In the kitchen one recent morning…
“Anna! How are you?”
“I’m well Asif, thank you for asking. And you?”
“Ah…busy with _, but you know how that is.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m caffeinating.”
“What you are drinking?”
“Espresso concentrate and milk.”
“Cold?”
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“Don’t you like tea?”
“I do, but I’m more of a coffee drinker. It’s a South Indian thing.”
“Where your parents are from?”
“Kerala.”
“Where that is?”
“Madras.”
“Ah, Madras. But you were born here.”
“Yup. California.”
“Your parents are still there?”
“Yes…you could say that.”
“What they do?”
“Engineer and Nurse. Another Malaya- I mean…South Indian thing.”
“How much your dad make?”
“He’s retired.”
“Oh. How long you live here?”
“Um…on and off for the last eight years? I came here for school.”
“Which school? The Georgetown?”
“No…The GW, more like.”
“You took Bachelor’s?”
“No. Master’s.”
“In what?”
“Both of my degrees are in political science.”
“Then…why you are here doing CMMI? Why aren’t you doing politics?”
“I did. For almost ten years. I’m done.”
“VAT! For ten years! How old—?
“32.”
“I thought you were a teenager when I first saw you, that you were Jaspreet’s daughter…but you are older than me even!”
“Come on, yaar. How could I work here if I were a teenager?”
“I don’t know…Indian kids in this country…they smart.”
“That’s cute.”
“I thought you had Bsc, that maybe you are 21, 22…not 32.”
“Nope. 32. Stale ovum and all.”
“Vat?”
“Nothin’”
“No wonder your Dad retired. No wonder you no live with parents.”
“Yes, that and the commute would be treacherous.”
“Where you live?”
“Dupont Circle…near Adams Morgan.”
“Oho…very close, in the city.”
“Yup.”
“How much you pay?”
“Uh…I…pay…around…”
He starts motioning with his right hand, as if to say, “Get on with it!”
“I…um…it’s…almost tuh…welve…hun…dred?”
“Hmm. That’s too much. You should live in Virginia. Much cheaper.”
“I actually moved here from Arlington…and it’s way cheaper than out there, not that I’m comfortable with discussing any of this…um…stuff.”
“Why not?”
“Nevermind.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“So you pay all $1200.”
“Uh…yeah.”
“How long it take you to get to work?”
“Well, it’s a 10 minute walk to the Metro…then it’s three stops plus a 5 minute-“
“Three stops! That’s it??”
“Yeah…it’s part of why I wanted to live there. Very well-located.”
“Then you must get here so fast!”
“About 30 minutes, door-to-door. The red line is good like that.”
“I have one hour commute, both ways.”
“Ah, yeah, that would wear on me.”
“But I only pay $700.”
“Right.”
“So I save more money than you.”
“Quite probably.”
“Why you not like saving?”
“I’m American.”
“You are Indian!”
“Fine, but my bank account sure ain’t. I have to go…my spreadsheets await.”
“You want me to look for apartment for you? Cheaper!”
“No, that’s beyond sweet of you though.”
“Okay. You may not save money…but…at least you look so young when you are that old!”
“Would that I could pay my rent with that…”
::
Just so we’re clear, I think this entire exchange was dear; in fact, Asif is one of my favorite people here. Much like 2005’s The only time I’m not “from India” recorded a different, yet similarly very brown moment in my life, I wrote this post because I think it’s amusing that the only people who ask about my rent…are other desis. :)
Are we the only ones who do this? Immediately and bluntly interrogate others about monetary matters like salary, rent and how much some new purchase cost? I need to ask my non-brown friends…
