Nobody puts Baby in a corner

When I was 16, I always showed up to Brit Lit class early and found a seat in the back, against the wall – the better not to have to answer questions about Beowulf and Jane Austen aloud and risk Ms. Buchanan’s critical response in front of my classmates.  One day, Ms. Buchanan called to me as I was sitting down, saying: “Today you are sitting in the front row.  You are going to say something.  Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” 

I was too mortified to appreciate how awesome it was for your high school English teacher to quote Dirty Dancing to you.  I also didn’t understand that this statement was Ms. Buchanan’s way of saying she believed in me and that I should be more confident in the things that I had to say. I’ve since recognized this, but often still struggled to come out of that corner. 

Through this India journey (over 10 years later), I found something unusual.  I found that I refuse to pay too much for an auto.  I found that I walk in front of buses, expecting them to stop or swerve around me. I found that I convince my bosses that my strategies and projects are going to be beneficial (and know that if they don’t believe me, then it’s their loss).  I found that I can say no.  I found that I say what I’m thinking to any number of people.

I found my voice in India. 

In a nation where I cover myself from the stares and jeers and harassment of men, where women struggle to be included, where gender equality is a booming noise in the air that so many people ignore (as if it were just another car horn, bell ringing, person shuffling), India seems a strange place for a fair-skinned (chocoholic) introvert to find her voice.

But you know what?  I bet it’s not that uncommon for a lady-expat to find what she’s been searching for here.  India kind of forces you to examine yourself, be aware of yourself, and make a decision one way or the other. 

In a place where men stop and stare with piercing eyes as you pass them, where children follow you down the road laughing and calling after you, where you stand out so contrastingly, you learn to be aware of your physical self.  In a place where you are told what to wear, how to behave, how to react when you are groped in a public place (and that you will be), that police stations are not a safe place to go alone as a woman; in a place like that, you learn to stand up for yourself.  In a place where hectic is the norm, where lines are nonexistent, where bargaining is essential, you learn to fight for what you want.

Do you want to get to the other side of the road?  Then you must take that step into oncoming traffic.  Do you want to taste amazing food?  Then you must dig in with your right hand and take that first bite.  Do you want to see something breathtaking?  Then you must hop onto that overnight train and trek that trail. 

You must.

So I braved all the traffic that exists in my head and spoke my mind anyway.  I dug into myself and made the desires of my heart known.  I took that trail and what I found was pretty breathtaking.  It was kind of beautiful.

On my last day in Hyderabad, I scolded the Xerox man for charging me double the price and kicked a stool as I stomped out of his shop.

I found my voice in India.  And it’s kind of thunderous.  Who would have guessed?

Baby’s come out of the corner.  And you know what? I’m ready to do that lift now.

(Anybody want to go dancing?)