Last year, around this time, I had participated in the Asia-Europe Long Way Home Short Story Contest organized by culture360 - an organization committed to promoting new talents and connecting Asia and Europe through arts and culture. The contest was part of the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival, Bali.
Here's the link. http://culture360.org/short-story-contest/the-foreigner-in-the-ferry-mriganka-kalita-india/
My story 'The Foreigner in the Ferry' was shortlisted amongst entries from other countries in Asia and Europe. The theme of the Asia-Europe Short Story Contest was travel. In this framework, what was expected from writers was not travel writing but creative writing that uses the theme travel as the premise for a short fiction. It was of particular interest for ASEF (Asia-Europe Foundation) to receive stories that highlight Asian perceptions of Europe and vice-versa . This competition seeks stories that give new perspectives on local culture, identities, and traditions in the context of contemporary societies and environments.
And here's the story.
The Foreigner In The Ferry
The
ferry to Elephanta Island was scheduled to leave from Gateway of India at 3pm
sharp. It is 3:30pm now. The ferry is still gently bobbing in its place and
occasionally bumping against the stone jetty. Not that it mattered much to Tim
Cotton, the professor of history at the University of Cambridge. He’s been in
India for almost two weeks and if there’s one thing he has learnt while
travelling is that one needs to be patient. And to his great surprise, he’s
discovering that he is actually quite a patient man. Quite contrary to the
image he has in university circles back home. He also got acquainted with the
actual full form of IST. It is not Indian Standard Time. It is Indian
Stretchable Time.
Tim
sized up the man sitting opposite him on the hard wooden bench. The only other
foreigner in the ferry. After having travelled a fair bit as a visiting
professor in various Far Eastern countries, he prided himself on his ability to
guess people’s nationalities. He relished the look of surprise on his subjects
as he, more often than not, correctly guessed their country of origin.
From
the foreigner’s mongoloid features, it is easy to place him as someone from
South East Asia. He is too brown–‐skinned to qualify as Japanese, Korean or Filipino. Or,
even Chinese. He could be Malaysian, Indonesian or Thai. Then he could be from
Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia or Vietnam too. Suddenly, he felt a bit annoyed. It
wasn’t as easy as he thought. He decided to deploy his sure–‐fire method. A
conversation. He could pin down accents at ten meters. He had once surprised a
second generation American woman by guessing her German–‐Polish ancestry. Which
really wasn’t that difficult. Even people with the most impeccable of accents
have a tendency to slip during unguarded moments. The trick is to watch out for
these moments. He wasn’t too confident about Asian accents but that wasn’t
going to stop him.
Tim
cleared his throat. A bit dramatically. Years of dabbling half–‐heartedly in amateur
college theatre productions had its advantages. The foreigner looked up from
his book with a slight look of surprise. Always works. Tim smiled inwardly. He
mopped his brow, smiled broadly and commented, ‘Hot, isn’t it?’ The foreigner
took a swig from a water bottle and said, ‘Unusual weather for December in
Bombay. But once the ferry starts, the sea breeze should cool things down.’
While
the man spoke, Tim was furiously dredging up memories of the various Asian
accents he had encountered. He started ticking off a whole list of countries in
his mind. The man speaks English fluently. But he has an accent. It wasn’t the
thick South Asian accent that either spat out or twisted words beyond
recognition. It was more, well, pleasant. He also mentioned ‘Mumbai’ as
‘Bombay’. Something which he realized was common to the citizens but not to
tourists. Every tourist he met referred to Bombay as Mumbai. Santosh, the
efficient but somewhat pushy travel agent, said Mumbai is a cultural identity,
where as Bombay is an emotional one.
Suddenly,
it struck Tim. The man is from Nepal. There are lots of Nepalis living and
working in India. Pleased as punch with his deduction, Tim decided to show off.
Just a little bit. He’s a professor of history after all.
Tim
cleared his throat again. ‘Pashupatinath temple has been on my to–‐visit list for quite some
time. I have always been fascinated by Lord Shiva. Isn’t the temple located on
the banks of the river Bagmati?’ Tim beamed at the foreigner. He knew his
knowledge of Nepal’s foremost temple surely must have impressed him.
The
man looked at Tim and said, ‘Actually, I’ve never been to Nepal. But I have
heard about the temple.’
Tim
knew an Armenian student who had never been to Armenia. Every Sunday, Petrosian
would diligently attend special classes that taught him everything to know
about Armenia. Obviously, this young Nepali here is not at all interested in
the country of his forefathers. The professor in him surfaced and he couldn’t
help remarking with a touch of asperity, ‘You should know more about your
country. Every citizen of a country becomes its ambassador when they live
abroad.’
The
young man looked at Tim. He realized the elderly foreigner had made the same
mistake that his own countrymen make most of the time. Thanks to a certain lack
of understanding about the ‘different–‐looking’ people from northeast India.
It
takes almost an hour to reach Elephanta Island. Time enough, Lachit Phukan
thought, to educate the foreigner about his birthplace Assam, the far–‐flung northeastern state,
famous for its tea estates and one–‐horned rhinos.
He
started by asking, ‘You are British, right?’