Glimpse - Your Stories from Abroad

I don’t get a lot of phone numbers from 15-year-old girls. So when I saw Usa, one of my Nepali students, scribbling down a number on the back of my notebook, I wondered what was going on. She finished writing and handed the notebook to my fellow teacher (and roommate) Rajesh.

“Oooh,” Rajesh said, wagging a finger at me. “You owe me a big treat!”

“Hey bud,” I said, “I know the whole age difference thing isn’t as big a deal here, but there’s no way I’m giving you a treat because a 15-year-old student gave me her phone number. I’m 26!”

“Not her,” he said. “Her didi!” The term literally translates to “older sister,” but is used in Nepal to refer to any older female friend or acquaintance. My interest suddenly increased.

“Who is this didi?” I asked.

“Her name is Srijana, she’s a teacher at the boarding school. She has seen you taking chow mein at Manish’s tea shop.”

My mental wheels began to turn. Rajesh and I had seen a number of good-looking women near Manish’s tea shop. This could be good, I thought.

Still, I delayed calling Srijana. I didn’t have a clear grasp on dating etiquette in the small village of Gajuri, where I was living, but my understanding was that if two people became romantically involved, they did so with the intent that they would eventually marry. I had no idea what Srijana’s intentions were, but I certainly wasn’t in the market for a wife, and I didn't want to get in over my head.

After three days went by, Rajesh and Saroj (our other roommate) began to lose patience. “You must call Srijana tonight,” Rajesh said. We were reclined on our respective beds in the room that we shared with a local host family.

“You should,” Saroj added. “If nothing else, you could have a new friend.”

Just then, our young host brother, Surya, appeared in the doorway to announce that Usa and a guest were at the house, and they were coming upstairs.

I sat up quickly and surveyed the room, vaguely searching for a place to hide. I had just begun to work up the nerve to call Srijana, but I was not prepared to meet her this very moment. At least, I thought, my roommates would be here to help ease any discomfort.

As soon as the thought crossed my head, Rajesh and Saroj stood up and made their way to the door. “Hey, wait!” I called. “Where are you going?” But they only smirked as they scampered away. Desperate for something to keep my hands busy, I began sorting my bookshelf.

A few seconds later, Usa appeared in the doorway, followed by a girl who looked to be in her early- to mid-20s, with shoulder-length black hair. She was wearing a brown shirt and black Adidas pants, and she was attractive, but not nearly as attractive as the girls I had seen at the teashop. As she entered the room, she smiled shyly at me and then looked away.

“This is Srijana,” Usa said. They sat down on Rajesh’s bed.

“Hey!” I said, perhaps a little too brightly, needlessly rearranging a few books. “We were just talking about calling you.”

Srijana was visibly nervous as she began what seemed like a prepared statement. “I saw you maybe one month ago and thought, ‘I think he could be my friend,’ but I have not come yet.” I nodded, unsure what to say. Srijana asked, “So, do you think you can be my friend?”

“Sure, we could use more friends,” I said, deliberately making another reference to my phantom roommates. If I was going to get to know this girl, I wanted to do it with Saroj and Rajesh around.

“Oh,” Srijana said, frowning. “I’m not so sure you’re excited to be my friend.”

“No, no,” I protested. “Like I said, we could definitely use another friend or two. We just hang out here all the time!”

“You should come over to meet my family,” she said.

Whoa, I thought. This girl moves fast. “Yeah… sure… me and the guys can definitely swing by… one of these days.”

“You should come now,” she said, as though she were improving on my suggestion.

“Uhhh, well… aren’t you eating dal bhat (dinner) pretty soon? I think we’re about to eat.”

“No, there is time,” she said, standing up.

“Um… all right then… I suppose we could come over for a bit.”

I stood up and we headed toward the stairs, where we ran into Rajesh. “You and Saroj should come with me to Srijana’s house,” I said, flashing him a look that said, Please don’t make me do this by myself.

Rajesh paused, but a choice was made for him before he could speak.

“You don’t need to come,” Srijana told him, then looked toward me. “Just you.”

I didn’t see any way out now. Feeling slightly defeated, I shrugged at Rajesh, then followed Srijana down the stairs.

“So how long have you lived here in Gajuri?” I asked as we walked through the market toward her house.

“Not many years, maybe five. We moved from India because there are so many educated people there and not enough jobs.”

“Oh, you’re from India? That’s cool.” Knowing she hadn’t been living in Gajuri her entire life made me feel slightly more comfortable. A young man and woman would not typically be seen walking down the street together, at least not alone, and being the only Westerner in the village, my actions rarely went unnoticed. But, perhaps because Srijana and I were both foreigners, I didn’t notice any particularly disdainful looks cast in our direction. Within minutes, we reached Srijana’s red-brick house.

The room we entered apparently doubled as a bedroom and kitchen. A twin-sized bed and a chair were nestled in one corner, and the opposite corner housed a spice rack and two cabinets. I sat in the chair while Srijana took a seat on the bed with two other women: her mother and grandmother.

“Namaste,” I said to them as I sat down, my hands folded in prayer position. They replied in kind.

“You say namaste,” Srijana said, giggling. Here in her own home, she suddenly seemed much more comfortable.

“Yeah, we were taught that before we got here,” I said. “Now I just have to work on the rest of the language.”

“Do you know what my name means?” Srijana asked.

“Um, no.”

“Srijana means to create,” she said, leaning closer. There was a hint of seduction in her voice. “And I am born on February 14th. So I am the creator of love.”

She leaned toward me and grinned slightly, and I shifted my knee so that it wouldn’t touch hers. I smiled back at Srijana then looked toward her mother and grandmother, who were seated next to her on the bed. Neither appeared to understand what was being said.

I sat in silence for a few seconds as Srijana stared at me deeply. “Cool,” I finally said, trying to find a transition. I exhaled rather forcefully, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “So where in India are you from?”

“Darjeeling, it’s beautiful.” A look appeared on her face as though she had an idea. Then she said, “We must be friends forever, because we are both not from Nepal. Promise you will be my friend forever?”

“Sure,” I said with a bit of a nervous laugh.

“I like American music,” she said. “Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys... ” She closed her eyes and began to sway a bit. “You are… my fire…” she sang, slightly off-key. “My one… desire…” It seemed she was taking her performance very seriously. “Nepali people are jealous of me because I can sing and dance, and because I am pretty.”

Was this girl being serious? I wondered. Her expression conveyed no hint of irony. She leaned toward me again. “So, do you promise you will be my friend?”

I nodded half-heartedly, as my mind raced, trying to figure out a way to politely excuse myself as soon as possible.

“Hey, I really need to head home,” I said, swiftly standing up. “I shouldn’t be late for dal bhat.”

“OK, well, I will walk with you.”

I insisted I would be OK, and after a little squabbling, I left the house on my own. It was completely dark out now, but Gajuri was in the midst of its six daily hours of electricity, so I was guided by the lights of the shops.

I knew that when I got home, Saroj and Rajesh would be wondering what I thought of Srijana, and if I wanted to be her boyfriend. I realized that, despite how I felt, I probably already was.