I thought about how even though I could speak Gujarati with relative ease considering I was now classified as a foreigner, I could no longer read a word of it. The symbols might as well have been hieroglyphics considering I had not used them since I was seven years old. That he had taught himself to read something with a different alphabet was beyond impressive. The more time I spent with him, the more interested I was in learning more. In just one day, he had made me question so much of what I thought I knew about India. I knew that for the rest of my time in Ahmedabad, I wanted to keep learning more.
He removed the push cap and gently lifted the film from the tray. With a steady hand, he used a watering can to stream water over it to clean it. In college, I recalled using a faucet to do that step, but running water was much more of a scarcity here, and clean running water scarcer still.
As he worked, I could not help but notice how his bicep flexed from the weight of the can or the way his calloused fingers handled the film with such delicate ease. Stop it! I scolded myself. I needed to focus on what he was doing rather than the way he looked while doing it!
“How did you learn so much about photography?” I asked when he handed me the film to hang on the line to dry.
“How you learn anything—I practiced. I took photos. This shop belonged to my dada and then my father. It has been a part of our family for many years. I believe I may have taken my first photo before I took my first step!”
I pictured an infant Tushar with a giant camera dangling from his neck. “Why not travel beyond Ahmedabad and take photos? Turn it into a larger-scale business?”
“My family is here. It doesn’t make sense to be anywhere else.”
“I wish it were that easy for me.”
He shrugged. “This is home.”
Tushar was thirty-two years old and had never gotten a passport because he had nowhere to go, and probably couldn’t afford to travel even if he did have the desire. Maybe for someone like Tushar who lived in a place where he truly felt he belonged, there was no need to explore the rest of the world. Maybe the rest of us were so restless because we were searching for that feeling of belonging that Tushar already had.
Biren had suggested we meet at a new dessert shop near me to celebrate Christmas as best we could. Swiss Cottage was Ahmedabad’s answer to a nightclub—without the alcohol, mingling with strangers, or physical touching. It was full of groups of twentysomethings dressed for a special night out. We shared a belgian chocolate torte that tasted nothing like the Western version would have. The absence of eggs changed the flavor and texture dramatically, but it didn’t matter because I was there for the company and not the food. Biren had become the only friend I had outside of my family and had been a welcome respite from drama over the past few weeks.
As we picked at our dessert, Biren shared his stories of going to school in Australia. I shared the few stories I had from when Alex and I had visited there, leaving out my travel companion and focusing on the gorgeous landscapes and laid-back people. He spoke of how he’d learned to surf and become decent at it before moving back to India and retiring his board.
His laugh was natural and frequent, the lines around his eyes evidence of his happy demeanor. We shared stories like old friends, and I realized that in many ways, that was what we were. There was the safety and comfort of knowing he’d been part of my childhood, even if the memories were difficult to conjure. I trusted him, and with Carrie so far away, it was nice to have that feeling with someone nearby.
I leaned closer to him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he said, pushing some crumbs around the plate.
“Doesn’t all of this caste stuff bother you? Especially after spending time in Australia, where you don’t see this?”
He shrugged. “Every culture has a caste system, even if they don’t call it that.” He chuckled and said, “Including your precious America. And definitely Australia.”
There was truth to what he was saying. There were degrees of segregation everywhere, and America’s was color based, while India’s was caste based, given that on the surface everyone looked the same. Even my law firm had a hierarchy, and when I had quit, my limitations within that hierarchy became clearer.
“I know that’s true, but isn’t it harder for you to ignore after spending time outside of the country?”
“There are a lot of things I would change about this country. There are a lot of things I’d change about Australia too. But there are also a lot of things I wouldn’t change in either place. Countries are like people—you have to accept all sides of them. The good comes with the bad. India has a sense of community that has always resonated with me more than anywhere else. Guess I was built for a collectivist culture over an individualistic one.”