Treading the American suburbs, desi style

Like a Swiss watch, her timing is always perfect. Just before the sunset every evening, she appears from the far end of the sidewalk turning the corner.
The sound of autumn leaves rustling under her shoes announces her arrival. The shiny white Adidas shoes seem a bit too big for a woman of her height – about 5ft. 3 inches tall. Nonetheless, the clean and bright shoes always stand out, treading the sidewalk, crushing the freshly fallen leaves off the maple trees along the path.
Always looking straight without turning her head, she walks with a constant and quick pace, the gait unruffled and strides undaunted.
There are always kids playing in the front yards of the houses she pass, some riding their bikes along the same sidewalk. There is a lawnmower going here and there, everyone busy with trivial outdoor stuff. With all the activities going around her, she never look around to watch others, or to say hello, or just to acknowledge the surroundings. As if the rest of the world does not exist. She never strays from the side-walk, as if she seems owns it. She walks past everybody without a flinch, without a gesture.

She does not look aloof; she pretends not to be superior- looks like she just wants to focus on her walk. The residents -mostly white families- chat with their neighbors across the yards, casually looking at her and then at each-other.

“Hey honey, look who is coming again”, announces a young mother in her front year, cradling a baby in her arms.
“I know Tracy, shush; she can heart you!” he looked up, taking a break from raking the leaves off the driveway.
“No seriously Steve! Look, she is going to ignore us again today”
“May be she is just shy!”
“She probably doesn’t speak English,…Where you think she is from?”
“Don’t know; may be Pakistan or Turkey, or somewhere else in the Middle East.”
“You think she can belly-dance? She doe not look the type!”
“She can hear you!”
They both turned to her as she walks by, forcing a smile; but she was already gone by then.
“Where is she going in such a hurry?” Tracy said in a lowered voice, almost a whisper…
Of course she paid no attention. As if she does not care; she seems to mind her own walk, even if she heard them.
Sometimes, she looks a bit uncomfortable as she approaches others walking by, or couples standing around. Neither slowing-down nor speeding-up, she keeps going.

She is middle-aged, average size – not skinny, not fat. Her Indian attire stands out, always dressed up in colorful match of desi suites – a salwaar with an Indian shirt and a matching chunari, the headscarf. Her Bindi – the dot on her forehead – can be seen from a distance, it is always noticeable. However, the shiny white athletic shoes always stand out the most. The jogging shoes don’t seem to go with the fancy Indian suit.
Perhaps, the shoes are part of trying something new in America, or perhaps just for comfort. Maybe, a doctor told her to take a walk everyday, or perhaps that is her way of saying to all the neighbors. “I don’t care what you think. I wear what I like.” Or, could be, she is borrowing the Adidas shoes from her American cousin.

Roma has recently migrated from India; new in America, striding away in the new country. Wonder how long before she switches to a matching athletic attire to go with her American athletic shoes….

Everything aside, one has to be brave to venture out alone every evening among strangers, in a new place, going for a walk dressed in a desi suit and a pair of white running shoes.
It must be hard to walk in someone else’s shoes!

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