The Truth of the Cliche: Part One

Cliche: It's a Small World

One of my favorite columnists in The New York Times is Thomas Friedman. He is a mad liberal (of course) writer who espouses on the growing 24-hour nature of the global economy, and recently published a book called The World is Flat to explain how technology has made white collar cheap labor (i.e. outsourcing of tech jobs) into a reality. Because of his integration of interesting anecdotes with solid research, I dig Friedman. For that reason, I'm going to share an anecdote of my own that is reinforcing my growing belief that not only is the world flat, it is also small.

Before I left for India, I was sick sick sick of Boston. I felt like I saw people I knew everywhere and even worse, the people I met all seemed to be connected to one another in some crazy game of "less than two degrees of separation." It was maddening and after a fantastic weekend at my parents' house in Colorado, I was somewhat seriously (for the first time) contemplating calling it a day in Boston and moving away. Last night, however, I realized that Boston is as good as any place else (and I do love it), and I am a just friendly person who will always find people I'm connected to wherever I go. More importantly, that's not always a bad thing.

Some background to the story:
So I have four fantastic roommates here in Mumbai (more about them later), three wonderful women (Sapna, Deepti, and Jenny) and a great guy (Manu). We are all laid-back and funny and are all sort of wrestling with the same identity questions that we've grown up with as the first generation of Indian-Americans.

We also all like to go out and have a good time.

Last night, we were taken on a city tour (with the exception of Jenny who was sick) of Bombay by a friend of our program director (Meenakshi), a guy named Vikram. When we met Vikram, he was wearing a Tazmanian devil baby-doll T, great dark jeans, and shoes that appeared to be hip Diesels. We had been told that Vikram had lived in Boston for six years and that we would all get along with him. She was right: Vikram is funny. He is smart. He loves Panjabi Dhaba and Rosie's Bakery (both at the end of my street in Cambridge; he lived in Davis Square in Somerville). He is a writing a work of historical fiction based in medieval India. He loves The Little Prince. He likes to browse bookstores and sit in coffeeshops for hours. He is an E! junkie (a lover of the True Hollywood Story is an insta-friend to me).

I got it immediately: Vikram was gay. Totally, completely, utterly gay. It was the only explanation for the combination of fashion-smarts and interests.

With Vikram, the four of us go to Churchgate (South Mumbai, where the tourist district is located) on the Mumbai train system. The trains are old and make the T look luxurious and have quaint anachronisms that I fully intend to use such as "ladies-only compartments." We get to Churchgate and Vikram takes us on a tour of the Victorian architechture of Mumbai. It is beautiful: tropical and this great mix of Indo-Victorian buildings that sprawl and soar and are seriously breathtaking. It is a balmy 90 degrees and humid and we are all talking and laughing our way through the streets of Mumbai, and based on anecdotes of our tour guide, Manu and I exchange amused "Vikram is gay" glances on more than one occasion. (Being a gay Indian, by the way, is horrible. For an entire culture based on marriage and family, the thought that you couldn't give those things to your parents is abhorrent.)

It is early evening now and we're walking toward the Gateway of India, a huge marble arch on the Arabian Sea that the British army symbolically left from after India won her independence. Vikram and I are talking and he mentions that he's never dated an Indian and I see my opening; I tell him I haven't either. We have the following exchange:
V: (thoughtfully) I've never dated an Indian.
R: I haven't dated an Indian either but my Indian friends are telling me I have to try it like it's a flavor of ice cream or something.
V: (laughs) I get that a lot from my friends, too.
R: Isn't it weird? And it's not just my Indian friends. I have this friend, (first name of friend from school), who keeps telling me that Indian guys are completely the way to go. (shake my head as I go in for the gay-revealing kill) But he's got an Indian guy fetish so I don't tend to trust guys who have those.
V: (looks at me in amazement) Wait. (slowly) (first name of friend from school followed by LAST NAME OF FRIEND FROM SCHOOL)?!?
R: (slowly) NO. You know him?
V: (laughing) Know him? I dated him! I was his second Indian boyfriend! What are the chances that you and I would meet? I can't believe you know him and are friends with him!
R: (laughing, laughing, can't stop laughing)

So I don't care anymore. I don't need to leave Boston because the first person I meet on the other side of world is actually connected to me in some way as well. It actually makes me happy rather than irritated the way it used to. Besides, when I was eight, It's a Small World used to be my favorite song. It's only justified that it fits my life, right?