December 22nd, 2005, 6 am. San Francisco International airport. A moment etched in my memory forever.
My flight had just landed from New Delhi. It wasn’t too bad of a flight; just a little bumpy ride from the turbulence that makes you almost poop in your pants bullying you into submission to the Gods of the skies to beg for your life with folded hands every time the plane trembles (Disclaimer: I recite Hanuman Chalisa for additional help), occasional cries of babies when you are at the precipice of dozing off, a few This Is Your Captain Speaking interruptions urging you to fasten your seat belt when you had just unbuckled it, knee joints begging for a stretch walk, a few wake up nudges from neighbors who need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and not to mention the nicotine craving. To make my case against getting labeled as a whining bitch, I must proclaim that I did feel grateful when my plane landed safely.
“Finally…Here I am…in the elite club of NRIs” was my first thought as soon as I stepped out of the airport terminal.
“Wow! The Sunrise is magnificent.” I mumbled in awe as my eyes aligned with the horizon. I was truly smitten.
“The air feels fresh too!” My inner voice backed me up as it made me aware of the absence of dust in the air. I had probably misunderstood my fresh infatuation with the land as my inner voice…or maybe it was just the pollution-free air of the morning, or maybe my dust allergic nostrils were happy, who knows…the moment was extraordinary, and I was living it.
When I was done relishing the moment, I proceeded towards the ground transportation area to hire a shared door-to-door shuttle. The shuttle dropped me at the apartment that had been prearranged by the consultant.
Tired and jet-lagged, I found myself succumbing to a deep sleep, my exhausted body collapsing onto the couch for another 6 hours until I was suddenly jolted awake by a loud thumping at the door.
“Knock Knock,” reverberated through the air.
“Hold on just a minute,” I grumbled, my hands ruffling through my hair as I stumbled towards the door.
“Welcome to the US! How was your flight?” The consultant, now officially my employer, greeted me with a welcoming gesture.
“Hello there! I must apologize, I was completely lost in slumber and failed to hear the bell ring,” I responded, still trying to clear my eye boogers.
“No worries at all. Did you get enough rest?” he inquired as he made his way into the living room and settled onto the couch.
“I suppose I did. So, what’s the plan?” I inquired as I handed him a glass of water.
“Well, ideally, I was hoping that you would arrive later in January when the new quarter of hiring begins, but since you’re here earlier than expected, I suggest taking some time to get comfortable and acclimatize to the new place. I’ll notify you if any job opportunities become available in the meantime,” he clarified.
“Tomorrow, I’ll provide you with a laptop and some groceries to get you started. And if you need anything, just use this phone,” he added, offering me a Verizon flip phone that looked more like the Nokia phone I had in India.
“Alright, then. I’ll take my leave now. See you soon,” he concluded as he stepped out of the room and drove away.
I trudged back to the couch and drifted off into another peaceful slumber.
True to his word, the next day, he made good on his promise by delivering groceries and a brand-new Acer Aspire laptop for me. He took the time to show me around the area, ensuring that I felt comfortable and at ease in my new surroundings.
The laptop was a blessing. Being a phasmophobic, I had always had trouble living alone; and Hanuman Chalisa came to rescue again as I played it in the loop on the laptop all night long while I slept.
“Where have all the people gone? Why aren’t there any cows on the street? And where the hell are the dogs?” I lamented, desperately craving the human interaction that I was so accustomed to back in India.
The roads were spotlessly clean, the trees and flowers were strikingly vibrant, the sky was an immaculate blue, the nights were breathtakingly starry, and the sun and moon appeared grand and majestic. Yet, despite all the perfection, something was amiss. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the hustle and bustle of the people, or the constant honking of automobiles on the streets, or maybe even the barking of stray dogs at night that my ears longed for. The initial silence and serenity had turned into an eerie and haunting feeling, too perfect for the imperfections that I was so used to in India.
Living in such isolation was unbearable for me, a social creature by nature, so I decided to share the studio apartment with a roommate and posted an advertisement on Craigslist. An African-American girl from Boston responded to my ad and moved in shortly after. Her name was Anyoso.
It was through Anyoso that I began to recognize the true beauty of black women for the very first time. Standing at an impressive height of 6 feet tall, with voluminous afro hair, and a body perfectly chiseled with curves in all the right places, she possessed an exquisite balance of natural beauty that could make any man weak at the knees, myself included. Growing up in India, the obsession with fair skin had conditioned me to associate it with beauty in my subconscious mind. However, Anyoso’s arrival rewired my brain and challenged this perception, proving that beauty comes in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Our connection was immediate, and our chemistry was palpable. We were on, although short-lived, for some good times together.
