today. So, we are canceling our trip. They are our family.”
“Family? How exactly,” he asks like a seasoned prosecutor.
“Well, they are, huh, they’re related in a roundabout way. It’s confusing, believe me,” you try to weasel out.
But kid’s waiting for clarifications. He’s not happy. He had his mouth all set for Super 8’s complimentary continental breakfast with hazelnut coffee.
But you have nothing more to say and so you decide to abscond from further interrogation. Time is running out. You have to put the pressure cooker on the stove, cut vegetables and plan the menu for lunch and dinner concurrently. Dad takes over pacifying kid and attempts to solve that stranger relationship puzzle.

In the meantime, you remember bathrooms. American bathrooms somehow tend to get really dirty very fast. You are hoping that your family has managed to keep them reasonably clean. To your surprise, bathrooms are sparkling thanks to some rigorous cleaning earlier that week. So, while the cooker is attempting to collect steam, you race upstairs to delegate room cleaning to husband and grumpy kid. There is only one queen bed for two and kid is currently occupying it. There is an extra queen size futon in the office. Good, there’s room for four, you think. Grumpy’s got to squeeze into a sleeping bag for next three nights. To your surprise, kid finds sleeping bag to be a good compromise. Accidentally you blurt out the words ‘Universal Studios’ while giving instructions. Kid hears it and squeals in delight. You were not exactly planning to accompany those guests to Universal Studios because you’ve been there 4 times in the last two years with Aunt Kala, your cousins, parents and friends. That nasty Jurassic roller-coaster drop had compressed your spinal discs and that was a hard one to forget. But now it’s a different story. Your kid needs your company. He is ready to forget Super 8 Motel! He also starts to help Dad with cleaning rooms.

Thank goodness, now you are back in the kitchen to start your banquet menu. You assume that the poor young men would love some hot homemade staples from South India. That is where your expertise lies and you intend to showcase your talent. But again, you do not know any of your unexpected guests and you cannot guess what they would prefer to eat.

Before you know it, the doorbell rings. Husband opens the front door and four strange men walk into your home. They somehow managed to find your home with minimal instructions; something you have not managed to learn after all these years. Two of them stumble inside your doorstep still wearing their soiled shoes, pretending not to know your customs here in America. They think that your old Indian values have changed (usually for the worse). The other two quickly notice your three sets of bare feet inviting them inside and so they decide to meekly leave their sneakers outside the threshold. After a quick exchange of ‘hellos’ and respective names, you invite them into your living room. By now, husband really wants to fit all missing pieces into that relationship puzzle and starts questioning them.
You could care less. That young man’s connection to Aunt Malathi alone is good enough for you. It’s time to get the coffee percolator going. They have driven 250 miles non-stop.

“How did you manage to drive so fast,” you ask.
Turns out that the team leader (usually there’s one) also happens to be the driver. The young man who called earlier identifies himself as NipuNa Rao. He’s the one related to you, somehow. He admits that they were doing 95 miles an hour on the I-5 when they were stopped by a cop and ticketed for speeding. Husband looks shocked. Team leader quickly calms husband down by assuring that he is not actually planning to pay the fine since the entire group is moving out of state next week to start working on a new project. Hence the rush to visit Universal!

Unscrupulous guy and dangerous driver, husband thinks. So he designates himself as their chauffeur for the next 4 days. Exactly what the team leader was hoping for since his car holds four and your family van holds exactly 7 people! What a coincidence!
“NipuNa is a unique name,” you think to yourself. “It means clever, proficient, skilful, sharp and keen.”
You pour hot coffee into cups and you started to tread gingerly across the hallway, balancing the tray all the way to your guests. No one approaches you to lend a hand. So, you lean forward to offer coffee individually to each man.
Husband’s still interrogating them.
“So, have you started packing your belongings for the move out of state?”
“Oh, we just have a few suitcases. That’s all,” NipuNa clarifies.
“What about furniture? You surely have some after all these months,” husband asks curiously.
NipuNa gives an answer that suits his name, “That’s not a problem at all because we do not keep furniture with us all the time. We normally buy plastic chairs and tables from K-Mart. We use them for one month. Then we return them back to the store because they have money back guarantee if you are dissatisfied with the product. We get our money back and off we go to the next state.”
Husband is visibly displeased with that answer.

