美式闲聊,想要“爱”你不容易

"How's it going？" I ask the barista1）. "How's 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 don't ask each other how your day has been. You might not even smile. I'm not saying this is ideal―it's how it is. You're tied together by a transaction3）. The customer doesn't 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， you're 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. "You're 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？ Wasn't 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 won't violate11） one another's 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 other's backgrounds. The opposite is true of Indians. At least three people I've 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 didn't understand me and I was ashamed and I fumbled13）. I radiated14） an uncertain energy； sometimes baristas sensed this and wouldn't try to talk to me， and then an insecure voice in my head would cry， "He's 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 don't spend money in America， I feel oddly depressed. It's 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 didn't 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.

“最近好吗？”我问咖啡厅吧台的服务员，“今天过得怎么样？”

“嗯，不算太忙。你在忙什么呢？”

“没什么。就是看看书。”

我已经知道，这样的对话是美国人生活中的重要仪式之一。我竟花了十年的时间才掌握个中技巧。

我是2001年移民到美国上大学的。那时的我只有在印度和店铺老板以及卖茶叶的小贩打交道的经验。我在德里长大，那里的人们买卖东西都是直来直去的。人们不会互相问候过得怎么样，甚至可能都不笑一下。我不是说这样很好，但现实就是这样的。买卖双方因为一桩交易而被绑在一起。买家不会在抱怨食物太凉之前发抖。买卖双方都相信对方会骗自己，因此双方都保持戒心。在那里不需要给小费。

“天哪，马哈詹，你对服务员太粗鲁了！”几年前，在纽约西村，我的一个美国朋友汤姆看着我在一家餐馆点餐后大笑着说道。我自认为是一个温和、友善的人，所以他的话让我很吃惊。“你那叫拍马屁！”我反驳道。汤姆总是问服务员过得怎么样，或者夸他们的衬衣好看，或者拿菜单开玩笑。那个时候，在我看来，他的所作所为从思想上来说似乎是不诚实的。他真关心他们穿什么吗？难道他这么做不就是在表达他比为他服务的那个人富有的那种不适感吗？如果你对每个人都这么说，那你还是真心的吗？

美国人的生活建立在一个令其安心的基本认知上，即我们彼此喜欢，但不会侵犯对方的隐私。这使得闲聊在这片土地上深受欢迎。两个人见面会开心地打招呼，态度也很友好，但可能会在认识好多年后才敢问一些关于对方背景的基本问题。而印度人却恰恰相反。在我乘坐的往返印度的飞机上，至少有三个坐在我邻座的人跟我见面才几分钟就问我当一个作家挣多少钱（结果在我如实回答后，他们就失望地转头不理我了）。

因此，在美国有好几年，每当我要点咖啡而开口说那些开场白时，我都会紧张得发抖。我感觉自己像在演戏。我口音很重，人们听不懂我说的话，我觉得很难为情，于是变得结结巴巴。我流露出一种不确定的能量，有时吧台的服务员会感受到这种能量，也就尽量不和我说话，然后我脑子里就有一个非常缺乏安全感的声音叫道：“他有种族歧视！”

在我被这种美式闲聊弄得困惑不已的这些年里，我也很好奇为何美国人如此重视商业活动里的这种友好气氛。难道付钱是美国资本主义以及美国生活里的一种神圣仪式？如果某一天我在美国一分钱也没花，我会莫名地觉得沮丧。消费是我进行社交互动的主要形式――对于数百万独居或离家的美国人来说也是如此。

所有的事情在成为你的第二习性之前，总是要被分析研究。我在布鲁克林住过，之后又在得克萨斯州的奥斯汀市住过，咖啡店成了我的活动中心。日复一日，我见到的都是同一个吧台服务员，这慢慢孕育出了聊天的环境，我也得到了实践练习。人们不再把我的名字听成“凯文”或“卡门”，不过他们还是会把“带出去吃”错听成“在这里吃”，或是正相反。我开始融入这个环境。这让我感觉很好，感觉我们的闲聊看上去不再是装出来的。

尽管如此，有时候，当我在收银台和人闲聊时，我还是会想起20世纪90年代在印度很火的一部小说《难以捉摸的美国人》里的一段话。在这本书的开头，一家发油企业帝国的小少爷戈帕尔来美国上大学。当肯尼迪国际机场的一位移民官问他“最近好吗？”时，戈帕尔用他唯一知道的方式做出了回答：

我完完整整、十分坦白地告诉了他我所有的难题和愿望，虽然你可能觉得，作为一个美国人他可能会很自私，根本不会为Jajau镇的发油价格下跌而烦恼。但是，老兄，他注视着我，安安静静地听我说了整整十分钟，然后我们又友好地聊了聊关于坚果的问题，然后他就巴不得让我走了。