Being Different

Being different is exhausting. Some days I would kill to simply walk down a street and blend in, not draw attention from anyone. I feel every gesture, gaze, and glare, however blatant or nuanced--seeing as I have taken on a role of expert observer. Everywhere I walk, every seat I occupy, every bead of sweat I wipe off my brow, every cup of tea I sip too quickly, every time I readjust my dupatta, every time I awkwardly ball up rice and miss my mouth with lack of skill--I am acutely aware of their acute awareness of my presence, of my being. And I haven't figured out whether it is judgement, or curiosity, or disgust, or approval or all of the above. But the guessing, and the lack of reassurance, lack of validation that I am a normal, good human-being is torturing for us all-caring souls.

My energy to maintain a smile when I feel so alienated is draining as swiftly as my taste-buds began to resent the taste of biriyani and as strongly as the daily bath of judgmental ethnocentrism with the bucket shower of water that smells like deviled eggs streaming down my scalp and back. Lately I have been ending the days with belly flops on my bed, on the border between exasperation and frustration that all international sojourners feel when they truly contemplate the motive behind their journey. The big questions: "why am I here?", "what did I want to achieve?", "how did I think I could make a difference?", "what did I expect?"--all badger me like ornery students who won't put their hand down until they speak their peace. 

 In the beginning, all those quirky cultural differences and communication mix-ups are more interesting than aggravating. But the longer I try to integrate myself into a truly Indian work setting, I encounter even deeper barriers. Language, for one, is truly a huge barrier. There is nothing more alienating than going through your whole day hearing your mother tongue only from the ramblings of your own mind. And while I feel I am becoming an expert at body language, I feel inadequate as to how much I can learn or even do since merely observing or interacting requires a mediator. 

Feeling like you have nothing to offer is every social worker's deepest fear, but one that we maybe have to confront since our roles sometimes are better served in simply bearing witness. Why is it that we can't be satisfied with simply affecting change in our personal experience? I read in Shantaram the other day a poignant line, "Sometimes in India, you have to surrender before you succeed." Perhaps India is stripping me of my interdisciplinary, progress-oriented agenda to open my heart to a new type of practice--one that is focused on relationships, and reciprocal exchange, and accompanying a process as opposed to measuring a goal.