A Warm Winter Day

 Guest Post 

Susan Stephen is a former student of mine who found a mention in my previous post without her name. She's studying Developmental Social Work in Canada. She sent me a short story of hers this morning and I think it deserves a wider readership. It's the story of a young Indian student in Canada, like the author herself. The pain of homesickness, occasional instances of racism, and the usual hardships of an overseas student are all poignantly portrayed in the story without ever losing touch with the essential tenderness of human relationships. There's touch of professionalism in the story. May Susan mature into a prominent writer of good literature. 

Susan Stephen

A Warm Winter Day

It was a warm January morning, the warmest, she thought. January mornings back home in India were warmer than this, yet she found today a nice day. She took a hot bath and had a sandwich for breakfast.  While getting ready for college, she thought maybe she should pack something for lunch as she was going straight to work after college. But her laziness took over; she didn’t pack anything for lunch; in fact, she worked empty stomach that day. Most days, she couldn’t find time to cook after college and work, so working on an empty stomach wasn’t anything new to her. She works as a cashier at a local convenience store. She loved working there; the usual customers were nice and friendly to her, and she often enjoyed having a conversation with them. There were a few who were rude and some racist, but she was good at dealing with them.

She took the bus to the college, and on the way, she FaceTimed her mother; for her, her mother is nothing short of a best friend. They always shared everything, but she always made sure that she never told her mom that she missed her cooking; after all, she used to make fun of them. She always thought of her mom’s cooking and how delicious it really was; even today, she thought of her mom’s appam and stew which were her favourite breakfast. It has only been a few months since she left India for higher studies in Canada, and homesickness is challenging to take over as her BFF. But she stood strong. Whenever she got time, she cooked; she adores cooking, but she sucks at time management, and she never fails to point to the Canadian bus timing as the culprit for her lacking. As much as she enjoyed talking to her mom, she hated it that much; it reminded her of the good times she spent as a teenager at home, the nutmeg trees, her pets, her friends, everything. How easy her life was, not worrying about money, work, and taxes, being a true teenager. After coming to Canada, she had to say bye to all of it at the age of 18. The bus reached the last stop, the college; she said bye to her mom and got off the bus.

While walking to her class, she thought, “Does every international student struggle the same?”

“Probably yes. “

“Why do we pay 4 to 5 times that of a domestic student for the same services? Okay, I get it; I am an international student, but isn't four times a little too much?”

With all these questions, she walked to her class, where the other international and domestic students were waiting for the professors to read from the PPT.

Today, she had only one class, and after that, she took the bus to work; she always made sure she was at least 15 minutes early so she could take her sweet time changing her clothes and boots to work clothes. It's only been two months since she started working there, so work friends were too far from her dreams. After changing into her work clothes, she walked to the cash to punch in. The shift was going all good, but something started to feel off; she wondered why. Today is not that bad, so why? Homesick? She ignored her feelings and continued to smile at every customer who came to her cash and asked how their day was; some complained, and some were enthusiastic to share their good day. She always appreciated those who took their time to talk to her; she had learned many things and facts about Canada from her customers. They probably liked talking to her too; she was a noncomplainer, always liked to listen to their stories, and was expressive. But she has always noticed that no one was interested in knowing her story; they ask her how her day was out of courtesy, and she always replies with ‘good.’

She always worked 4 hours, well that’s the hours the manager always gave her. The first two hours of the shift felt longer than usual. Her co-worker came to take her off for her fifteen-minute break. She gladly gave her cash to her co-worker and walked towards the punch clock. Today, she was the closing cashier.

So, she decided to buy some chicken during her break because there wouldn't be anyone to cash her out at the end of her shift. The chicken the store sold was of good quality; she often bought meat from the store. Moreover, she had ten percent employee discounts, too. “Maybe I'll cook chicken curry like grandma’s and her ghee rice; my roommates do like ghee rice, a little treat for them,” she thought. She lived in a shared home with four other girls from India, China, Nigeria, and the Philippines respectively. They were the sweetest, kindest girls out there. They looked after each other and cared like siblings, excluding the physical fights. Their favourite time in the house is when they cook together; mostly, they cook for themselves, but once every month, one of the girls cooks for everyone, a little tradition of theirs, and it was her turn this month.

She switched on her mobile data while walking toward the meat aisle; she kept it off at work because it was a waste of data and a distraction. As soon as she switched on her data, she received a voice call from her sister, “Hmm... Chechi, calling at this hour?” She picked up the call, “What do you want? I’m working. Actually, you called at the right time; I'm on my break.” She heard nothing from the other side of her phone.

“Hello?”

“Achu,” her sister called.

“Yeah”

“Ammamma is no more.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She stood there for a second, and she looked around. There were customers everywhere. She took a long breath and said, “Ah, when was it?”

“A few moments back.”

“What about the funeral?”

“Haven’t decided.”

“Ah, did you call Kichu chechi?”

“No, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m at work, there’s only five more minutes left for my break, call everyone and inform, text me the details, tell Appa I won't be able to make it, of course, he knows that but still tell him.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, bye.”

She looked around; there was no one that she knew—someone to tell that her grandma passed away.

For her, grandma was someone special, someone who always supported her crazy dreams, someone who was always there even in the absence of her BFF mom. She looked at the chicken, “Aaah, ammamma’s chicken curry.” She thought. She missed home more than ever. She felt lonely, lonelier than before. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She felt like it would be a waste to cry. Waste of what? If you were to ask, she didn't know, time? Tears? Good mascara? Maybe she wasn’t processing the news. What is there to process? She knew she was seeing her grandma for the last time when she was saying bye to her before the ride to the airport. She knew it was the last warm hug and wet kiss on the cheeks, but deep inside, she wished for it not to be the last, and as always, her wish didn’t come true; her grandmother was gone.  She walked past the aisle thinking about all the good times she had with her grandma, like when they mocked her mom’s cooking, when they hid from Appa after stealing his phone, and when they walked home from church, when she told her bedtime stories. When she fell, her grandma would put some ointment and say magic spells, and they would laugh together. All memories were coming back. Her throat started drying; she took a sip from her bottle and punched back in. She went and took off her co-worker.

Now her cash was empty for some reason; she looked around; the store was empty now. Where is everyone? Every other cashier started cleaning their cash, and one already punched out.  She saw a customer walk towards her cash, and she smiled. As soon as she started to ask how his day was, he said, “Fucking Indian, I need someone else to put me through; you guys are everywhere; I chose this store because it's all white; you guys have got into this store too.”

It was true that the store only had Canadian people working for them; surprisingly, she was the only one who was foreign or someone who was not Canadian. She always wondered why. After some convincing, he did come through her cash, but he was rude. She didn't utter any word throughout the order; she didn’t even wish him good night. She always wished good night even to the rudest customer. But she smiled all through the order.

A few more customers came through her cash after he left. She smiled and talked to them. Later at night, she closed her cash, cleaned it, and punched out. “A slow night,” she murmured to herself. She walked to the locker room and changed back into normal clothes. She looked at the mirror, smiled, made a funny face, and laughed at herself. She lived right across the street, only a 15-minute walk to her apartment. It was very dark, but it didn’t scare her; she put on her headset and played her favourite songs. The night was warm for a January night in Canada, “the warmest,” she thought. She started walking to her apartment. Halfway through, her eyes started to get filled with tears, she cried. She cried till the tip of her beautiful brown nose turned red on the warm January night.