The Inscrutable Indian in the US of A
Dr Ripudaman Singh
Internal Medicine Resident
In November 2022, I landed at JFK in New York City. The Big Apple had a crisp breeze, and thoughts were supervenient. I felt I had made it big. I then drove by the New Jersey Turnpike, and at that point, I knew I had made it right. I found a Bikanervala, which I last saw 17 hours ago in Palam, Delhi.India.
The British left Indians fascinated with the English language. I have always felt I had a decent grasp of the language. But the American coffee store made me question mine the very first day. It felt like I was speaking something different, something that must be totally wrong. I adapted. I speak “English” now but take every opportunity to shout “Kiddan” (the better version of “What’s up, dude?”).
I want to talk about birthdays here. Birthday treats used to fright the middle-class budgeted medical student in me. I knew I had to keep a budget yearly for the sizable expenses awaiting. To my surprise, Americans had it better all this time. I went to my first birthday invite here to realize it was a trap. Firstly, you get invited to this fancy, $$$$ Google review place and feel amazed. The dude/dudette seems lovely. But then you figure out that you pay for your food and the host’s food at a place the host chose. Code: Cultural Shock. There is no such place as home, and there’s no better food than Langar (or an Indian wedding feast).
Let’s talk about medicine now. I feel privileged to be a part of American healthcare. I have always witnessed the importance of human life being materialized here. I have seen the dedication of the janitor to the head of a clinical department in terms of punctuality, ethics, and work. The newer advances and reach for the best in the world always excited me to train here, and it transpired. Medical science has been amazing and has made me feel valued. No jokes in this paragraph, and the editor might not let me write in his next edition. But it’s my article, and it’s too late now, Mr. Director of Edition. Or maybe he would put a brain-drain joke right around here. I don’t trust him. Nor should the reader.
The hospital where I started my residency training had two of my medical school seniors in my batch. Given my origin from a government hospital in Northern India, I talked to them in a ‘Dr-Last-Name’ manner. Mind me, no one except me is doing this at this point. The narrative was so ingrained in me that it took me one full year to not feel bad for calling my colleagues by their first names. Yes, The late-night sessions on the hostel terrace trained me with some tough love.
This title calls me mysterious, and in some way, rightly so. Initially, my expression of wit was different, my support styles were divergent, and have continued in a certain way. But I have accepted that my mouth doesn’t tolerate red chilli anymore, as it used to 3 years ago. “जैसा देश, वैसा भेस” or “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” is correct. But I still jam to my Punjabi raps and listen to Adele on those tired after-work drives home. I have evolved and feel it will continue. I would not accept the word “whitewashed” – Brown Munde is still a personal favourite track.
Bio: The author is an Indian guy undergoing Medicine training in the States. He loves to travel, appreciates poetry and continues to find Indian food in every American city he visits. He finds fascination in obscurity and is a budding Rheumatologist.
