I walked at a brisk pace, and the streets were easy to navigate, as I looked for the 40’s intersected with names of trees – Chestnut, Walnut, Spruce….
At the junction of 42 and Spruce, my eye side-glanced at a young black man on the side of the road. My heart missed a terror beat, and I crossed to the opposite side.
“Beautiful smile you got there, Lady!”
I stopped for a moment. I smiled, and the palpable tension in the air dissolved, as he smiled back. Why did I miss that beat? I slowed down but continued to walk towards my destination.
Thinking back to my first week at Bryn Mawr, all the memories of a young person feeling the inadequacies of not belonging were still fresh in my mind. I had boldly been accepted on scholarship to a Master’s Programme in the Chemistry Department. However, I needed to take some undergraduate courses, in order to meet requirements. That in itself was making me feel that my prior education in India had not prepared me well enough to take on the extensive laboratory work. Feeling small and unsure, I went in for my first class in Biochemistry 101, to Dr. B’s laboratory.
There were a gaggle of young American girls, already there, on the first bench, looking extremely comfortable and at ease. Mousy Face with glasses and a high voice was clearly the leader. They cast a glance in my direction and went back to their own conversation.
Dr. B arrived, a medium built man with a broad face and an easy drawl. He introduced himself, and plunged into teaching, asking us to calculate how much substance we would need to make a solution of a particular strength.
Chemistry Professor’s voice droned in my mind from far-away India – “the molarity of a solution is calculated by….”
I found a piece of paper and did my calculation in one minute flat.
As I gingerly glanced up, I heard Mousy Face’s voice, “the vapour pressure of a solution…..” fading, as she saw me glance up….
Every single bone in my body shuddered – Chemistry Professor didn’t know what he was talking about. What’s vapour pressure got to do with this? Obviously, something so important, that I do not know. I crumpled my piece of paper and hid it among my things.
Dr. B, then asked for answers. I looked in the opposite direction.
One of Mousy Face’s friends went into a long explanation about their discussion. I hardly heard them, until Dr. B’s voice broke in – “has anybody asked her?”
Who is her? Me? Who me? No, no, what do I know?
He gently got me to uncrumple my paper, and as I shared the information tentatively, he looked up and said, “she is right”
“Go ahead and lets now make the solution”.
I understood the meaning of the phrase, “daggers drawn” for the first time in my life!
This made me feel even more nervous – as we got ready to make 50 litres of medium, in a gigantic conical flask, the likes of which I had never seen in my life. I participated in helping, whatever help I was allowed to give, and at the crucial last stage, my hand slipped, the flask moved, and 50 litres of sticky sweet medium spread all over the floor like treacle. I was mortified at what I had done, and did not even dare to look up at the girls to see their reaction.
Dr. B arrived, like a knight in shining armour, and he handed me a mop without saying a word. I didn’t know what to do, how to mop, it was after all an American mop, and in India we only swabbed the floor, not mopped – how would I manoeuvre the handle? To my greater horror, Dr. B took the mop from my hand! Dare I say, I did not even so much as cast a glance at Mousy face and gang.
I cried the entire afternoon and evening, hauled up in my dorm room – feeling like a small dark speck on the wall, and so helpless, as the only thought that kept going through my mind was, “I am so dumb, I don’t even know where to find a travel agent and how to book a ticket back home.” My father had sent me on a one-way ticket to Bryn Mawr – how would I return so humiliated. Visions of the mess on the floor overpowered me, and perhaps the sound of sobbing increased, when there was a knock on the door. It was Lit Major and Art Major from my floor. They saw me, and Lit Major immediately rushed to her room, and came back with a doll, which she handed to me.
I was dumbstruck – what do I do with that doll? I looked at the doll with its dirty clothes and baby face, when Art Major said, “Just take Bozo – she will make you feel better.”
Really – I need to deal with my life, not hold a doll. But… she meant well, so I took the object from her, and then we got talking…
“Does anyone know how to book a ticket to India?”
“You are not going anywhere.”
Through my sobs, they came up with the most practical solution – “let’s ask Grad student. She is doing a Ph.D.in Biology, and she will be able to help you. We are English and Art students, so we don’t know any science – just wait. You aren’t going anywhere; Bozo says you are not!”
“Alright Bozo” – since I didn’t know how to get home anyway, I decided to wait for Grad Student.
Grad Student was extremely practical. “What do you need to know? Let’s go now to the Lab, and I will show you the instrumentation you need.”
“As for those girls – don’t give them a second glance, they are pre-med”.
I had no idea what pre-med meant – but I understood it meant that they would not co-operate with me.
“Let’s find Athlete – he is also pre-med, but he will make you a good lab partner, and then you don’t have to deal with the rest of them.”
So, Athlete arrived in my life, he played football all the time, but it suited him to have me since I did all the work, and it suited me, since his presence was a protective shield.
Mousy Face and gang never spoke to me!
The year went by, and to my horror I had to meet Dr. B for my final grade. I was so embarrassed to enter his office. I had got a 4.0 average, so that wasn’t the issue. He glanced up at me with a twinkle in his eye, “my lab has never been so clean!”
I couldn’t help but smile.
Dr. B had never discussed the incident on day one ever, and he never went beyond that one sentence. With that, he let me know he believed in me – and that’s all I needed to build my own confidence.
I did get my Master’s and I did move into West Philly, and I made friends with the black guy, who owned the bicycle shop at the corner.
The area was rough, and we needed to be careful, however, I started understanding the difference between being careful and being fearful. I loved the neighbourhood, and made many friends.
What does a smile have to do with it? It connects us in that moment, for a moment, but then the heart keeps the smile forever. May I continue to exchange many beautiful smiles through my life!
Comments
Post a Comment