Deaf in DC: A Memoir

32. Nirmala’s Arrival

132 32 Nirmala’s Arrival IN THE SUMMER OF 1973, I STARTED TEACHING SOCIAL studies at Kendall School in its middle school department. Now that I was gainfully employed and wasn’t going back to India right away, I decided to bring Nirmala to America for a year and return to India in 1974 with her. I bought a ticket for her with my savings and sent it to Babuji along with a copy of the letter from Kendall School, so that Nirmala could get a visa. However, it took two months before she could join me. Bhai Narain sent me a letter indicating the date and flight number of her arrival. Since changing planes in New York to Washington, DC, would not be easy for her, I decided to drive up to New York to meet her. My nephew Surinder, who had moved to America two years earlier, decided to ride with me. He knew an Indian family who lived in New York, and we were to spend the night with them. Kirk and Annette, his new wife, were living in Boston at that time. They decided to drive over to New York to join me to for Nirmala’s arrival. I was worried about her getting a huge cultural shock. I had read hundreds of books related to America and seen all of those American movies before coming here and still had to go through experiences that dropped jaws—sometime mine but mostly of my American hosts. Nirmala , on the other hand, was coming straight from a little village. She had no acquaintance with John Wayne or Zane Grey. At least, I thought, she would not be looking for cowboys and Indians. Surinder and I stayed with a Mr. Sharma, Surinder’s friend, who lived in Queens. He and some members of his family also decided to join us to meet Nirmala at the airport. Thus, we had six or seven of us to welcome her to America. I was happy comparing this small entourage to my own arrival with no one there. Annette had the foresight to have Kirk buy some flowers. “Women n i r m a l a’ s a r r i va l 133 like flowers,” she told us. I recalled buying a small jasmine garland for Nirmala in Delhi, the kind women put around their hair bun. That was the extent of flower giving. I was worried that she might throw the flowers away after getting them. I was wrong. Women do love flowers. The Air India plane was full of Indian people and finding her among more than three hundred people walking out of the immigration gate wasn’t easy. Kirk kept teasing me, “I hope you can recognize your own wife.” I didn’t know how I was going to greet her. I thought of how American couples meet after two years or even after a few days. There is the tight hug and a long kiss. The couple separate when they realize that they are in a public place, put their arms around each other, and walk away talking to one another. Annette was curious about the Indian culture. “Will you kiss her? Hug her? Make her feel good and welcome,” she kept reminding me. Kirk said, “Madan is worried about recognizing his wife and Indian culture forbids public demonstration of affection.” While this deep cultural discussion was going on, Surinder and I, the two people who knew what Nirmala looked like, kept searching the faces of the throngs of the Indian people coming toward us loaded with handbags. Finally, I saw her. She walked slowly with a small bag in her hand. She wasn’t looking for anyone, rather at the floor—like a typical Indian new bride arriving in her in-laws’ house. The fact that this “house” was a huge country was another matter and none of us thought about that. None of us knew what to do. It was a novel situation for all of us. Surinder had the easiest role. He went forward and touched her feet as required of younger people to show respect to their elders. Nirmala gave a shy smile and began to talk to him. This broke the ice and Kirk came forward with the flowers he had been carrying dutifully. Nirmala took them and held them in her hand and began to take stock of who was there. I had to go forward and touch her shoulder as I...