Learning to greet Uncle Sam

I am all set to go to India in December....
On second thoughts, am I?, I ask myself ...
Ofcourse! A new credit card with a 2000 $ limit just landed in the mail box and I almost have my tickets confirmed. What’re you talkin’ about?!!
Yeah, yeah, but do you still say “talkin”?
Uh, well, yes.
Do you still smile at that stranger across the street?
Yes. :(....
Do you still thank the bus operator before getting off?
*sigh* Yes.
Do you still keep your teeth and your tongue in tight check when the shop attendant takes an interminable ten minutes to bill you?
YES!
All set? Think again!

While I’m in the process of un-learning savoir-faire in preparation for my impending trip, I might as well try and recall how I learnt it in the first place....

Hmmm.......it’s not everyday that you land in the richest country in the world and receive a greeting from a stranger like he hasn’t seen you in years. Well, you’ve never ever seen a stranger in years, but considering the trials and tribulations of an artless Indian trying to handle the white sociability (or was it supremacy?) is bewildering enough, I’ll reserve that for another day.

The sprawling Boston Logan Airport, the series of tall buildings in the city’s skyline, the myriad number of lanes and terminals did not overwhelm me as much as the tiny little man at the end of the concourse and more so, his cheery How do you do.

Hailing from a country where even a ‘hi’ from a stranger is considered taboo, ‘how do you do’ happened to be one word too many! So I decided to contest it by rattling off my medical history to the flight attendant, whose only fault, I agree today (after a lot of contemplation), was being nice and friendly, just like an average American is expected to. I have never been gladder for my myopia, which rendered me blissfully oblivious to the amused ever-so-slight raising of his eyebrows. Oh yes, loud as the greetings are, the sarcasm is but subtle.

I learnt the long and hard way that the How do you do and take care stemmed more from years of polite upbringing than any real interest in a saga of my health record. Within weeks following my entry, I had learnt that the more appropriate response was ‘Good’ (and this did not change if you had just been fired from your job or given the final cold shoulder by the love of your life), followed by a prompt enquiry in reciprocation, accompanied by the best smile any given circumstance would allow.

Having learnt that, I soon found myself incurably absorbed in the intricacies and nuances of conventional decorum. Calling out ‘good’ followed by the customary ‘how are you’ and then responding politely, all within the time span of a few seconds, which is how long it takes two humans to pass each other (given the gravity, friction and air drag at any time) proved tougher than I’d imagined.

Putting creativity and diligence to work, I figured the best way to achieve this was to jump the gun. So, instead of waiting for my relatively nonchalant acquaintance to do the honors, I decided it was easier to be the first one to call out the greeting. In my anxiety to get the whole charade over with (within earshot of each other), I found myself shouting out the ‘hi’ even before my associate had noticed me (Whoever said light traveled faster than sound?). It took a lot of long hard math and a fair amount of trial and error to decide on the starting point (both temporally and spatially).

A few problems I encountered were the inherent inconsistencies within the system-- for example, sense of hearing, sight and gait. There were some ethical issues involved as well---I began to discover the gory details of my associates’ medical problems— some had better hearing in their left ear than their right, a few were astigmatic and others had flat feet. So much for genetics----all you needed to discover one’s ailments was to say a hello to somebody! Americans and their meandering ways..... I still prefer the straightforward Indian method of rattling it all out, though.

Two years in this country hasn’t brought me any closer to determining appropriate conduct, but in retrospect, I think, for all its forthrightness, the hostile push I used to get so generously in a Mumbai train made me no happier than the rather specious yankee greeting (which indeed does manage to pep me up consistently).

[Besides, they say it takes anywhere between 5 and 53 muscles to smile; pray, how can THAT be skin-deep? Now, exactly what WAS my point?]