Day 4
Ran out of churidar pajamas so I improvised a “fit-in” dress – white kurta and jeans. I am always in a dilemma about the “proper” dress – I don’t want to stand out so much that the women feel either intimidated or alienated. But then I don’t want to fit in too well either. My separate-ness, I think, makes them want to help me out and in a away allows them to open up with me without feeling threatened.
They all ask me the same questions , “Are you here ALL alone?? Aren’t you scared?” or “Are you not married yet?” and the one I like best “After your 'daktary', are you going to be a doctor like Madam?”
It’s 10 30 am, and the clinic is as crowded as it was the first day. Madam is doing good business again. I think my big shades sitting pretty on my head is attracting too much of attention. Time to take them off. This was the third time someone asked me which country I am from. Now I’ve stopped getting offended. I have the same color, similar clothes and similar dialect but somehow I can’t convince them that I am an Indian. Maybe it’s my incessant scribbling. I should stop.
For some reason the women and the nurse call the surrogates “cases”. And it seems I am getting obsessed with getting as many cases as possible. Every chubby looking woman seems pregnant and a possible case. And every woman in jeans or a sober salwar kameez is a possible hirer of these women.
I also realized that I am unconsciously being racist in my own country! Isn’t it a well researched fact that we have a tendency to club all “others” together, blurring all differences between them and at the same time exaggerating the differences between them and us? Just think of the example of Koreans/Chinese/Japanese/Blacks. How MANY times have you heard people say “All of them look the same”..
I confess that a lot of Gujarati folk look very similar. All men are very emaciated looking compared to North Indians, most have long curling moustaches. And all the women have a pinched look about their faces – as if they haven’t had enough to eat. No, even the ones who come to hire the women, come in a Honda with their high tech cells and what-nots.
They all ask me the same questions , “Are you here ALL alone?? Aren’t you scared?” or “Are you not married yet?” and the one I like best “After your 'daktary', are you going to be a doctor like Madam?”
It’s 10 30 am, and the clinic is as crowded as it was the first day. Madam is doing good business again. I think my big shades sitting pretty on my head is attracting too much of attention. Time to take them off. This was the third time someone asked me which country I am from. Now I’ve stopped getting offended. I have the same color, similar clothes and similar dialect but somehow I can’t convince them that I am an Indian. Maybe it’s my incessant scribbling. I should stop.
For some reason the women and the nurse call the surrogates “cases”. And it seems I am getting obsessed with getting as many cases as possible. Every chubby looking woman seems pregnant and a possible case. And every woman in jeans or a sober salwar kameez is a possible hirer of these women.
I also realized that I am unconsciously being racist in my own country! Isn’t it a well researched fact that we have a tendency to club all “others” together, blurring all differences between them and at the same time exaggerating the differences between them and us? Just think of the example of Koreans/Chinese/Japanese/Blacks. How MANY times have you heard people say “All of them look the same”..
I confess that a lot of Gujarati folk look very similar. All men are very emaciated looking compared to North Indians, most have long curling moustaches. And all the women have a pinched look about their faces – as if they haven’t had enough to eat. No, even the ones who come to hire the women, come in a Honda with their high tech cells and what-nots.
posted by Amrita Pande at 10:42 PM
1 Comments:
What fun reading your wonderful posts. Your sad dairy story implies none of it was frozen or chocolate. Poor princess!
:( Bingo Bongo misses your nerdy self.
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