I’d been watching the scene when I heard someone say, “Why are you sitting on the ground like a commoner?”
Tushar had arrived and was searching for the right key to open the large padlock on the front of the shop. I leaped up and swatted off the dirt from the back of my jeans. Another thing to learn about the caste system. Apparently where I sat mattered as well. When I was a child, these things had been ingrained in me, and I’d known them implicitly, but my years in America meant I had to relearn everything.
“I was waiting for you.”
The metal grille rattled as it rolled upward. A bell dinged when he opened the front door.
“After you, madam,” he said.
Back to the “madam” thing. We’d have to work on that.
As the day progressed, Tushar reintroduced me to the basics of developing film. I had not developed my own photos since my internship before law school, but as we began to work through the process, I realized not much had changed.
We spent much of our time in the darkroom, except that he would run out to the front whenever he heard the chimes signaling that a customer had walked in.
Tushar pointed to a large poster in the corner, which was fortunately written in English: Massive Development Chart. “If you choose to use black-and-white film, you must remember to check this paper. It will tell you how long the film is to be kept in the developing chemicals.”
I had seen that chart in college, but in America the poster had become obsolete. Everything was digital, and apps reigned supreme. I appreciated that some things in modern-day India were closer to where I had left off with photography in the past.
“Thanks. You know, your English is pretty good,” I said, cringing after I said it, remembering the times when people in America had said that to me even after I’d been living in the country for years and had no accent. He didn’t look offended, but I tried to recover and said, “I meant, where did you learn it?”
I admired his mastery of another language and had no doubt his English skills were better than my Gujarati skills.
“Thank you, madam.”
I stopped loading my film onto the spool. “Seriously, you can call me Preeti. I would prefer that you do.”
Despite the lack of lighting in the darkroom, I could see him shift his weight as if searching for the words to convey his thoughts.
“It is as your uncle explained. Your family must be treated with respect. Your uncle has been very kind to us—provided my family with much work.”
The hue from the dim red light hanging over us seemed to erase our different skin tones. In this room, we were just two photographers.
I moved closer to him. “I’m American. I don’t believe the same thing he does.”
Tushar stepped back. “But I am not American, and we are in India. What matters is how the Indian culture believes.”
“Fine. But at least in here, in the darkroom where no one is around, you don’t have to treat me so formally.”
He bobbled his head from side to side. “Very well then. What shall I call you here?”
“Anything other than madam!”
He paused for a moment, his lips curled into a slight, shy smile. “You are the only girl I know from California. I will call you California Girl.”
I laughed. “Suit yourself.”
He looked at me quizzically.
“Never mind. It’s an American expression.”
I slid the spool of film into the developing chemicals while he stood over me, checking to see if I was doing it the way he had shown me earlier.
“Did you go to an English-medium school?” I said, assuming he had learned English the same way my cousins had.
It was Tushar’s turn to laugh. “No, of course not. English-medium schools are all private. I went to the public Gujarati school.”
He had no malice in his voice and spoke matter-of-factly, but my cheeks warmed as I realized how insensitive my comment must have sounded. During my Indian childhood and infrequent trips back, I never had occasion to be around anyone from another caste outside of servants and vendors, and I wasn’t familiar with the differences in lifestyle between them. It hadn’t even occurred to me that there were public schools here because I’d only ever known people who went to private ones. What I knew of India applied only to the upper caste, and I realized I knew nothing of how most of the country lived. I vowed to be more careful about what I said around him and to be more observant of the rest of the country.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
He poured enough chemicals into the tray to submerge the film and then covered it with a push cap. While showing me how to agitate the film, he said, “My father knew some English from running this store and speaking with the NRIs. I learned what I could from him. After that, I watched all the Hollywood movies I could find. Hearing it helped me learn more than what I would need simply for the shop. Now, I can read it—slowly, but it is better than nothing.”