Deaf in DC: A Memoir

14. The Missing Bag

53 14 The Missing Bag YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING WHAT HAPPENED TO THE bag that TWA had lost. Every day I would ask the dormitory supervisor to call the number the nice lady at the Dulles airport had given me. We would go through all the details—flight number, dates, ticket number— and learn they didn’t know where the bag was and it would show up soon and I should call the next day. This continued for almost a month. Meanwhile, I had to find a way to survive while waiting for the suitcase to arrive. Fortunately, I had two changes of clothes and toiletries with me. These were in my carry-on bag put there as there was not enough space in the bag I had checked in. Dan, on seeing my meager belongings, would ask if my trunk had arrived. It seemed all students had arrived at Gallaudet with a trunk and not with a bag. I decided not to be any different and started using the word “trunk” to describe my missing suitcase. I was not aware that the airline was supposed to give me some kind of money to purchase clothes and other necessities. The airline personnel didn’t offer any help, either. So the only alternative was to wash clothes every three or four days. Dan helped with that by taking me to the basement of Ely Hall and teaching me how to use the washer and dryer. He also loaned me his iron. Thus, I was able to survive on my two pairs of clothes for the whole month. Finally, the famous bag arrived in late October. Dan was disappointed when he saw my “trunk” and asked where the trunk was I had been talking about. I was embarrassed and remained quiet. I opened my suitcase, which had just three more pairs of clothes, another suit, and some gifts for “American benefactors” that Narain insisted I take. Narain had suggested giving these gifts to whoever I felt helped me. However, I never could decide on what to give whom. Later, Dan and I used those ourselves. Dan watched me unpack my meager 54 d e a f i n d c worldly possessions. After I had emptied the suitcase, half the drawers in my chest were still empty. By American standards my possessions were bare bones. The missing “trunk” had arrived and I was glad that I had all my things. To Dan, these must have looked like what an American packs for a weekend trip. However, he didn’t say anything. On a rack in my basement, a tattered beige suitcase sits empty. This suitcase has traveled, empty, with my family to Maryland, Texas, Illinois, North Carolina, New Mexico, and finally to Virginia, a few miles from the Dulles airport where it had arrived first. It looks small, very small. It is hard for me to imagine that I had two suits, three pairs of clothes, and other stuff packed in it to start my life in America. I do not have anything from September 13, 1967, when I came to America left with me, except this suitcase. ...