privileged

If India will teach me anything, it will confirm to me that I would be one of those celebrities that hit paparazzi.

Sadly, my roommate Gillian is leaving. Out of the dozen of us, two students (Gillian and Mark) are only here for three weeks for winter intersession rather than a whole semester. Both are going back to the US to graduate. And can I tell you; I love Gillian. My first impression of her was that she was quiet, respectful, and almost reserved (aka not me.) Sometimes I become apprehensive around composed types, because I am the complete opposite; sometimes intimidating and condescending. When we decided on roommates, I was nervous that we were put together because I have excessive habits such as lack of sleep, voice volume, and no organizational skills. But after our first night, she proved to be sarcastic (which we all know I speak fluently) yet positive, mature yet comical, a good listener as well as a good giver of advice. She comes up with the funniest things to say and we have dance parties frequently together. She completely surprised me and I am so glad for it. But now she’s leaving me for Maryland. I’m not happy about it.

Today, we went to the Victoria Memorial, a huge memorial turned galley for Queen Victoria when India was under British rule. It is a big site of Kolkata, like the Statue of Liberty is for New York. It’s one of those things that you feel you have to see before you leave Kolkata so I accompanied Gillian before she leaves in two days.

Now, there were plenty of things to learn about Indian history there: the strength of the British rule, a mix of different styles of architecture – but we took a different route of learning: in observation. We noticed that all the timelines and signs explaining the pieces of art were in English. Intellectualism tied with speaking English is such a dominant ideology. Gillian mentioned that it is why so many of the NGOs we visit encourage us to teach and speak English around children, especially the street children, because this ‘talent’ and knowledge gives them more of a fighting chance to rise out of poverty. All of us have said it, that sometimes we don’t want to teach English because we feel we are forcing our culture upon them. Uncomfortable as it seems, the reality is that the English language does equal more opportunities. But the whole experience is still contradictory for me, for I do not want to believe that everyone should speak English, but I teach my students English in school for my service to them.

The only thing I can do is to establish a non-condescending air of privilege when I teach them English. English isn’t better, and I try to convey that by asking them to teach me Bengali; hopefully teaching patience and confidence as well.

One other thing of our afternoon at the Victoria Memorial is our celebrity status as white females. A few hundred feet into the memorial grounds, we were asked by two men if they could take a picture with us. This happened a lot in Delhi and Agra as well. One man took a picture with us, then they switched places so the other man could take a picture. We continue walking and we get onto the long line to enter the museum. The security guard called us over and let us in by surpassing the line, simply because we were white.

Walking around the galleries, you would assume people would be reading the explanatory signs and studying the paintings. But when two white girls walk in, their eyes seem to follow us. A few times, men approached us asking us where we were from – then they just stand there staring after we answer. When walking around the grounds, one man and his daughter asked us where we were from, why we were here. Gillian is better than I am at chatting politely with them. I become so frustrated with their stalker-esque qualities. Later, two more men came up to us and asked where we were from. When Gillian answered, “USA,” the one man turned to the other and said “America.” The second man simply looked me up and down, in a manner that would make any girl feel uncomfortable. We tried to escape by walking through the park to a bench. But after about 10 minutes of sitting, a large family walks by with their camera phones taking pictures. They tried to sneak it, but their phones make a “click!” noise that isn’t entirely subtle. After walking past, they turn around to then blatantly take a picture of us. One girl returns to stand directly in front of us with her camera phone. I am so frustrated that I turned my head so she could not take a picture of my face. She then tells me to “Look” meaning, look here at my camera. You did not even ask if you could take a picture, and now you demand me to stand a certain way? I became so angry I stood up and left. I thank Gillian for her patience with me.

I cannot describe how uncomfortable I get when they take pictures. I try to understand – as a tourist I take pictures of locals all the time, as a memory. I try to understand – it might just be an issue of Indian pride, that some Americans are visiting from the other side of the world to understand and appreciate their Indian culture. I try to understand – that though I do not think that I particularly special or appealing, that we are completely different and almost appealing with our white skin and blue eyes. I try to understand…

But it does not make it easier for me to sit there when a stranger asks my nationality to then look me over as some sort of commodity. Especially when that stranger is a male. We all know I like attention, but this sort of attention is certainly not wanted in my book. Other students (not particularly in our group) might thrive off of their eye-catching differences. But for me, I just want to blend in and not be recognized due to my recessive eye gene and my ordained privilege. Sometimes I selfishly wish I could just turn it off and on like a switch – for I am grateful for my auspicious life but I want to be able to experience all sides of life to continue and develop a full understanding of the world. But my skin and sex hold me back, for it contorts people’s view and therefore my own.