This is the final post of the series that examines topics from the perspective of the characters in the upcoming novel, The Paths of Marriage which will be for sale starting 1 October 2014.
“We all Spoke English, just not the Same Language” is written from the point of view of the character, Anand Suresh.
In the 25 years I lived in the United States, I visited my native country of India about 15 times. As the head of neurosurgery at one of the most prestigious hospitals in America – a position that was as much political as it was medical – I grew accustom to privately embracing my arrogant nature. Though I have since taken a more spiritual path, I will return to those arrogant roots to explain the title of this post:
I am amazing.
That is what I was told in India, and that is what I was told in San Francisco, where I resided for two decades.
As you saw in the post of my ex mother-in-law, Lakshmi, and as you will read in our story, competition was the name of the game back in India – for survival, for status, for quality of life, for everything.
In India, to be “competitive”, one had to secure the best scores on every examination. This was no easy feat, as we had a lot of examinations. With my photographic memory, I remained highly competitive in India my entire academic career. I achieved first rank every semester, and graduated valedictorian of the top medical school in south India. According to the Indian rules of competition, I was the best out of a population of hundreds of millions of people. That made me amazing, at least by Indian standards.
My first rank is not why people considered me amazing in San Francisco. They considered me amazing for something that I understood way back in 1970s India, something that Indian schools, consulting firms, and private tutoring companies are now charging billions of rupees (if not dollars) to teach young students today – soft skills.
Why was San Francisco Anand amazing? Because I knew how to talk to people. Because I knew how to listen. Because unlike my equally competitive (by Indian standards) peers, I knew that body odor was a bad thing, because I knew how to find clothes that fit and looked good, because I had good hygiene, because I knew how to smile.
When I first came to the States, everyone asked how I, an Indian man, was able to land a beautiful, smart Indian-American woman as my wife. That was why – Pooja said way beyond my intelligence, it was my empathy, compassion, competence and demeanor that made me the best choice in an otherwise impossible situation. Likewise, beyond any professional record, I made it to the top of my career because of the soft skills I had to offer.
I have to admit, however, that the most formative parts of my life were in between those periods of being perceived as amazing. The first few years after I immigrated to the States were particularly challenging. Soft skills are tricky. Audrey, the partner of my daughter, Deepa, quite clearly illustrated that the subtle social cues we pick up in our own culture may translate differently, elsewhere.
Indeed, as a young immigrant doctor, many of the social norms and truths I held dearly in India did not bode well in America. Whenever possible at a social gathering in India, it was custom to wear clothes that signified wealth. In America, I have seen wedding guests nearly kicked out of receptions for wearing more ornate dresses than the bride. In India, we are taught to enumerate our qualifications when meeting a new person. In America, an undying sense of humility is considered a strength, not a weakness.
The British-derived words I used to describe mundane objects – toilet instead of bathroom, lift instead of elevator, journey instead of trip, holiday instead of vacation – were perceived as unnecessary and pompous. I’d have been far richer if I had a dollar for every time Pooja rolled her eyes at the way I described my work,
“My colleagues are quite obtuse.”
“You mean your co-workers are stupid?”
Despite how adept at American culture I seemed, despite my perfect American accent, and despite my American wife, it was a painstaking process to again achieve my status of ‘amazing.’ I had to unlearn so much of what India taught me, and relearn American ways. It would be inaccurate for me to say this process happened with zero casualties. I understood the power of outward humility very quickly in the States, though I will be the first to admit my humility lay mostly on superficial levels.
Eventually my decisions caught up with Pooja, and we decided to divorce. While I saved the lives of many people in the operating room, it was at the emotional expense of my wife and daughter. When I finally realized my so-called amazing life lacked any depth, and I started on a new path to correct this imbalance.
To those who had ever known ‘Anand, version Amazing’, the move was a total shock. The only person who wasn’t surprised was Pooja. Though I had become a master at articulation, time taught me that I did not know how to communicate. In India, my studies were in English. In America, everything was conducted in English. I mastered both kinds of English. What I could only learn with age and wisdom, however, was that we all spoke English, just not the same language.
To keep updated on new character posts on Crasstalk and to find out more about The Paths of Marriage, visit the website and sign up for the newsletter!
Buy the book on 1 October 2014. This is one powerful story you will never forget.
The complete The Paths of Marriage character series:
Deepa Deva – Implicit Outings on Facebook
Pooja Deva – The Narrative of Marriage
Lakshmi Deva – Pacing Oneself was not an Immigrant Option
Audrey Girard – How to Start a Conversation, American vs France
Anand Suresh – We all Spoke English, just not the Same Language
Alpa Deva – A Straight Coming Out Story