Soon, you are back to collect all the empty cups. By this time, they are already discussing their plans to visit a few additional places during the next four days. Husband is assisting with maps, itinerary and scheduling.

Lunch is ready and waiting to be served. You have prepared Rice, Rasam, Curry, Payasam and your trademark – Karnataka style Gojju. You feel like taking a short break and just saunter over to the group chatting in the living room since no one has visited you in the kitchen yet.
“Hope you all like South Indian food,” you inquire.
“Two of us are from North India,” says one of them.
Good, you think. They will definitely enjoy the change. They must be bored with Chappatis and Daal.
“They both prefer Chappatis and Daal, if you don’t mind,” clarifies the team leader (Mr. NipuNa) pointing towards two of the men.
By now, you start to wonder if your mind has been connected to some kind of external sound system that seems to amplify all your thoughts to this guy instantly. He just seems to know what you are thinking.
“They just landed in America last week. This is their first visit to this country and they have not gotten used to the bland meals here. They also hate cheese,” he continues.

You have no stamina to prepare Chappatis now, so you promise to prepare them for dinner. They agree. They are not at all demanding.
Your kid is fascinated by all the new faces in his home. He sees a bit of himself in their eyes, hair and skin color. He starts to follow them around.
Time to get up for lunch. One by one, they walk over to use the toilet.
Your kid comes running into the kitchen because he has heard some distinct sounds emanating from the toilet after each use and he wants to convey that news to you immediately.
“Mom, they are using our potty like a public urinal for men. They are standing and peeee-ing!”
“Shhhhhh, they will hear you. Are you sure?” you ask.
“Mom, believe me, I know urinal when I hear one! Why don’t they just sit, mom? It has a seat! Hope they have not wet the seat and floor all over,” kid wonders.
“You don’t sit on it until I wipe the potty, okay?” you whisper to your son.

After everyone has left the narrow aisle leading to the toilet, you peek inside to judge the condition. Your family has developed this little habit of closing the potty cover before flushing so as to cut down on aerosol caused during flushing, not mention sitting down while using it! But this time, the toilet seat and lid are left standing up and no one has bothered to wipe the droplets around the potty. You cannot clean now since food has to be served. You hope that husband will notice and help later.

Anyway, you seat your guests at the dining table. It is typical 18th century Indian serving. Men sit first, woman serves simply because it’s easier this way. Husband’s feeling guilty and wants to help, but he’s really hungry too. Besides, he has to give them company. So you start serving alone.
Your culinary creation is special today compared to yesterday’s menu. Your dishes are a tad spicier and they are sure to please a true Indian palate.
But kid’s first to complain.
“Mom,” he whispers pointing to that Gojju, “too spicy, can I have yoghurt rice instead?”
Not wanting to deny him some basic nutrition for that day, you quickly spoon out some thick store-made plain yogurt on his rice.
Your (distant) relative, NipuNa, is a happy man. He’s appreciative, thankful and licks his fingers while slurping your Rasam which was prepared using your mother’s fresh batch of Rasam powder shipped from Bangalore.
You nervously eye the two North Indians at the far end of the table and you are attempting to analyze their facial expressions.
The older one is adventurous. He’s diplomatic too; doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.
The younger man is the most recent of the immigrants. He just left his mother’s home last week. He was barely past his jet lag when his roommates planned this vacation. He’s not forgotten Mama’s cooking and he’s not enjoyed the past week’s bachelor food. Now, after sitting in the backseat of his colleagues’ car and enduring a non-stop 250-mile drive (not to mention, at breakneck speeds), he was hard to please.
His mouth was salivating for some good homemade Chappatis and Daal. Your assortment of unfamiliar, spicy, tangy South Indian servings on his plate has made him melancholic.
You see that sadness in his eyes and ask if he needs anything.
He too points towards that dollop of thick store-made plain yogurt on your kid’s plate and wants you put one scoop on each of your precious spicy servings. The older North Indian guy takes his cue and quickly repeats the same request.

