It was a year ago, today, when I first came to the US…

A year ago, today was the day that I first stepped on to the soil of the United States of America.

It’s uncanny how I still remember every little detail of that day. Perhaps it was the best and perhaps it was the worst, yet it was one day I remember so well, just to remind myself everyday that I can do it all, even in the worst of situations. I remember every little detail.

Like, when I forgot to switch off the mobile data and my phone’s prepaid balance was completely drained leading to my Indian number not working internationally and my little BlackBerry was rendered useless. I kept pressing the buttons helplessly and hopefully as I stood in the line walking towards the immigration counters. I still remember the fear and uncertainty I felt when I was unable to connect with my parents back home while I walked through the immigration at Newark, NJ, and how I kept feeling more and more scared and alone. I looked around for my transfer and the gates, and at the same time frantically searched around for some ‘pay phone,’ a term which looked alien for the part of the world filled with new technology. I kept turning around at every person carrying a cell phone. “Should I go and ask them to allow me just one call? Just one? But again it’s an international call, will they allow me to make the call? Why should anyone?” I did not have faith on the goodwill of people in the US. I did not have faith that anyone would be ready to help a young brown Indian girl looking all scared ad flustered as all her Indian gadgets failed to get her connected to any sort of wireless Internet available at the terminals. I continued on to my flight to Syracuse, with a heavy heart as I couldn’t hear my parents reassuring voice.

It was exactly one year ago around this time when I stepped down in Syracuse, NY, and headed out to collect my luggage. Little did I realize that the flight number mentioned in my itinerary and the flight I boarded were different. Little did I realize, that my landlord had almost left the Syracuse airport when he saw that the flight I was supposed to arrive by was rescheduled for the evening. Thank god for my father who called up my landlord in a timely manner and informed him that I have boarded a different flight but it will arrive at the scheduled time as mentioned in the itinerary. Thanks to those two men, I was a little less scared and a little more relieved when I heard my landlord call out my name. I gained my first little faith in the people of US, even in the face of all the things that could go wrong.

It was right at that opportune moment when my landlord picked me up that my father gave him one last call, and I was able to just say I am all right and my phone is out of balance, I needed a 1,000 INR to be refilled for my phone to work again. The data had led the phone balance to go into negative. I could simply tell him that take care of it tomorrow, sleep now, I am fine and I will be in touch soon. Fact was, I was far from fine.

It was exactly on this day, a year ago.

I arrived at my new house, a house to be shared with 3 other girls – the first meeting with each, which I remember oh so well! But at that point there was only one who was there, fortunately a girl from the same school as I went to since my second grade. She was the reason I chose this house and shared accommodation. This was also going to be the first time I ever shared living space with anyone except for family. It is not very common in India to live separately when still unmarried, so no one expects you to find your own accommodation after the age of 18.

After unloading the two large and one small luggage, the landlord kindly agreed to give me yet another ride. This time to Walmart, the only store I had heard about when in India. The only big grocery store that I thought existed in the US. He left me there with a small paper in which he had written down the number of Blue Star Taxi. I was to call them for a ‘cab’ once I was done. I stood outside the store for one whole minute. Without a phone. With a lot of cash in hand. With no one to consult back and forth about what to buy and what not. With no idea of what to expect.

I walked in to the store with a basic mission. Buy enough to sustain yourself for a few weeks and then we can figure out what next. But what when the basic things are all so different? Whole milk, 1% or 2%? Vegetable oil or Olive oil? No sign of the friendly sunflowers, soyas or mustard. Later I found out, mustard oil was not even available in the US for consumption purposes, but was sold in Asian stores more as a massage oil. White, whole wheat, honey oat or 18 grains? Those are the breads my love!

I was confused!

And if that was food, pillows got even tougher. Soft, Firm, Extra firm. A pillow for $10? They must be out of their minds. INR 600 just for one pillow? Then let’s get a blanket at least. Twin, full, queen, king? I could feel the jet lag kicking in at that point. I could feel the fatigue in my bones. I knew I was on the verge of collapsing. I needed food, water and a bed. I needed to get home. But wait, I didn’t even have a ride yet.

I quickly pulled myself together. Analyzed what all could I possibly need. Figured – milk, bread, rice, eggs, butter, cheese, ready to eat, pasta (thanks for my love of that pasta), chicken, onions, blanket, pillow and the rest can be gotten later. I saw a $100 easily spent on all that and more. I couldn’t believe I had just spent approximately INR 6,000 on just grocery. I asked around for a phone and thanks to the customer service called in a cab. A quick ride back home during which the driver told me off for being silly enough to go to Walmart in a cab. An advice I had no enthusiasm for. A driver whom I paid my first tip in the US. A sweet $5, roughly INR 300. An amount which if given to a cab driver in India for just driving would render blessings.

I managed to get myself into the house. Set up the bed. Take a shower. Pull out a ready to eat. “You need to sleep, or you will collapse.” The schoolmate had arrived by then. She was in the room across mine. Awkward smiles were exchanged as I made my room up. Were we friends back in school? I remembered playing in a group to even sharing a room with her on a school trip, but were we friends? She stood in the kitchen pulling out her own food from the refrigerator, while I tried to develop a taste for the pasta I had just cooked. I couldn’t believe that a pasta could be that tasteless. And that’s the last I remember before I pushed myself into bed and passed out at around 7 pm in the evening. In a bed that I was sleeping in for the first time, far away on a land that neither of my parents had stepped on to, in a place far away from the familiar giggles and laughs of my friends and family, far away and alone…

The feelings, the emotions, the thoughts that coursed through me on that day has never left me. And yet, I am equally happy for that one day. Am sure each and every incoming student will have a story to share. Share those stories and help the new students who travel so far away from home… after all you know what it’s like to be without help, to feel alone and lonely, when you have just arrived…