My First Day in America

Having dreamt all the years about America, it certainly made me to have high expectations about it. Learning a lot from my friends and of course, especially from Hollywood blockbusters added to it. I wondered how America would look like and how people down there would receive me.

“Going to America” was a far-away dream to me when I was in college. When all my friends wanted to go for higher studies or for IT Jobs to United States, I always envied them. For one thing was sure, I, as a civil engineer did not expect any chance of leaving my country except to those poor African countries, where I heard about dearth of civil engineers.

Like an oasis in desert, particularly for those who were not acquainted with computers, IBM Mainframes and Y2K technologies made our dreams come true. With couple of my friends, I ventured into those courses and successfully in that wave of brain drain from India, I landed in United States.

Before the plane landed in San Francisco, it made couple of circles in the air, as the captain was bargaining for a space to land at that busy airport. I, sitting in an aisle chair, bent over the guy next to me, to look through the window eagerly to witness the first glimpse of the great city, San Francisco. Being a cloudy day, the window provided me hardly any sight of the beautiful city.

After the plane landed at the airport and captain cleared us to move on, I took my hand luggage and laid my first step out on the land of America. Immediately a cool breeze engulfed me and I felt shiver run down the spine. “America is a cold country” was my first feeling, even though it might not be the same for the entire United States.

I was having all the documents but still I had the sublime fear in my heart when I neared the Immigration check. An old man in mid-fifties with thick glasses, looked me up and down several times and compared my face with the five-year old photograph in my passport. With harsh voice, he asked what my full name was, for which I answered without a any delay. Immediately he stamped my passport and handed it over to me.
“I got admitted into USA” my heart jumped and danced around.

Now the next attack was waiting for me in the form of customs. Despite many of friends advised me not to bring any food items from India, I could not resist packing them. A black and 6-foot tall African-American glanced at me grudgingly and enquired whether I was carrying any food items inside my luggage. My throat dried and words struggled to come out of my mouth to lie over the issue. “No” came out from beneath the deep waters. I was not sure what he thought, he looked at me for a second and then told me to move on. “Hurray. I cheated the customs” I thought in merry.

The moment I walked out, I found my classmate Karan waiting outside. He hugged me warmly and took the luggage cart. “How was the journey?” he enquired. “I enjoyed it, except the food” I replied. “That is a standard complaint from all the Indians who come here for the first time” he laughed loudly and led me into the parking lot.

“America is too cold isn’t it?” I commented while shivering little at that cold breeze. “San Francisco is like that. Being close to the ocean mainly” he replied as if he was ready with the answer.

As we moved out of Airport, I had a glace to see the innumerable flyovers that were built for the traffic. They were all marked neatly and clearly. “These signs are pretty good” I commented while observing them. “Yes. Through out America it is like that. Without reading them you can not drive at all.” I remembered my small town, where without asking the people around, you cannot find any address.

“Are you hungry?” Karan enquired casually.

In fact, I was a little hungry. I could not eat well the last two meals in the aircraft. But I decided to give a gap as I thought I would need a break from the continuous feeding in the plane.

“No. May be after sometime.”

As we drove to the Cupertino city down thirty miles from San Francisco, Karan explained a little bit of America and I was busy watching the huge number of cars on the road with awe and I wonder how many months I would need to own a car and drive on those freeways like that. “That car is quite expensive, costs around 70K” Karan showed a car & commented. It looked like a jet-plane.

“Oops! That is a lot of money. Isn’t it?” I quipped.

After sometime the whole traffic got jammed and we were moving inch by inch. “This happens all the time on 101” Karan expressed his irritation. I did not quite understand his problem. ‘Traffic jams are quite common in India, I thought. Within minutes, couple of police cars and an ambulance crossed us. “There must have been an accident. Here, police arrives within no time at the scene” Karan started telling me about the American police force. “If you drive fast or do any mistake while driving, police will catch you and give you a ticket. Once the ticket gets recorded in your driving history, your insurance will hike up for couple of years.”

I didn’t quite understand many words of what he was saying. Even without understanding completely, I developed a fear inside towards police. “What is insurance?” I asked him. “Oh! Sorry. Here we need insurance on the car, if you want to drive it. It is illegal to drive without insurance” Karan went on with explaining about cars and the insurance problems.