You seriously doubt your cooking abilities and you wonder if the problem is with you or them. But you quickly lay the blame on their team leader, NipuNa. After all, he had your phone number all along and he could have given you advanced information two days ago about these newcomers.
Soon, your yogurt container is empty and lunch concludes. Everybody gets up. Used plates and cups are on the table to be picked. Guests head back to the living room to rest on the sofas, still wearing soiled socks.
Husband lends a hand in cleaning table and loading dishwasher while you grab a plate of lunch for yourself.
Lunch never tasted so perfect, so what was their problem with the taste, you wonder? Unfamiliarity goes both ways.
“It’s just Chappatis and Daal for dinner,” you conclude.

In the meantime, husband makes a mad dash to grocery store to pick up 2 gallons of high-fat milk, vegetables, potato chips and 4 cans of that highly sought after thick, plain store-made yogurt. Your (distant) relative leaves the rest of his group resting in the living room, to strike a little conversation with you in the kitchen, while you are mixing your Chappati dough. You take a quick glance at the sink, which is brimming with plates, and huge Farberware pots that never seem to fit into the dishwasher.

“I really enjoy living and working in America,” he declares, out of the blue!
“My boss has promoted me to project manager in just three months! He appreciates my hard work and my ‘can-do’ attitude. I volunteer to put my hands into several other projects concurrently.”

You wish he could lend his “can-do” hands for just a few minutes to wash a few dishes in the sink. But that goes against host’s Dharma! Besides, he’s the youngest of four children and the only son of his family. He has been pampered right through his core! He’s not even observed your sink.

“I adjust very well. I’m not fussy and my boss says that I work and think like a real American,” he continues.
You have not met any ‘unreal’ Americans, but you do know that real American men also share basic domestic chores like washing dishes and cleaning toilet.

“Toilet!” You forgot to clean those yellow droplets! American toilets do not have that magical Indian drain hole. You cannot just pour a bucket of water to wash the floor and watch the whole thing vanish into a hole. You’ve got to squat on the floor and wipe everything using a paper towel.
“May be later,” you tell yourself.
NipuNa is starting to pace the carpet slowly. Back and forth he walks, all the while praising himself, never once stopping to look at your face. He’s not yet learned the real American art of eye-to-eye contact, which is also a great equalizer of genders. He’s too macho and self-absorbed. You notice that his accent has suddenly changed. He now has that fresh out-of-the-oven Indian turned American accent.
Funny, you and your husband have not bothered to bake your full-throated South Indian accent in that oven after all these years. You’ve still retained those rolling ‘Rrrr’s and long vowels purrrfectly intact! But this guy landed in LAX just this year and he’s lost his Bangalore accent faster than airlines can lose luggage!

Kid comes into kitchen to interrupt the conversation.
“Mom, can I play ‘Fur Elise’ on my piano to our guests this evening?”
“Sure,” you say, knowing it would entertain everyone, especially since this is a new piece and your kid is still learning to play the song. It should be fun watching him fumble with the keys.
Hearing this, your relative suddenly challenges you.
“Why does your kid not speak to you in Kannada and why don’t you get him some Carnatic lessons instead of Western classical? You should not forget our Indian culture, you know.”
Tut, tut…. There goes the ‘never-criticize-your-host’ Dharma!
You know how to answer him perfectly because you have been defending yourself for years whenever your mother-in-law, aunts or other matronly women posed this exact question during your numerous visits to Bangalore. You also know that you cannot win that cunning and disingenuous ‘why-not-Kannada’ inquiry, but you can clarify the Carnatic music part.

You explain that Carnatic music lessons can be expensive and hard to find in many parts of America. Also, after all the effort your kid puts into learning the art, you only get two Indian cultural functions per year to showcase your talent. Indian American audiences in such functions never pay attention to any of the cultural programs on the stage, except for their own. They can be extremely noisy and chatty. All that glittering jewelry on their friends’ necks and those expensive silk sarees can easily distract them from focusing on the stage programs. Kids get disillusioned after one such experience and you can never convince them to perform on stage to another Indian audience again. But kids can perform their Western classical pieces to quieter audiences at school, within their classrooms or during public recitals filled with eager American parents and grandparents, minus all the unnecessary glitter, glamour and the non-stop cacophony. They almost always get a big applause and people line up to deliver a personal appreciation to the kids after the recital ends! Yes, Americans line up even to appreciate!

Surprisingly, your relative understands your answer and does not challenge you any further! He’s fully aware of the noise and din problem and he’s in deep contemplation about whether to pursue Western classical himself.

