The sole purpose of our visit to the US this time was a package drop-off at Vassar College, a small liberal arts school, spread across 1,000 acres of pristine beauty, and tucked in a quiet part of Poughkeepsie - a good six miles from main street, if there is one. And the package was none other than our strapping young lad who is finding his feet back in the US, but this time as a freshly minted adult. Founded in 1861 as a women's college, Vassar turned coed in 1969. Former Vassar grads Meryl Streep and Lisa Kudrow suggest a strong affinity amongst students to drama and arts, though its pre-med and pre-law programs are apparently extremely good. Touted as one of America's Top 10 liberal arts (and sciences) schools, Vassar has a reputation to guard. They screen carefully, and look for variety in their student community. LGBTQ is big there, and so is liberalism. And that brings me to a very interesting interaction. After dropping our son off in school for his freshman orientation, mom and dad drove off like all eager parents, to the neighbourhood Bed, Bath & Beyond and Target stores to get his dorm room habitable. We carted carloads of stuff back to the school and crammed them into every nook and cranny of the tiny room that he would share with his Boston room-mate. Hangers, teeny weeny fridge, coat hooks, plastic rollaways, table lamps, office supplies, chest of drawers, cooking stuff, some grocery items all found refuge in that room. Five years in India had blunted us - instead of one well-planned trip to the mall, we ran back and forth several times each day to get the room in shape. Of course it got done finally Day 2.
His broad smile told me the Arab barrier was off, and I was now almost his dear, dear brother.
"How did you know?" he exclaimed.
"Your pretty obvious looks, and that accent of yours were a dead giveaway, my dear man", I replied, with a friendly smile this time.
"Ok. That obvious eh? You have son or daughter at Vassar?"
"Yes, a son - freshman. As a matter of fact, he is a student of archeology, and he wants to pursue Egyptian studies. And we all even went to Egypt a few years back to fulfil one of his dreams", I said truthfully.
If there was any lingering doubt about my credentials, those just vanished that very moment. I was now his bosom pal. He almost lunged towards me and kissed me smack on my cheeks like those Arab greetings I have seen on telly. But better sense prevailed. He beamed and held out his hand.
"Farid. Farid Akhmed is my name", with a distinctly Arab version of the pronunciation of his last name.
And with that, he adopted me into his family. After a few minutes of talk about our respective kids, and his life in Wisconsin, he walked away, wavered, and then turned back to face me.
"Narrreshh, do you realize Vassar is a liberal school?".
"Yes, I do know it is liberal", I replied sagely.
"I mean, l i b e r a l", this time, slowing down on that dreaded "L" word just in case I had missed the enormity of that statement, the first time around.
"Yes of course, it is liberal. I do know it is", I continued with aplomb.
"No no no…you are an Indian. I am an Egyptian. We are brothers. You know what I mean? I mean….. …. mm… L I B E R A L", this time, spacing the word out for real impact.
"I am not saying it is a liberal ARTS college. Just plain L I B E R A L", emphasising again, in case I happened to be a complete dumb ass.
"Well…" I stumbled, not knowing where he was heading.
And then he plunged into the nub of this whole back-and-forth play with one word.
"You know the dorms are coed? Why do they do this? Why can't they have separate dorms for boys and girls? And not just dorms. Even the bathrooms are coed. Why can't they have girls and boys bathrooms separate? These are just kids. They can make mistakes…you know what I mean?"
His anguish was now in full view. His wife, who until then was a mute spectator joined to form a 2-team chorus. "Yes, why do they have to be sooo liberal?"
"Well…I understand, I understand", I mumbled, not completely convincingly though.
How do I tell him I honestly don't care? And then I pulled out what I thought was my trump card.
"But what does your daughter think about this?". No girl raised in America should have a problem with this, I told myself.
"She is shocked too".
Aaah. Is that a gal raised in an orthodox family or is she pulling a fast one, I thought.
But before I could finish my thought, he pulled me by my elbow closer to him and whispered conspiratorially "Do you know what I saw?" and he did not wait for my response.
"As we were walking towards my daughters dorm room, we saw a boy come out of the shower. He was walking with..with..." and he whispered even softer, to make the point emphatically "with just a towel on. Bare body."
And he looked at me for that shocked expression he had on his countenance.
"Hmmm..errr…yeah…but you know Farid", I said helpfully. "You could have asked for Strong for your girl. You know Strong is the only all-girls dorm here".
"No..no..no….no…" he hastily responded, quite shocked by my idea. "Yes, I know. But you know what can happen in all-girls dorms, right?", scared to death of lesbianism that could somehow take her daughter's fancy.
So that option too was off the table for him. Now what?
"Well, you know Farid. We've got to let the kids figure it out for themselves. We can only give them our moral values. And then it is up to them…blah, bah, blah....".
I went on and on, trying to take that moral high ground, and explaining our shared Asian values. I was faking it like hell, but I really had no clue if he had found out. He was misty-eyed and probably regretting the decision to bring the kid to this school. The store's closing bell pretty much put paid to further conversation. We bid hasty good-byes, and ran with our carts to the check-out counters.
The next day, as we pulled into the college to say good-bye to our son, I saw Farid pulling his car out of the parking lot, wife sombrely seated next to him. I ran out of the car, gathered pace, and then gently knocked on his car window. He smiled broadly, rolled the window down, and said some pleasant things. Those were lost on me though. Instead, I was staring into two parents with values so different from the rest of this world, in an alien country they had made their own, trying to reconcile with a new reality. They were now crying unconsolably after leaving their daughter in school. The dam had burst right in front of my eyes. I steadied Farid by putting my hand over his shoulder, gave it a gentle, friendly tug, wished him well, and told him not to worry. His and his wife's smiles had a quiver in them, furrowed brows clearly visible. He slowly and tiredly raised his hand to bid adieu to me, and then let it fall on the wheel. As he pulled out and wound his way around the lot of Campus Main, I spied his wife turn towards me and wave a slow, friendly, but painful goodbye. It was the end of their innocence.
