美式閑聊，想要“愛”你不容易

By+Karan+Mahajan

"Hows it going？" I ask the barista1）. "Hows your day been？"

"Ah， not too busy. What are you up to？"

"Not much. Just reading."

This， I have learned， is one of the key rituals of American life. It has taken me only a decade to master.

I immigrated to the United States in 2001， for college. I brought only my Indian experience in dealing with shopkeepers and tea sellers. In Delhi， where I grew up， commerce is brusque2）. You dont ask each other how your day has been. You might not even smile. Im not saying this is ideal—its how it is. Youre tied together by a transaction3）. The customer doesnt tremble before complaining about how cold his food is. Each side believes the other will cheat him， and each remains alert4）. Tips are not required.

"God， Mahajan， youre so rude to waiters！" Tom， an American friend， said， laughing， after he watched me ordering food at a restaurant， in the West Village， years ago. Considering myself a mild5） and friendly person， I was surprised. "Youre ingratiating6）！" I countered7）. Tom always asked servers how they were doing or complimented their shirts or cracked8） jokes about the menu. At the time， this seemed intellectually dishonest to me. Did he really care what they were wearing？ Wasnt he just expressing his discomfort about being richer than the person serving him？ If you did this little number9） with everyone， was it genuine10）？

American life is based on a reassurance that we like one another but wont violate11） one anothers privacies. This makes it a land of small talk. Two people greet each other happily， with friendliness， but might know each other for years before venturing12） basic questions about each others backgrounds. The opposite is true of Indians. At least three people Ive sat next to on planes to and from India have asked me， within minutes， how much I earn as a writer （only to turn away in disappointment when I tell them）.

So， for years in America， I would tremble when reporting to the front lines to order coffee. It felt like a performance. I had a thick accent and people didnt understand me and I was ashamed and I fumbled13）. I radiated14） an uncertain energy； sometimes baristas sensed this and wouldnt try to talk to me， and then an insecure voice in my head would cry， "Hes racist！"

During these years in the small-talk confusion， I also wondered why Americans valued friendliness with commerce so much. Was handing over cash the sacred rite15） of American capitalism—and of American life？ On a day that I dont spend money in America， I feel oddly depressed. Its my main form of social interaction—as it is for millions of Americans who live alone or away from their families.

Everything is subject to analysis until it becomes second nature to you. Living in Brooklyn and then in Austin， Texas， coffee shops became the loci16） of my movements. Meeting the same baristas day after day bred context， and I got practice. People no longer heard my name as "Kevin" or "Carmen"， though they still misheard "to go" as "to stay" and vice versa17）. I was beginning to assimilate18）. It felt good and didnt seem fake anymore.

Still， sometimes， when I make small talk at cash registers， I am reminded of a passage from a novel called The Inscrutable19） Americans， which was popular in India in the nineteen-nineties. In the opening of the book， the scion20） of a hair-oil empire， Gopal， comes to the U.S. for college. When an immigration agent at J.F.K. asks， "How is it going？" Gopal replies the only way he knows：

I am telling him fully and frankly about all problems and hopes， even though you may feel that as American he may be too selfish to bother about decline in price of hair oil in Jajau town. But， brother， he is listening very quietly with eyes on me for ten minutes and then we are having friendly talk about nuts and he is wanting me to go.

“最近好嗎？”我問咖啡廳吧臺的服務員，“今天過得怎么樣？”

“嗯，不算太忙。你在忙什么呢？”

“沒什么。就是看看書。”

我已經知道，這樣的對話是美國人生活中的重要儀式之一。我竟花了十年的時間才掌握個中技巧。

我是2001年移民到美國上大學的。那時的我只有在印度和店鋪老板以及賣茶葉的小販打交道的經驗。我在德里長大，那里的人們買賣東西都是直來直去的。人們不會互相問候過得怎么樣，甚至可能都不笑一下。我不是說這樣很好，但現實就是這樣的。買賣雙方因為一樁交易而被綁在一起。買家不會在抱怨食物太涼之前發抖。買賣雙方都相信對方會騙自己，因此雙方都保持戒心。在那里不需要給小費。

“天哪，馬哈詹，你對服務員太粗魯了！”幾年前，在紐約西村，我的一個美國朋友湯姆看著我在一家餐館點餐后大笑著說道。我自認為是一個溫和、友善的人，所以他的話讓我很吃驚。“你那叫拍馬屁！”我反駁道。湯姆總是問服務員過得怎么樣，或者夸他們的襯衣好看，或者拿菜單開玩笑。那個時候，在我看來，他的所作所為從思想上來說似乎是不誠實的。他真關心他們穿什么嗎？難道他這么做不就是在表達他比為他服務的那個人富有的那種不適感嗎？如果你對每個人都這么說，那你還是真心的嗎？

美國人的生活建立在一個令其安心的基本認知上，即我們彼此喜歡，但不會侵犯對方的隱私。這使得閑聊在這片土地上深受歡迎。兩個人見面會開心地打招呼，態度也很友好，但可能會在認識好多年后才敢問一些關于對方背景的基本問題。而印度人卻恰恰相反。在我乘坐的往返印度的飛機上，至少有三個坐在我鄰座的人跟我見面才幾分鐘就問我當一個作家掙多少錢（結果在我如實回答后，他們就失望地轉頭不理我了）。

因此，在美國有好幾年，每當我要點咖啡而開口說那些開場白時，我都會緊張得發抖。我感覺自己像在演戲。我口音很重，人們聽不懂我說的話，我覺得很難為情，于是變得結結巴巴。我流露出一種不確定的能量，有時吧臺的服務員會感受到這種能量，也就盡量不和我說話，然后我腦子里就有一個非常缺乏安全感的聲音叫道：“他有種族歧視！”

在我被這種美式閑聊弄得困惑不已的這些年里，我也很好奇為何美國人如此重視商業活動里的這種友好氣氛。難道付錢是美國資本主義以及美國生活里的一種神圣儀式？如果某一天我在美國一分錢也沒花，我會莫名地覺得沮喪。消費是我進行社交互動的主要形式——對于數百萬獨居或離家的美國人來說也是如此。

所有的事情在成為你的第二習性之前，總是要被分析研究。我在布魯克林住過，之后又在得克薩斯州的奧斯汀市住過，咖啡店成了我的活動中心。日復一日，我見到的都是同一個吧臺服務員，這慢慢孕育出了聊天的環境，我也得到了實踐練習。人們不再把我的名字聽成“凱文”或“卡門”，不過他們還是會把“帶出去吃”錯聽成“在這里吃”，或是正相反。我開始融入這個環境。這讓我感覺很好，感覺我們的閑聊看上去不再是裝出來的。

盡管如此，有時候，當我在收銀臺和人閑聊時，我還是會想起20世紀90年代在印度很火的一部小說《難以捉摸的美國人》里的一段話。在這本書的開頭，一家發油企業帝國的小少爺戈帕爾來美國上大學。當肯尼迪國際機場的一位移民官問他“最近好嗎？”時，戈帕爾用他唯一知道的方式做出了回答：

我完完整整、十分坦白地告訴了他我所有的難題和愿望，雖然你可能覺得，作為一個美國人他可能會很自私，根本不會為Jajau鎮的發油價格下跌而煩惱。但是，老兄，他注視著我，安安靜靜地聽我說了整整十分鐘，然后我們又友好地聊了聊關于堅果的問題，然后他就巴不得讓我走了。