On Being and Seeing Strange and Different

Debendra K. Dash and Dipti R. Pattnaik, in an article about translation in colonial Odisha, mention anecdotally "a natural Oriya reverence for anything strange and different." I would never have put it quite like that (I would probably have thought to use neither "natural" nor "reverence"), but upon reading this I said to myself, "Aha! So that is a thing that can be said!" A veteran traveller in India, it surprised me when I first visited Taiwan to learn that one can be phenotypically different without being strange or interesting -- without being different different. Sure, one could argue that Taiwan is more cosmopolitan than a place like Odisha (where I have spent most of my time in India). Taiwan probably does more business with foreigners, though, like most of Odisha, it probably also ranks somewhat low on the world's list of tourist hot-spots. During the time I've spent in Taipei, however, I haven't really seen more obvious foreigners than I typically see in Cuttack or Bhubaneswar. But I surprised myself in Taiwan by being somewhat bothered, even a little offended, that Taiwanese people didn't stare at me because I appeared phenotypically different. I wanted to yell at them: "Hey, look at me, I'm different!"

In Odisha, of course, I have the opposite problem: I am a constant object of fascination. India was the first foreign country I visited where I might be considered visually remarkable, and so I suppose that, for myself, it set the standard for what to expect in other countries with mostly non-European-looking populations -- thus my confusion about Taiwan. The odd thing is that it still annoys me, even offends me that people in Odisha do stare at me. This is not the only possible reaction. I once heard an American composer who had lived in Indonesia speak of his experiences there: About the attention (especially from women) he at first received, he remarked that he thought, "Finally I'm being recognized for what I truly am!" I suppose I do have flashes of that hubris occasionally. But mostly it's a constant, dull irritation as I walk down the street and people physically turn themselves to better follow me with their eyes. I suppose one source of the irritation is that it is often young men who seem to be the most interested; if, improbably, I were to be honest I might admit that I am not quite as bothered when the eyes following me belong to young women.

After I returned to the US from Odisha the first time, I recall being shocked at the whiteness of the town -- Olympia, WA -- to which I had returned. How could they get so many people with such light-colored skin together in one place? And I remember being shocked -- perhaps in a naturally reverential kind of way -- when a rare person of dark-pigmentation would punctuate that white landscape. And I had to resist the urge to physically turn myself as such a person walked past, to better follow him or her with my eyes.