That time when I was a bit racist

I remember it clearly; it was raining that day; monsoon had hit our little town in India with all its might. Savan, as our elders calls it; it was month of Savan, the month of rain.

I was in my final year of graduation that time. I had moved to this town three years ago, I used to live in a private hostel near the university. It was a small town, in the foothills of Himalayas; far from many modern commodities, that beautiful town gave me sense of living in early 90s. Children used to play in the parks all day, older generation, grandfathers used to meet on little tea shop at the end of the street and talk for hours, elderly women and grandmothers used to visit temple in the evenings and sing sweet folk songs together. No-one was in a hurry. It was a small peaceful town with lots of trees.

So that day, it was raining, actually pouring and I was standing on the gate of the hostel, trying to open my umbrella, when I first saw him. Drenched in the rain, he was coming towards me.

He didn’t look like us, his hair was different, and his skin was different than us, a bit darker; all I could see in first glance was that he was a black person; that he wasn’t like us.

I don’t know what got into me, I turned at once to go inside, I did not want to face him, but my umbrella got stuck in the gate and when I somehow closed my umbrella, he was already there.

“Namaste!” he said in his broken Hindi, trying to cover his bag and luggage with plastic sheet.

I froze, I didn’t know what to do or say, I tried to force a smile but couldn’t.

“Oh! Hello Omarr!” I heard our land lady’s voice , “ welcome”, she said, “we were waiting for you.”

I saw that it was my chance, I almost ran into my room while they were greeting each other.

“Why do I have to make everything so awkward?” I said to myself.

Although it wasn’t entirely true that I ran away from there because he was a black person, since running away from almost any human contact was second nature to me, but I would be lying if I say, him being black didn’t add up to this.

I knew in that very moment that I shouldn’t have behaved like that.

Omarr was an exchange student in our university; he was a second year student and actually three years younger than me. He had rented a room on the third floor of the hostel.

I knew what I did that day wasn’t very polite; but I don’t know what it was about him that I feared facing him. I avoided him for several days, I didn’t even once say hello to him until one evening we met in a park nearby.

That evening, rain had stopped but sky was still slightly covered with dark rainy clouds. The cold breeze had earthly smell of soil after rain.

It was a public park that children had turned completely in a cricket ground. A fence was set between the outer benches and the cricket ground so that ball don’t hit people while children play there.

“Didi!” kids playing there called me, “can you please throw the ball here?”

A cricket ball had fallen near to the bench I was sitting on, so I picked it up and threw towards one of them but then I realized it was Omarr.

Omarr caught the ball and said,”Danybaad didi!”

I couldn’t control my laugh at this. He called me Didi, that’s how children call their elder sister here. I told him it was ‘Dhanyvaad’ not ‘Danybaad’, meaning thank you. He said to me with brightest smile,” oh! Danybaad didi!” and then left to play with other kids.

I saw that evening, when children were playing there, I couldn’t tell them apart. They all were same, happy at one moment, disappointed at next and then happy again. And I saw Omarr was also just like them.

Now it wasn’t that awkward for me to say hello to him whenever we met at the gate or stairs or on the rooftop but he would always say ‘Namaste didi’, joining his palms. I told him that he could just say hello, but he said he did so because people smile more whenever he speaks in broken Hindi. He told me he liked to call me didi because it sounds similar to Dada, which means sister in his language. I laughed because we call our elder brother dada too. He told me many more things about his language and how he learned English; he told me that he wanted to learn as many languages as possible so that he can travel all around the world, talk to different people and may be make them smile by telling his stories in their languages. He had a lot of amazing stories to tell. I saw, Omarr also had dreams and hopes, like me, like all of us.

Monsoon was about to end. It rained less and less every day. Big fluffy white clouds started to take place of dark rainy clouds; and one such beautiful evening on the rooftop, I was watching those clouds taking different shapes and creating wonderful illusions. A cloud shaped like a rabbit surfing in the blue sky, then there was a boat and a kitten too, a very big mushroom; but then I saw a beautiful face, two smiling eyes peeping through the sky; it was a face of an elderly woman, a grandmother’s face.

“Hey look!” I heard Omarr’s voice, he said to me pointing towards that cloud, “That cloud looks like my grandma, my nyanya, can you see it Didi?”

I laughed and said, “Yes, I can see, but it looks like my grandma, my nani.”

He replied, still looking and smiling at that cloud, “I think all grandmothers have same face; the face of love and care and kindness. They all have beautiful loving face, they all are same.”

He was smiling but his words felt heavy. When I asked, he told me about the hardships his family; his parents had to face to give their children a life better than theirs. He told me how he had to leave his home, his family, his mama, his baba, his dada to get a better education. I saw he was missing his family. I saw his eyes had same sadness that we all have when we miss our loved ones. I saw he wasn’t different from us.

From that day on, the more I saw Omarr, the more I found him to be like us. He had learned to cross the road in crazy traffic, to bargain in market, to take his shoes off before entering the house. He was just like us.

