Do you even know what contact paper is?
I did not until that day in September…….
It is a bright red-checked sheet – and it looks like a Pizza Hut tablecloth, coated with gum or some form of adhesion on one side, which can then be placed on a shelf to keep the closet clean!
So here I was, on my second day in the US of A, alone in my dormitory room, busily fixing this paper on every shelf in sight, so that I could unpack and settle in.
And how did this individual from India even know what contact paper was?
Because American from mid-west whose father dealt in used cars saw a lost soul wandering in the dormitory and wondering what to do on day one.
She kindly asked, “would you like to drive into town with me to buy some contact paper?”
I did not want to seem ignorant, and since I had no clue what contact paper was, I nodded yes vigorously. I figured it must be something fundamental to the lifestyle here, and so I agreed.
It did not matter what she said or who she was, the connection with another human being in this vast and silent wooden structure was appealing.
Not knowing what I was going to buy, I clutched my dollars, and was overwhelmed to be driven in a Chevrolet, into town, into a store which stocked contact paper. There were many colours and hues, but I chose the brightest red checks, which I thought would cheer me up.
How did this person – me- who knew so little, even reach Bryn Mawr College?
In my last year of undergraduate study in India, I felt an irrepressible need to study abroad. I had one simple goal – to leave home and experience the world. I knew nothing about anything, and started gathering some information for myself.
In those days – in the late 1970s, there was an office called USEFI, an acronym for United States Education Office in India, an extension of the American library.
In those days, there was no internet, and the office there was filled with catalogues of several universities in USA.
In those days, every day after my college lectures, I sat on the floor of USEFI, and opened each and every university catalogue to the very last page, which stored one piece of crucial information – Foreign Student Scholarship Available – Yes/No.
Most of them said no, and I watched the dreams of Harvard, Berkeley and Princeton dissolve before my very eyes.
I had never heard of Bryn Mawr, and could hardly even pronounce the name. But it was close to Philadelphia, which for me meant that it was close to New York City. Since every image of America stored in my limited mind was that of Manhattan, I thought Bryn Mawr would do for me.
Especially since I set eyes on a delicious sentence – Marguerite N. Farley Foreign Student Scholarship AVAILABLE.
I applied.
I got admission.
I received the scholarship.
I received my student visa.
I was now ready to go.
Planning and preparation began in earnest, as I packed some essentials and some non-essentials to carry a piece of home and country in my suitcase.
Our society circles are really small, word spread and I was approached by a high flying society woman, whose daughter had also been accepted to Bryn Mawr College.
They took me out for coffee to a five star hotel, expectant mother and reluctant daughter. The mother was making arrangements to fly to the US and drop her daughter to college and settle her in.
“Look after my daughter, she is an undergrad, and you are going to graduate school.”
I was four years older, but not much wiser, and I wistfully wished that somebody would also drop me to my first experience of university life abroad.
No such luck for me.
How ironic – I thought in my mind, looking at mother and daughter. Silently saying to myself, “you are going to drop her, I am on my ownsome lonesome, what help can I offer? You should be offering me some help.”
However, reluctant daughter did not want any help, and post the delicious cup of coffee, we did not cross paths much!
My father bought me a one-way ticket, and sent me to USA via Toronto where my sister lived with her family.
From Toronto, it was convenient for my sister and family to go on a camping trip, and by the way drop me on their way to my dormitory. By the time we reached my destination, it was already evening, and they were in a hurry to reach the next campsite, so before I knew it, my bags and I were hurtled into a single room with bare white walls and a wooden floor, housing a single bed and a desk.
A hurried hug later, “Bye, take care, let us know if you need anything more.”
They were gone.
I was alone!
I cannot even remember that night and how I slept. Did I even unpack a bedsheet? Did I shower? Or did I just dissolve into the unknown experience from which there was no turning back.
My greatest worry was that this was a co-ed dormitory, with shared toilets and shower stalls separated by just a yellow curtain. I was mortified about how I would shed my inhibitions, and as I was wondering and wandering, I met my companion who took me to buy contact paper!
This was perhaps the best contact I needed.
American was down to earth and practical, never having travelled further than Bryn Mawr herself! Was the distance from her mid-west town to this small college even greater than the distance for me from India? I didn’t question this, but we formed a quick bond, two souls, lost, in need of some assurance and reassurance that we were here to do the right thing by our education.
I was so impressed that she changed a car each time she went home since her father had the dealership. She was so impressed that I had come alone, and I had a cool accent. I did not want to tell her that she had the accent, not me. We made contact to check in on each other, and although a practical relationship, we were never soul searching friends.
I am so grateful, that she did not question me, but kind of told me what to do – from buying contact paper, to what to eat in the cafeteria, how to open a bank account, helped me get around campus, and as I found my own comfort, our contact became less, but we always smiled at each other and shared support.
As the days moved into weeks, I was breathing easier. My bed cover looked better on the wall, as the block print and bright colours reminded me of home.
Classes started in earnest, and I made many friends from Spain, Greece, Italy and France, and even some from the US. I learned to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and salad. I offered to make Indian food for those who lived off campus. I learned to eat Pizza and drink beer. I learned to jog in the evening, and I learned to walk across campus with a light air and an easy gait.
I learned to shower in the middle of the day, so that I was alone on the floor, dashing from stall to change in my room. I also learned that it was perfectly OK to shower in the morning since everyone respected private spaces, and the yellow curtain was never opened if someone was inside.
I learned much and adjusted well to the environment, falling back on the comfort of being a good academic student.
I got into the groove of doing my assignments, I achieved good grades and the year went by.
I moved into year 2 before I knew it.
How lucky it was that I got to keep the same room – with the same contact paper, but with more wisdom and understanding than before!
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