Mastering the Art of Being Foreign

Dull eyes behind white-frame eyeglasses, hair gelled up like a Korean star, chubby torso wrapped in white cotton shirt, stodgy legs hidden in Levi’s jeans. He leans against the wall of the train packed out with alike, slings of the handbag over his shoulder and the white handbag with “I love so-so place”.

The rolled up sleeve on the left side exposes the Rolex watch, which he has bought on down payment, 5000 bucks each month. In his left hand he holds a thick comic book, his insincere eyes which have been unintelligently glaring at the pictures through the white-framed eyeglasses, sometimes, roll up to examines at the ladies who also, sometimes, move their glances from the cacophonous TV advertisements to his down- payment- watch and his funky Korean hairstyle. 

He knows that their eyes run between his hair and his watch. He also knows that when his latest mobile phone rings emitting the loud but modern western number he has to unplug the white i-pod and has to answer the call in English even if the caller can’t speak in the language he prefers, he will inject as many Anglo words as he can as the people standing next to him are listening to his conversation about where he is going to go to dine. His conversation with others never goes beyond gastronomy as he is aware that others would not make much sense to him.

His loyal father amassed all he had to pack him up for a degree which would fetch him a good job, a job which everyone in his friend circle would easily understand, or perhaps a job that would earn complimentary remarks from the closed ones for an elevated existence in the carefree society. 

Finding his place in a dream-like world and suddenly confronted by the personal obligation to do his own laundry, to cook few meals a day, and foreign societal compulsion to be a part of the home grown crowd, he wondered if he would really survive. In the varsity he would be cowered by the loud wailing of the desperate speakers and the sympathetic migrated professor would wonder why a person with gifted honour had been a silent lamb, but he found out very soon that what the cowered lad needed was just a degree with the stamp certifying him to be a qualified jobseeker. Besides the lad didn’t expect migrated professors to be in a place where the stereotypical characters should have been towering over him, and that unexpected disappointment discourages some part of he stimulation he had nurtured.

 As a year and a half meant a long time in a sea of people where he didn’t have anything in common, he had to discover a way to use up the time he had been allowed. Gathering people of his kind in terms of linguistic, taste and opinions he organized cliquish trips to many wonders of the world of which many at home gaze with envious eyes. Flashing the best electronic devices to capture the images of the standstill places which would serve as invigorating background behind their baffled heads, the innocent bliss in the captured images would remain the startling testament to their tryst in a foreign nation. 

Come semester break others would set out for places where they could imply what they had gathered and consolidated as another kind of understanding, whereas, the baffled group would sail back whining for home-cooked food, affordable clothes, and the loud chattering in the language which they could twist and juggle. When gathered in a group after the trip to home country they would barge into places where the reputation of the places could be patronized by the accent that had half-mastered and the gap in it filled out by the twisted native language.

Distant class mates whose name he didn’t even know would be approached for pictures for the pictures would be the solid evidence of his voyage beyond. The glorified home return would mean the whole connected and relevant people waiting for him in a double line, those with the beautiful daughters smiled longer than necessary, the frank ones smile for souvenirs. He smiled at them like a crowned prince but that smile betrayed him soon he sighted his loyal father’s dilapidated appearance.

He closes the thick comic books and finds his exit to the resourceful place where he is going to rewrite the rewritten thoughts for the forgetful masses should reread over and again to ensure at least a small dose of what is repeatedly offered. Now being a certified resourceful person with a say what he scribbles can shackle and unshackle the nation. And how he shackles and unshackles are precisely described in his various volumes which can be bought at the 70% discount stalls. 

Seeing the enlarged picture of the author on the cover of the books a duffer thumping them with his girlfriend of simple words and simple thoughts with the insincere tendency to dish out few notes may pull up one of the books to impress his lady friend. The bought-books are not to be examined but are to be displayed in the drawing room, to display how close the exhibitor is to the incomprehensive doctrines in the displayed books.

To be with a certified person who can jabber about his degrees before what he thinks and to be a quite cultured-man in a culturally conditioned society with the significant ability to indoctrinate a larger multitude mean to have garnered a formidable status. Perhaps that’s why every attempt is colossal and subtle display of disregard to that colossus is detrimental to the very existence of a monolithic establishment. When the mood of the colossal figure sways the spanks it delivers will only be borne by the indoctrinated many for in every game there should be a loser and if everyone had to win in every game then why would we play.