Saturday, April 13, 2013

AMERICAN DESI GIRL Chapter 3 Coming to America


Chapter 3

Coming to America

Mama and the LP were rushing into the library, in a tearing hurry to check out books for a project that was due in less than twenty-four hours. “What to cook for dinner?” was not even a consideration on a day like this. It was going to be burritos and nachos they’d decided already, from the neighborhood taqueria. They’d probably be up into the wee hours of the morning working on this, Mama having to help with the cutting and pasting. Skating and school were great, each one on their own, but together, they got all tangled up sometimes. With practice six nights a week this huge project got lost in the haze. It would seem like you lost an elephant in a haystack if you told a teacher you “forgot” you had to do this thing, for three hundred and fifty points and had a month to work on it. But that was pretty much what had occurred. Baal Vihaar had fallen by the wayside, as had their social life, and window shopping. No one was complaining though. Skating had been the nicest thing that had happened to them because of the joy it brought with it. Loads of work and bills came alongside too, but loads of happiness was what made it all worthwhile. It would take a while learning to juggle two worlds. Right now it was almost like looking in the mirror and speaking one language and having your reflection speak back to you in another. Very confusing.

Just as they rounded the bend leading to the juvenile non-fiction section, a very helpless looking dad with a little boy, a miniature image of the father, both very well dressed, Rolex and more, cornflower blue eyes and blond hair, walked up to them, beginning with a “Por favor” asked a detailed question. Mama knew she had been a bad girl opting for home economics every year in school instead of taking up the challenge of learning a new language because she now couldn’t tell what she could possibly do. She began to point to the Spanish section only to have the LP tug at her sleeve, whispering,

“That was not Spanish, Mama.”
“Then what was it?”
“I’m not sure.”
About this time the gentleman asked, ”Espanol?”
“Sorry. Only English and Hindi. Maybe someone at the desk can help you.” She pointed to the information desk, and feeling like her past had come back to haunt her, and she should’ve known better, started to back away happy at least her little girl was learning Spanish, French, and Hindi, however sketchily, and all the Bengali Papa could teach her in the few minutes he saw her each day. The gentleman asked again, very incredulously, eyes narrowing with slight suspicion, ”No habla Espanol???”

In about three seconds they all found the situation extremely funny and parted ways laughing.

“Coming To America” — movie

No comments:

Post a Comment