Broken Bones & a Broken Spirit (Part II)

This story is a continuing from part I.

"Lucky” for me, I found myself in the hot seat. The civil engineer left his family area and sat with the group of us. He began to ask more questions, this time, with a bit more aggression. He stated that it was hard to “get me,” at some point, I suspect because he was interested in starting an argument. Instead, he just got whatever random opinion came to my mind. Defeated on that front, he turned to personal attacks: noting how fat I am and telling all of the women that they should learn from me so they do not also cause their husbands to suffer from their fatness. I frowned, I chuckled good-naturedly but a bit uncomfortably, and looked to his wife. I said, “You’re husband is quite a jokester.” She responded, “Yea. Too Much.”

He asked me what I was doing in India and I told him I was volunteering for a microfinance organization called ESAF. His response was he had never heard of it, and therefore, it must be a sham organization. I explained the organization had been around since 1992 and was focused on helping the entrepreneurial poor. Mockingly, he said to the others, “You all ought to be grateful that she has come to India to spread her good intentions.” The group continued to talk for a bit and I limped away, hoping to stretch out my foot.

Upon my return, he was speaking to the group about having a drink. He asked whether I liked beer, to which I responded, ‘no.’ He said, “Come on Alayne. You must have a beer with me” and ordered one for me anyway. The beer was chilled, brought out, and he began pouring for himself, one of the husbands, and a glass for me. When passed to me, again I said, “no thank you, I really do not like beer.” He began to rant that all Californian guys like beer, to which I retorted, “Fine, but I am not a guy, I am a woman.” He laughed and made a high five gesture. I smiled warily. Then, he began insisting again that I drink with him anyway. It began to rain, so I left the communal area to close my windows and lay down. My foot was really in pain and he was annoying me.

Later, I rejoined the group as it was getting late and dinner was being set. I came out to the man singing a song. When one of the couples asked what it meant, he looked at me walking in and said, “It’s about building a bridge between the US and India. A physical bridge would be impossible to create, but the bridge could be created on the wind.” His wife shot looks between myself and the man and said, “no, let’s just say it’s a bridge to Pakistan.” Her face had combined a sense of wariness of his comments with weariness of his “humor.”

Dinner was served. The tension within the group thickened further. The wife of the other gentlemen who had had a beer was now upset. She did not like her husband drinking. The rest of the group was scattered about the communal area. Two people sat at the dining table. The civil engineer returned from harassing the crew, and coerced the group to sit together at the table. When we sat, he said, “Isn’t this nice? We’re now a family. Right?” Individuals looked away from him. One woman frowned. The guy who had had a beer with him smiled. “What do you think American girl?” I responded, “We’re just on a boat ride together.” With that response, he smirked and said, “Come now. Talk. Talk. Everyone. Ladies, stop being shy it’s ok to speak in front of your husbands.”

While the others were interrogated about their work in Bangalore, the tension remained. With the extra spicy food, the tension, and the pain in my foot, my eyes were watery. His attention turned to me. And like a prey that has been wounded, he began to dig into me. He said that the US has crumbled and asked me who I would look to next to lead the world. I responded, “No one. I am unconcerned about what country claims to be #1: the US or otherwise.” He said the problem with the US is that the people are careless. No one at the table responded to this comment. Not getting a response, he turned back to me about made comments about my weight. He questioned why I was alone. I reminded him about the volunteering. He asked what I thought of Kerala, my response, “I have enjoyed meeting the people from here.” He questioned whether I believed the British were better than the US. He then said suddenly, “If you had truly fallen, certainly I would have felt the Earth shake with your fall.” At some point during all of these comments, my eyes shifted from being watery to actual tears. He berated me about my tears. Slowly, fellow passengers started to get up and go to their respective rooms. His wife spoke harshly in Malayam. He made some additional comment to me, to which I responded, “Good night everyone. It seems that it is time for me to head to bed.”

I slept poorly that night. My foot throbbed; it had a swollen knot on the top of it and my ankles were filled with fluid. The next morning, when I attempted to stand, I realized I could not do so, even the waves of pain and my leg collapsing beneath me. I decided to not have breakfast. The night before, the man had told me not everyone in Kerala is as friendly as I may think. After all of his rants, he may feel that he proved his point. Yet, as I wrote these words, I am even more apt to say that he is the exception that proved the rule.