“You need to write a written test and give a road test to get the driver’s license. Driver’s ID is essential in America for anyone to survive.”

At once life ahead in America appeared to be very hard for me. There was already another major task for me to do. I had to look for a project and settle down in a job. “Oh God! Help Me,” I prayed silently.

When the traffic got cleared we geared up and reached our home. It was late afternoon.
Karan rang up to my home in India and I spoke with my parents. I told them that I arrived safely. It was already mid-night in India but they were waiting for my call without sleeping. I told them to take some rest and that I would call them again the next day.

Before Karan took off to office again, he showed me around the house and told me the details like how to lock the house etc. After he left, I was all alone in the two-bedroom apartment where Karan was staying with three other roommates. I lied down on the sofa and looked around the clumsy hall filled with all things lying around. “This is just like a bachelor’s house in India” I thought. For sometime, I flipped through television channels and suddenly I felt hungry. I looked in the fridge for something to eat, but I didn’t find much except juices and coke.

I called Karan on his mobile and asked what to do. “Just cross the road athwart and you will find McDonald’s down there” he guided me. “Look for crosswalk for pedestrians. And to get the pedestrian light, you need to press button meant for pedestrians. Just watch other pedestrians and follow them”, he instructed me. I got freshened up and got out of the house.

Slowly I strolled in the streets and found McDonalds on the other side of the street. By watching other pedestrians on the street, I understood what Karan was trying to explain to me over phone. There I stood in front of McDonald’s remembering my visit to Bangalore, where I had my first chance to eat at McDonald’s. ‘Will it be the same taste?’ I thought while entering.

There I found couple of counters and a small line for ordering. By glancing around, I understood it must be a self-service restaurant. I stood in the queue wondering what to order. There was a menu displayed on the top of the counters. ‘Very small menu’ I thought remembering quite long menus in our Indian restaurants.

At my turn the cute girl at the counter greeted me with a smile and said, “How are you today?” I slowly whispered “Fine” and was thinking what else to say. I was not sure whether she heard my answer or not, she immediately asked me again, “What can I do for you?” I looked at the menu on the top and said, “One chicken burger.” She did not quite understand me. “What?” she repeated twice within seconds.

There I was standing in embarrassment for not being able to communicate to her what I wanted. I took little courage and tried to remember how others before me ordered. With the hand I showed at the menu and said, “Number Four”. There was a flash in her face, as she understood what I wanted. That gave little relief to me. But the trouble did not end there.

“What kind of drink did you want?” she asked me. “I don’t want any drink” I answered, as I do not like cola drinks as such. “Sure, you don’t want any drink?” she tried to confirm. “Yes” I slowly nodded my head. There was this kind of unbelief on her face that somebody would not want to drink anything at all. I was too shy to order drinking water, which was normally supplied by default in India.

The next question really baffled me. “Sir, for here to go” she said. I immediately searched for the meaning of that statement in my English language dictionary and grammar, but I did not get any clue. She asked me the same question again and looking for an answer from me. That was really quite embarrassing for me. I thought I should do something stupid or something very intelligent. I nodded my head, by mumbling “yes” slowly. She sighed and typed something and asked me to pay.

There I waited for them to call my token number. When they delivered me the food in a pack, I took it immediately and left the place, for I did not find any guts to sit there and eat.

Late that evening, when I told this to Karan, he laughed like hell for sometime. “That is the trickiest thing in America. They want to know whether you want to eat there or take it out. They simplified it like – ‘for here’ means to eat at the restaurant or ‘to go’ means for taking out.” I also laughed after hearing his explanation.

As the evening passed on, I felt really sleepy. Karan forced me to be awake till nine o’clock, such that I would come out of the jetlag faster. Karan and his other roommate cooked food for all of us. They made egg curry and some rice. I ate little rice and went to lay down the sleeping bag bed.

Remembering my first day experiences in America, I slowly smiled at myself. I wondered how many more experiences were waiting for me in future and at the same time my heart trembled in fear, thinking about the hard times which lay ahead of me in this strange country.

I thought about my parents and friends whom I had left behind in India and slowly slipped into deep sleep.

-Dharmendra Kumar

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