After serving a few extra rounds of coffee and tea to everyone, you get down to Chappati making business. Twenty Chappatis and one steaming pot of Daal later, you find time to start planning your morning’s menu mentally.
After dinner, you finish another round of washing and cleaning.
You are really tired. What would have been your day off has now become a relentless, round-the-clock factory.
Husband has called for a meeting to lay down final plans for tomorrow.
“We all leave early because we have to drive 70 miles.”
What about breakfast and lunch for tomorrow?
“Don’t worry about preparing breakfast or lunch,’ says husband sensing that you are tired, “we’ll buy some breakfast while going and then we can buy Pizzas for lunch in the park itself. It is a day for fun, not chores.”
Actually,” says NipuNa, “why not just make some simple Upma and coffee for breakfast? Make extra so we can pack the same for lunch inside Universal since our friends do not like cheese anyway. I really love your cooking.”

Get up at 4:00 AM, you remind yourself proudly. There is a lot of packing to do. So, off you hurry upstairs to help with sleeping arrangements. Since your guests are tired, they jump right into your kid’s bed and another spare bed without even washing themselves!
You notice that your guests do not have a lot of luggage. They always travel light and you realize that they did not bring Pajamas for the night. But when you offer them a few spare ones to wear, they decline politely and roll into the clean sheets in their travel jeans and dirty socks! Not sure if there was any mention of washing oneself daily under the chapter of Dharma Shatras for guests.
“At least, their shoes are off,” you console yourself.
Your kid now rolls into a spare sleeping bag in the TV room. He’s getting taller and he no longer fits in your bed, poor thing. But he smiles anticipating tomorrow’s thrilling experience.

Off to bed you go, not worrying about cleaning toilet anymore. It’s no use. They will stand and urinate many times, so what’s the point. You also realize that apart from that one-sided conversation between you and that relative, you’ve never had a chance to talk to the rest of your guests today. They never acknowledged your presence as a ‘hostess’, except for some quick glances at you while serving food. They never once inquired about your professional life, but they chatted at length with the man of your family, your husband! They know a lot about his background, hobbies and profession too. Are they shy or are they just oblivious to the hostess’s existence? Well, it’s too late to ponder.

Early next morning, you are back in your kitchen. After sending a brief email to your boss to excuse you from that Monday morning’s meeting, you are able to refocus on the task at hand. It takes three hours of non-stop work with occasional help from husband, who also makes a quick trip to gas station and then to the ATM for withdrawing some cash. Universal Studios tickets can be expensive for three of us, especially since this is your family’s 4th trip in recent times. You now have a big picnic bag ready to go. Breakfast is served and everyone piles up into one van.

Husband takes charge of ship by occupying the driver seat. Suddenly, you notice that your usual front passenger seat next to your husband is occupied by that team leader / distant relative guy.
“Hey, that’s my regular seat next to my hubby,” you think to yourself, feeling the pangs of jealousy and self-pity.
The front passenger seat has been your undisputed position in your family’s vehicle, i.e., when you are not driving it yourself. Elderly parents or close family members are allowed to occupy it when they are in town. This feels strange to have a stranger usurp your lofty position.
Too late! Macho Man does not think so. He’s already promoted himself to be indispensable to your husband’s driving today because he’s collected all the maps in his hands. He probably believes that a woman cannot read maps or give directions accurately. Not sure what he thinks of his own mother’s abilities or position within her family.

You huddle with your kid all the way in the back seat. Motion sickness gets accentuated in the back seat, but you are happy to rest your back somewhere. Finally, a whole day of joy and no more domestic humdrum for next 10 hours! Who has the energy to give directions anyway?

After a long and safe drive through numerous traffic jams, you finally reach the gates of Universal Studios. Mr. Macho Man (i.e., your distant relative) was actually fast asleep at the helm throughout the journey. Husband did not need his help with map reading after all! Carrying all our backpacks with the individually packaged Upma bags and unlimited supply of Lays Potato Chips, you reach the ticket counters. Long lines of visitors have already assembled there even before 8:00 AM. You join one of them. To your surprise, Macho Man mysteriously decides to slither away from his vanguard position. He smiles at you and graciously waves his long arms in front, signaling you and your husband to proceed and join one of the lines ahead of him and his friends. His other three friends were subservient to him by nature anyway.
“So nice of him, he’s not all that bad,” you say to yourself, momentarily feeling special and important. After all, he has sisters; he probably knows his manners.

