Umeswaran Arunagirinathan - The Foreign German

Mister Clausen made progress, and there wasn’t ever any rhythm interruption, as is often the case with a heart operation caused by electrolytic loss or volume shift. I removed his pacemaker cable which had been inserted during the operation. This too I explained precisely.

Normally the ultrasound scrutiny was conducted by colleagues of the late service before discharge. Because it was important for me, and also because I considered it a challenge to give Mister Clausen the opportunity to get to know me, I carried out the scrutiny myself, colors explained the black and white pictures and the structures of the heart and the colors in the color Doppler over his cardiac values.

I also worked on locating a rehab clinic for him, in order to fulfill his wish for a stay in the Curschmann Clinic on the Baltic, and telephoned with the women of the rehab management. On the seventh day after his bypass operation I planned to allow him to be transferred to a rehab clinic. On the day of the discharge, I went to room 513. Mister Clausen was sitting on the edge of the bed, his packed bag sat on the chair and his cane leaned on the foot of the bed. I was happy that he had got through the bypass operation without complication. I wished him well and said: “Keep away from hospitals, keep well, I would never like to see you with us again.” I smiled and left the room to continue my visits.

Prejudice and rejection, of course, I find not only at work in the clinic, but also in daily life and in my leisure time. Often I have not been allowed into discotheques because of my dark skin. They tell me that I could become aggressive and eventually cause trouble. Already during my Abitur time and particularly during my study years in Luebeck I had problems getting into a discotheque. Sometimes it was: “Sorry, today no foreigners can come in, because last week ten Turks caused difficulties.” What did I have to do with the behavior of these ten Turks? What do foreigners or Turks living among us have to do with ten violent youth?

If I will always be considered only a foreigner by others, I can’t ever in my lifetime become a part of German society. And just as small a chance if I see myself only as a Sri Lankan. For a long time, I have felt myself a German citizen and a part of this society -- until a racist idiot wants to rub out this feeling again.

Like on an evening at the Rosenheim fall festival. My residence mate and friend Berndi comes from Rosenheim, a town south of Munich, with a marvelous view of the Bavarian alps. He enthusiastically showed me photos of the Rosenheim festival. Men wearing Lederhosen and colorful costume shirts and vests, and women in gorgeous dirndls. The colors remind me of a traditional Tamil wedding with all the colorful Saris and shirts. My curiosity was aroused and I wanted to experience a festival in Rosenheim, even if I didn’t drink beer. Berndi smilingly reassured me that there would be plenty of apple "spritz" for me.

I booked a flight from Hamburg to Munich in good time and waited there for the regional express train in the direction of Salzburg. After about an hour I arrived in Rosenheim. Berndi with his girlfriend Heike and my hostess Birgit, a friend of theirs, picked me up at the station. With Berndi’s colleague Frank from Hamburg, we drove to a big costume shop to get me a pair of Lederhosen. There was a huge selection at every price. With Brigit and Heike’s approval I got my first Lederhosen for a proud 385 Euros. Many pay over a thousand euros for a Lederhosen.

We bought a suitable vest and a shirt, shoes I had already acquired in Hamburg, and the matching knee stockings I had been given by Heike and Berndi in March on my birthday as invitation to the festival.

Brendi drove me around the Rosenheim area and I marveled at the glorious countryside at Chiemsee (a large lake) with the mountains in the background, a dream. Then we drove to the village of Zacking where I enjoyed the hospitality of Berndi’s parents.

Berndi’s father showed me his garden, with its herbs and fruit trees and especially a small vineyard behind the house. We sat in the garden and drank homemade apple juice. The garden reminded me of the many banana plants and mango trees in my parents’ backyard, but the vineyard was very special.

The next day we all went together, in full costume, to the fall festival. A very unusual feeling, to be in Lederhosen, Bavarian and traditional. I had imagined it would be uncomfortable, but the Lederhosen sat well and looked good on me. Berndi had wisely reserved a table for us in a huge tent with 5000 seats. The waitresses were able to carry an unbelievable number of beer mugs at one time. In the middle of the tent there was a stage, where music was played and sung. The later the evening grew, more and more people stood on the benches, sang, danced, and drank beer. I didn’t understand the songs that were sung, but the mood was happy and relaxed.

While my friends drank beer, I ordered an apple shorle and half a chicken. It is customary to eat chicken with one’s fingers. I was accustomed to this; until I was twelve, I had only eaten using my fingers.

In front of the tent there was a fair, like at the Hamburg cathedral. Many families were in crowds with their children, even the littlest of the little also wore a costume. I was happy to be at this happy festival. Again and again I got a new table neighbour as soon as there was a free seat. One says hello with “Servus” and clinks with the beer mug, and quickly a stranger becomes a friend with whom one celebrates and laughs.

After the fall festival we went to the Rosenheim Asia snack shop, which for Heike was a tradition, where there were asian dishes offered at reasonable prices. We stood with our Asian chicken food along the street and watched the inebriated flock on their way home. Some were hardly able to walk forward, others were singing enthusiastically and dancing in the street. After we had eaten, I went with the Rosenheim clique – Heike, Berndi, Birget, Christian and Maria – to a discotheque. Everyone got in the door without trouble, but I was refused entry. Like so often in my student days in Luebeck. Back then I had learned not to get involved in a discussion with doormen. But it was devastating to be treated again this way after such a beautiful day.

My friends didn’t want to accept this treatment and argued with the doorman. His arguments were, if one wants to call them such, his prejudices, absurd and not acceptable.

For my friends it was unpleasant that their guest could not be admitted to the discotheque where they had celebrated for many years. Whether I had gotten in if I had shown my German ID, I rather doubt. Sooner or later we hope such people will accept a German citizen who must not be light skinned, blond, and blue-eyed, but that a German citizen could look like me. And I hope they will learn to treat foreigners and Germans equally. This seems to be a long time away.

I convinced my friends to move on. Then we stood before another club, where I couldn’t be admitted either. At this moment I actually had to laugh – I said thanks and turned away and left. My friends were ashamed of what had happened and I felt bad because I had caused them an unpleasant experience.

Hardly fifty meters from the disco lay an unconscious individual on the ground, while the police tried in vain to shake him awake. I went over and offered medical assistance and checked the young man’s circulation: a strong pulse with sufficient blood pressure, pupils reaction to light, normal breathing. A typical condition of full drunkenness. I brought the young man into a stable lying position and asked the police to take him to the hospital for observation, and continued on with my friends.

We stood in front of the third disco, and my friends went first to the doorman and asked whether he would admit their friend from Hamburg. He had no objection so we went in and partied away our frustration.