For some reason India has made a small imprint at my school recently. We have a minimum amount of Indian kids in our populace of 617 munchkins. A few are half Indian and Latino. But all of them have huge deeply dark eyes, olive colored skin, and cheerful out-going personalities. One in particular is polite to a fault and never fails to acknowledge me or give me hugs.  She is well known to all the teachers as in addition to being motivated, charming and radiant she's fluent in English, Hindi, and Spanish. She's not a slacker by any measure. The hamsters spinning her wheels are hauling at about 100 miles an hour. She's witty and playful. A nice quality to see in kids.

   I try to make kids feel comfortable especially if they are from somewhere else. As A kid and an adult I've attended 16 schools/colleges/universities.  Friendly faces and connecting matter. Small things can make a day. 

   So one day I said "Namaste (Hello)." to the girl from India.

   She gave me a monstrous smile. It became our thing after that. We'd "Namaste" each other whenever we crossed paths at school.

   One morning I caught her and her younger brother in the playground before school began," gave her a big fat "NAMASTE."

    Her little brother, a first grader was shocked and awed. In pure amazement he asked his big sister, holding his hand, "How does he know that?"

    Without missing a heartbeat she replied "He's Indian."

    Cracked me up. I'm as gringo as they come.

India part two-

 

     I mentioned this cute interaction to our office manager. Let’s call her Yoli. She laughed and offered the following.

    “I have my own Indian story here at school.”

     In order for Yoli’s story to work it must be stated that our office manager has a very exotic look. Her hair is jet black, she is thin and to be honest it would be very hard to figure out what here ethnic origins are if one saw her on the street.

    She continued, “For a few weeks a mom from India has been bringing me in meals at lunch time.  Last week I asked her what is the name of that dish you gave me last time?”

     ‘She gave me a horrified look, and said. ‘You are Indian. You should know.’

    I said, Umm I’m a hundred percent Mexican.”

    It was the last meal she brought me.

 

  So even in Castroville – India leaves a footprint.