All four guests take their positions behind you. The lines are narrow because of the guardrails. So, visitors can only approach the counter one at a time. Husband decides to do everyone a favor by buying all seven tickets himself. A small discount was offered for the day if you purchase more than five!
So, at about $70 each, husband has spent close to $500 for tickets alone. Once inside the park itself, there are additional costs for speed passes that can help visitors bypass long lines. The whole trip is going to cost more than you had planned to spend for this entire weekend! 500 to 600 dollars can buy a family of three enough groceries to last for 6 weeks, more or less. But, you are pretty sure that the four guests have enough decorum (not to mention cash) to repay your family later. Right?

A whole day of fun and frolic follows as soon as you enter those gates. You enjoy your kid’s company and all those bone shaking rides as well. Before you know it, your lunch and snacks are gone. It is 6:00 PM already. All of you look like stunned animals that have been just woken up with antidotes! Looking haggard by now, with wind-blown looks on your faces, you mosey back to your vehicle.

Everyone again takes his or her designated positions. Tired husband takes the driver position and Macho occupies front passenger seat again for another long nap. You reach home at 11:00 PM. You quietly ask husband if the guests repaid their share for tickets. Husband is too tired to discuss tickets. So, everybody goes to bed without dinner because it’s too late. Again, the four strangers jump into your clean sheets in the same (dirtier by the day) jeans and they’ve been wearing them for two days (or more).

Two more days of hosting go by. You have fulfilled your duties by cooking, feeding and performing other relentless chores. Husband has taken the guests to all the local museums and shopping malls. Your guests had pulled out wads of money this time to buy digital cameras and other expensive goodies for themselves. Still no sign of paying their share for the cost of visiting Universal Studios. You have lost count of what they owe your family because you have not stopped spending.

When it is time to bid good bye to your guests, you and your husband have come to the philosophical conclusion that having new people in your lives for that brief period was probably more valuable than the expense itself.

After guests leave, kid comes back for another round of questioning. “Mom, how were they related again? You never quite told me.”
You are still not sure but you will be contemplating on this whole experience for a long time to come. Your grandparents did not care to know the relationship of those poor Brahmin students from out of town. They hosted those deserving students in spite of their financial constraint. There was a big difference though. Those Brahmin students were impoverished and underprivileged. They usually performed household chores themselves to assist your grandparents in the form of fetching water from the well, washing clothes, baby-sitting and shopping for groceries on their way back from school. They almost always revisited such host families for years. In some cases, those young men also became caretakers of their former foster families, repaying them financially as well as emotionally.

Your guests, on the other hand, are from relatively affluent families. They are not in dire need of anybody’s financial assistance because they earn very well. They misled you by quoting spurious relationships. These young men did not offer one iota of help to you or your hubby. They were not even perfect strangers! They could have been conscientious by being thoughtful and mindful of their Dharma as a guest, without ever being related to you by any stretch of NipuNa imagination! A stranger with some gratitude is not a stranger anymore.

But, NipuNa and party had no accountability. They left your home never to be seen or heard from again, no follow-up phone calls or emails. Aunt Malathi never materialized during your numerous visits to Bangalore during the next five years.
One Memorial Day weekend, the cell phone rings while you are driving down the freeway heading towards a National park for another simple family picnic.
You hear an unfamiliar voice from the other end, “Hello, I am Chathura Rao. I am related to Uncle Lakshmi Narayana Sharma’s second cousin. Do you know him? We wanted to spend some time with your family in Disneyland.”

Unfamiliar names again!
Hopefully, this time you are smarter and you reply quickly in a thick Spanish accent, “This is their baby-sitter speaking. They are not available right now. Please call back later. Me no habla any more Ingles. This is it. Adiós and Bye-bye!”

R-Sharma

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Labels: Athithi. Athithee, hosting, Indian American Host, Indian Americans, ranjini sharma, visitors, visitors from India

Ranjini Sharma Blogs

Sunday, September 9, 2007

India’s Independence Day In The USA!

Originally posted on my other blog page - http://r-sharma.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm

India’s Independence Day In The USA!

Saturday, July 7, 2007

An Indian American Host

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