And the beginning of a new and probably exciting life for a youngster.
During one of those trips to Target, a gentleman of middle-eastern descent and I both went for the lone plastic drawer set sitting on the aisle. Seeing me a tad faster on the draw, he made a dignified retreat, and went to work on Plan B. "You shopping for your college kid?" Mr. Arab asked me.
"Yeah", I said, with a put-on american accent, just to numb his thick arab accent. And then I did a Holmes on him "Are you an Egyptian?". His broad smile told me the Arab barrier was off, and I was now almost his dear, dear brother.
"How did you know?" he exclaimed.
"Your pretty obvious looks, and that accent of yours were a dead giveaway, my dear man", I replied, with a friendly smile this time.
"Ok. That obvious eh? You have son or daughter at Vassar?"
"Yes, a son - freshman. As a matter of fact, he is a student of archeology, and he wants to pursue Egyptian studies. And we all even went to Egypt a few years back to fulfil one of his dreams", I said truthfully.
If there was any lingering doubt about my credentials, those just vanished that very moment. I was now his bosom pal. He almost lunged towards me and kissed me smack on my cheeks like those Arab greetings I have seen on telly. But better sense prevailed. He beamed and held out his hand.
"Farid. Farid Akhmed is my name", with a distinctly Arab version of the pronunciation of his last name.
And with that, he adopted me into his family. After a few minutes of talk about our respective kids, and his life in Wisconsin, he walked away, wavered, and then turned back to face me.
"Narrreshh, do you realize Vassar is a liberal school?".
"Yes, I do know it is liberal", I replied sagely.
"I mean, l i b e r a l", this time, slowing down on that dreaded "L" word just in case I had missed the enormity of that statement, the first time around.
"Yes of course, it is liberal. I do know it is", I continued with aplomb.
"No no no…you are an Indian. I am an Egyptian. We are brothers. You know what I mean? I mean….. …. mm… L I B E R A L", this time, spacing the word out for real impact.
"I am not saying it is a liberal ARTS college. Just plain L I B E R A L", emphasising again, in case I happened to be a complete dumb ass.
"Well…" I stumbled, not knowing where he was heading.
And then he plunged into the nub of this whole back-and-forth play with one word.
"You know the dorms are coed? Why do they do this? Why can't they have separate dorms for boys and girls? And not just dorms. Even the bathrooms are coed. Why can't they have girls and boys bathrooms separate? These are just kids. They can make mistakes…you know what I mean?"
His anguish was now in full view. His wife, who until then was a mute spectator joined to form a 2-team chorus. "Yes, why do they have to be sooo liberal?"
"Well…I understand, I understand", I mumbled, not completely convincingly though.
How do I tell him I honestly don't care? And then I pulled out what I thought was my trump card.
"But what does your daughter think about this?". No girl raised in America should have a problem with this, I told myself.
"She is shocked too".
Aaah. Is that a gal raised in an orthodox family or is she pulling a fast one, I thought.
But before I could finish my thought, he pulled me by my elbow closer to him and whispered conspiratorially "Do you know what I saw?" and he did not wait for my response.
"As we were walking towards my daughters dorm room, we saw a boy come out of the shower. He was walking with..with..." and he whispered even softer, to make the point emphatically "with just a towel on. Bare body."
And he looked at me for that shocked expression he had on his countenance.
"Hmmm..errr…yeah…but you know Farid", I said helpfully. "You could have asked for Strong for your girl. You know Strong is the only all-girls dorm here".
"No..no..no….no…" he hastily responded, quite shocked by my idea. "Yes, I know. But you know what can happen in all-girls dorms, right?", scared to death of lesbianism that could somehow take her daughter's fancy.
So that option too was off the table for him. Now what?
"Well, you know Farid. We've got to let the kids figure it out for themselves. We can only give them our moral values. And then it is up to them…blah, bah, blah....".
I went on and on, trying to take that moral high ground, and explaining our shared Asian values. I was faking it like hell, but I really had no clue if he had found out. He was misty-eyed and probably regretting the decision to bring the kid to this school. The store's closing bell pretty much put paid to further conversation. We bid hasty good-byes, and ran with our carts to the check-out counters.
The next day, as we pulled into the college to say good-bye to our son, I saw Farid pulling his car out of the parking lot, wife sombrely seated next to him. I ran out of the car, gathered pace, and then gently knocked on his car window. He smiled broadly, rolled the window down, and said some pleasant things. Those were lost on me though. Instead, I was staring into two parents with values so different from the rest of this world, in an alien country they had made their own, trying to reconcile with a new reality. They were now crying unconsolably after leaving their daughter in school. The dam had burst right in front of my eyes. I steadied Farid by putting my hand over his shoulder, gave it a gentle, friendly tug, wished him well, and told him not to worry. His and his wife's smiles had a quiver in them, furrowed brows clearly visible. He slowly and tiredly raised his hand to bid adieu to me, and then let it fall on the wheel. As he pulled out and wound his way around the lot of Campus Main, I spied his wife turn towards me and wave a slow, friendly, but painful goodbye. It was the end of their innocence.
And the beginning of a new and probably exciting life for a youngster.
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