My First Visit to an Indian Home

Dear Katlyn,

I hope your writer's block has ended and you are back to writing vampire and werewolf filled short stories as the summer progresses.Yesterday afternoon I visited a student who shares a similar love of vampire and werewolf fiction, and she made me think of you.
It was my first visit to an Indian home and the hospitality was almost overwhelming. "Doll" lives in a cozy north Kolkata flat with her mother, aunt, and a maternal great-uncle. It is a small Indian family, but very close and full of love. Doll isn't actually one of my students, I met her one day when I was late for school. She was late too and we stood outside the school gate for ten minutes or so, talking about life in India and America. She asked me to come visit her home with such enthusiasm that I couldn't resist. I'm glad I visited, and was surprised by both her home and neighborhood.
I tend to think of Kolkata streets as noisy, crowded, with overwhelming smells and unexpected surprises. I was a little relieved to discover how quiet the residential streets are, filled with trees and houses hidden behind gates and terraces, a typical Kolkata neighborhood is a bit like one in San Francisco, the houses are built right next to one another, with gated doors and windows, in a modern style. There are neighborhood convenience stores and little shops tucked into first floors, much like the Bay Area.
Dolly's flat is tiny by American standards, but again, similar to an apartment you might find in San Francisco. The floors are bare tile and cool and the walls heavily decorated with pictures of family, celebrities and gods and goddesses.
Every Hindu house has a idol that usually sits in a small box in a prominent part of the living room. There is also a TV, and I asked Doll how long India has had cable. Her mother thought about ten or twelve years. I think there are about thirty channels or so.
Doll and her family are very curious about America, and I did my best to answer questions. There is so much contrast to India, I'm staying in a five-star luxury hotel where my every need is taken care of, and yet I see incredible poverty: beggars on the street, elderly and disabled people who have no safety net, the differences are hard to comprehend sometimes.
Even a middle-class family like Doll's does not have the same standards as an American one. The kitchen is simple, the most modern appliance is a microwave, other than that, cooking is do on a gas two-burner. There is no computer, Doll takes computer classes at school, but does not have a Facebook. They have one cell phone for the entire family.
But oh, are they hospitable. Doll's mother and aunt cook me a meal of roti (a flat bread), potatoes and lentils, also another vegetable that reminded me of squash, covered in cheese curd. It was simple, but very satisfying. It is the custom in India to feed guests first and separately, so I ate alone, while the family gathered around the table with me. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but I did my best to remember that this was their custom. I imagine what they must think of the American custom of a loud, boisterous dinner table with an abundance of food and conversation.
Next, Doll and her mother took me on a tour of the neighborhood, including the dairy where milk is brought to be pasteurized, and the neighborhood temple with the statues of Kali and Hanuman. They took me to visit the local merchants whose "shops" are really displays covered by a tin or tar paper roof. I saw the barber, the laundryman, the sweet shop, the vegetable stalls, and the chicken buther, bust chopping up meat while lives chickens sat placidly in a covered straw basket. We also visited a shop that sold beauty products and cheap ornaments, everyone curious to meet me, Doll and her mother explaining who I was in rapid Bengali. Doll, being a Kolkatans, was blunt and eager to explain to me the character of her neighborhood, from the cruelty of neighborhood boys who tortured stray animals, to the laziness of her driver. At times she would translate the comments of passersby, insisting that in Kolkata I was a celebrity.
When it was time to go, Doll and her mother accompanied me to the nearest metro, and I had my first ride in a bicycle rickshaw. Perched on a narrow seat I tried my best to hang on and not to move, as I did not want to upset the driver's balance and cause a spill. Doll's mother sat regally in her rickshaw, comfortable and at ease in her neighborhood.
What an amazing place India is, the people, the food, the sights never cease to amaze me. A part of my heart is Indian now, and I will remember this visit always.