Greeting Strangers by Swapna Reddy

As a four-year old in a local grocery store, I watched my father greet the third unfamiliar face of the day. “Daddy, do you know her?” I asked triumphantly. I had finally caught my father breaking one of the fundamental rules: Don’t talk to strangers. He replied, “No,” as I expected, and settled into a moment of pensive silence. Then he made an unsuccessful attempt to explain why it is okay to talk to some strangers. As a small child, I would have none of it. I had caught my father breaking a rule, and that was that. End of story.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized these strangers were all Indian, and that all of the Indians I knew were bound together by an invisible thread.

I am among the first generation of my family to grow up in the United States, and until 9^th grade I lived two distinctly separate lives: one Indian, the other American. These two lives may not sound immediately contradictory, but think about it. They are. One life was run by the practice of Hinduism, the other by mainstream culture.

While my American school friends were at church (over 90% of whom were Christian), my Indian friends and I went to poojas, chanting, dancing, and praising our God with joyful camaraderie. And while my school friends were vacationing in Hawaii, the Indian community would pack their bags and head to Murari farm, a place of worship inhabited by intensely devoted followers of the Hare Krsna sect of Hinduism. Here we had odd expectation (from an American standpoint). We strove to rise to the spiritual level singularly occupied by the devotees of India. We chanted our favorite mantras tirelessly, humble refused to kill insects of any kind, and ate only vegetarian food that had been offered to Krsna, a beloved Hindu incarnation of God. Anyone who was willing to participate with good intentions was instantly accepted, those who weren’t were shunned.

On Monday or after the break I would return to school, eating hamburgers and swatting flies in complete abandon. It was a different world with different rules. Here we had meaningless desires (from a Hindu standpoint). I chatted with my school friends about the latest “relationships” and the beautiful movie stars whom we admired and never grew tired of imitating. To us, beauty was a superficial thing decided by appearance alone; what you wore and where you had purchased it were under constant scrutiny. Friendships formed between those who looked and talked alike. Conflicts arose among those who didn’t.

When I met another Indian at school, I held fast to my American façade. With the exception of a few furtive glances, my few Indian classmates received no special treatment. I didn’t wave or smile as my father did; under the American system is simply didn’t make sense.

I think I am finally starting to realize why my two lives have never coexisted comfortably. America, the great melting pot, pats itself on the back for its exceptional promotion of equality. In order for this to be possible, all separate cultures are “melted,” stirred, and cooled, giving rise to a new, unrecognizable way of life. The culture that arises isn’t necessarily better or worse, just incredibly different. This culture doesn’t applaud that which isn’t efficient. Why go out of your way to save the lives of ants when they produce no measurable return? And why become a vegetarian when it is so inconvenient? We all end up in the same place anyhow, and when we die our bodies feed the plants, which in turn feed the animals that we kill for dinner. Under the American mentality, these questions and answers make sense; under the Hindu mentality, they don’t.

The Hindu rebuttal would probably consist of questions like these: What about the Golden Rule which Americans stress so often? Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Would you want others to kill and eat you? Obviously not. So how can you justify ending a life?

But the lives of animals aren’t the only disagreement the cultures possess. The founding beliefs of each way of life are strikingly different as well. The America cultures stresses the positive aspects of continually bettering yourself. Its intrinsic belief that anyone can rise to the top is its rallying cry for individualism. Under Hindu reasoning, rising to the top alone is worse than dwelling at the bottom with others. Bettering yourself only separates you further from those you should be helping.

As a young child, I rebelled against these cultural contradictions. I didn’t understand why it was okay for my father to wave at a selected few brown strangers, and I didn’t want to deal with conflicting senses of ideals and moral values. But I think differently now. I realize that uniting my two culturally directed lives and losing their distinct flavors in the process only masks the conflicts between the two. So I continue to delve further into each culture, learning the merits and faults that each possesses, in an effort to find that much needed common ground. Presently, when I see an Indian at the grocery store, I find myself smiling at least.