6. A Few More Interesting People We Met in Turkey

 While in Adana, we met a Ukrainian doctor and his family. The doctor lived there with his wife and two children; his daughter was away studying in the capital, Ankara. I remember his younger child wearing many bangles and using eyeliner. This child had a Pakistani friend and had learned a great deal about India.The child was very knowledgeable about dance and even demonstrated some mudras (hand gestures) from Bharatanatyam, asking us if they were performed correctly. They seemed to believe that all Indians are naturally experts in Bharatanatyam and Kuchipudi; for the time being, we managed to escape the conversation without being "exposed" as non-dancers!

The doctor, a specialist in malaria, noted that the disease remains a significant issue in the Indian subcontinent. He was applying for a position with the World Health Organization (WHO) and frequently asked me for help reviewing his application. Since English proficiency is sometimes lower in parts of Turkey and Europe, I encouraged and assisted him as much as I could. My wife and daughter were very interested in these interactions, though their son—who was busy preparing for his engineering studies—was the only one who remained indifferent.

The Professor and the Yogi Son

Another Ukrainian professor worked with me at the same university. Following the collapse of the USSR, many people from Ukraine, Lithuania, and Azerbaijan faced severe financial hardships. Much like Iraqis after the Kuwait War, they had to travel to various countries in search of work.

This professor also had two sons. One lived in Moscow studying Computer Science, but the professor complained that the boy’s interest in academics was fading because he had begun practicing yoga under an Indian guru. When the son came to Adana for a vacation, the professor left him with me, hoping a conversation would help. The boy had endless questions about Indian gurus; he believed every Indian must have a spiritual guide. While this is true in a traditional sense, I soon realized he was looking for a guru to help him become an ascetic. Sometime later, the professor sadly informed me that his son had left for the Himalayas to become a yogi and was lost him forever. Fortunately, his second son followed a different path and "climbed" toward a successful career as his father had hoped. The professor and I remain friends via email; he is a talented researcher currently working in America, and his son is studying at an American university. As the saying goes, "If there is a hole, there will also be a hill"—meaning life eventually balances out—and his parents are now very happy.

2. The Language of Love

My wife often recalls incidents from her walks in Adana with Madam Pamela, the wife of an English colleague. Once, a young boy approached them and placed a small fruit in her hand—it looked much like a wild gooseberry. Neither my wife nor Pamela knew what it was and feared it might be poisonous. Pamela warned, “Mala, throw it away; it might cause an allergic reaction.”

My wife threw it aside. However, a little further down the road, they saw children playing under a tree, picking and eating that very same fruit. Realizing the boy had offered a gift of pure kindness, my wife felt a deep sense of regret for discarding his token of love.

3. A Malayali Housewife in Turkey

When we went to Ankara to apply for a U.S. visa, we heard about a Keralite lady named Suhra from the Indian Embassy. Upon returning to Adana, my wife called her. They initially began the conversation in broken Turkish, but once they realized their shared background, they happily switched to Malayalam.

Suhra had been living in Turkey for twelve years. It is a fascinating story how a woman born near Chalakudy ended up in Turkey. Some of Suhra’s distant relatives worked in Saudi Arabia, where they met a man named Rahim. Rahim was fascinated by Indian culture and expressed a strong desire to marry a Malayali girl. He eventually traveled to Kerala, where he was introduced to Suhra’s family.

At the time, Suhra’s family was struggling financially after the early death of her father. While Rahim was eager, Suhra’s mother was hesitant to send her only daughter so far away, and Rahim initially returned home disappointed. However, he did not give up. A year later, he returned to Chalakudy. This time, the family agreed. Rahim took over the household responsibilities and became a son-in-law who loved Suhra’s family deeply, even covering all the wedding expenses.

Even after years of marriage, Rahim never fully mastered Malayalam. Suhra jokingly says this is a good thing, as it allows her to vent her frustrations in Malayalam when she is angry without him knowing! Until her mother passed away, the couple visited Kerala every year for Ramadan. Suhra still maintains her connection to home by receiving Vanitha and Mathrubhumi magazines by post.

When my wife finally met Suhra, she was overwhelmed with joy; after six months in Adana, she finally had someone other than me to speak Malayalam with. Suhra became a great friend and a guide, teaching us how to navigate the local markets and haggle for prices.

Suhra and Rahim have two bright daughters—true Turkish beauties. The younger one inherited Suhra’s Indian complexion, while the older one is deeply interested in Indian traditions and longs to visit her mother’s homeland. They live in a three-story flat with Rahim’s parents on the ground floor and his sister upstairs. The home is decorated in a traditional Turkish style, and they eat local cuisine.

Looking at Suhra now—with her stylishly bobbed dark hair and European clothes—you wouldn’t immediately realize she is from Kerala. She is very happy; her in-laws treat her with the love of a biological daughter. Rahim works as a motor mechanic in Saudi Arabia for six months at a time to support the family. Suhra once jokingly remarked that while the coconuts and bananas she brought from Kerala failed to grow in the Turkish soil, her own life has grown and flourished beautifully.