But one day something very bad happened. One of the guests living on the same floor as Omarr lost his wallet somewhere. But then he accused Omarr of stealing it. Omarr denied and kept telling that he was innocent but they were not ready to hear anything. They searched his room and belongings and found nothing.

Although they said sorry to him but the damage was done.

I went to talk to him but he was so angry that he yelled at me, he said," If you have already decided that I am guilty, if you don't even want to hear my side of story, my truth then what is left there to say? I don't have anything to say, anything to prove. Just leave me alone!"

This startled me; I did nothing wrong then why is he yelling at me? I was really upset by this, so I went outside to get some fresh air.

I was sitting on the same bench in the park, children were playing cricket that day too and a ball fell near me again.

“Didi!” one of the boys playing there said to me, “Didi! Throw the ball, please!”

I was already upset so all my anger vented out on that poor kid.

“Do you think I don’t have any better work to do then this? Go, pick yourself or better, stop playing.”

The boy looked at me with such eyes as if I had broken his favourite toy. He leaped over the fence, picked the ball and left.

My heart sank at this. I wanted to say sorry to that boy but I couldn’t.

In that moment, I realized I was just like Omarr, and he was just like me, not perfect, flawed; but human, a human with very human emotions.

I didn’t see Omarr for many days; maybe he was avoiding me like I avoided him earlier.

Many days later, one Thursday evening, I was going to visit a temple nearby, when Omarr came to me with same brightest smile, joining his both hands and said, “ Namaste Didi!”, I smiled too and said to him, “khush raho beta. ”He asked me what does that mean, “always stay happy son!” I told him. And then we laughed together at this. It was so endearing watching him happy again.

Omarr wanted to see the temple too, so he tagged along.

In our way to the temple I felt that he wanted to say something; maybe he wanted to apologize for that day but I knew it wasn’t easy for anyone to say sorry, even I couldn’t say sorry to that boy, that day.

We reached to the temple. I offered my prayer while Omarr was looking around everything with curiosity. He kept asking me many questions about the temple and its surroundings.

I told him that it was lord Krishna’s temple. Women in the courtyard were singing sweet bhajans, praising the beauty of our beloved Krishna and telling the stories of His adorable mischiefs.

“What does this song mean?” he asked me to translate the song.

I translated it for him, “Krishna, the son of Ma Yashoda; who, with His enchanting dark complexion as beautiful as dark rainy clouds of Savan, has captivated our heart and eyes; and now wherever I see, I see only Him.”

“Wow!” he said thinking something deeply, “but …” he was going to say something but stopped.

“But… what?” I asked.

He was hesitating at first but when I promised that I wouldn’t mind, he said –

“You know in your culture, you worship and adore your God and praise His dark complexion as most beautiful color…. But… you don’t treat people in same way.”

I had no answer. I couldn’t say that it wasn’t true, that our society do not treat and judge people based on their skin and color. I was judged too; moreover I had judged too.

“I thought I would be treated better here.” He said, “but I think it’s same everywhere.”

I didn’t have any answer to his questions but I knew what I needed to tell him.

“Omarr!” I said, “I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

“You know, when we first met, I ran away without saying anything, actually I was a little afraid of you at that time.”

“Oh! That’s nothing. You don’t need to be sorry for that. Many people feel the same way; you know… they often see me as bad guy or a threat before a human. Don’t be sorry Didi.”

“No, listen to me.” I said, “I know I didn’t say some racist words to you or accuse you falsely or attack you; but I know, every time when you greeted me or others, tried to talk to them, joining your both hands, bowing to them and yet they didn’t reply, didn’t smile back to you, I know it has killed you a little bit inside, every time.

But now, I have seen you happy and sad, calm and angry, I have seen you in joy and pain, I have seen you smiling, laughing, yelling and crying but still trying, trying your best to live a normal life just like any other human; so I know now, that we may look different, our hair, our skin may be different but that doesn’t mean that we are different. We may speak different languages, but the emotions we express, the stories we tell, are same. We are same.”

Omarr’s eyes got teary, he said, “Asante, dhanyvaad didi! If only people can see me in that light, just as a human, it would be a lot easier for me to live in this world. I know I am not perfect but I am a human too, just like them. I wish they can see. ”

I saw Omarr wasn’t just a black person with different hair and skin, he was a friend, a brother to me.

Sky was clear that evening and so was my heart. I had learned that even though we couldn’t change everything and everyone in our society in a day but we all can at least change the way we see others. If we try to see each other with a little bit of compassion and patience, we will find we are not that different. We all are same, not perfect, may be flawed but very beautifully- human; trying to survive every day, chasing little happiness, craving for affection and love, making mistakes and learning from them, stumbling, falling on our faces but standing up again for our dreams and telling our stories; We, who are privileged enough to write our stories with ink, should make sure that they don’t have to shed their blood and tears to write and tell their stories.