Part of the picture

There's just one factor of people watching I've always been wary of (beyond the danger of seeing something disturbing, like the overly exposed ass of an elderly man out for a jaunt): people watch you back. It's for the best, I suppose. After all, you watching unbeknownst to them rings a little too creepy, voyeuristic, or Big Brother, none of which are ideal. ...Thus, in order to enjoy people watching, we must be prepared to be watched as well (or photographed, as was often the case for me in Ghana, whether or not I was people watching at the time).


This evening, for instance, I joined three fellow Dickinsonians on a trip to nearby Harrisburg to see a newly released Bollywood movie, "Dum Maaro Dum." Naturally, it's being a.5pm, b.a weekday, and c.a Bollywood movie showing in central Pennsylvania, we were the only ones there. Mid-movie, however, a fellow walked in, strode to the front, crossed beneath the screen, fiddled with a wall panel, and left the way he came after a passing glance in our direction while two of my friends chuckled in wonderment over the random visitor. It struck me, however, that we cut a much more peculiar scene: elderly Caucasian man with cane (a professor), young Indian man, young Nepali woman, young American woman. As the only viewers, we had no compunction in putting up our feet, getting comfortable, and making side comments about the movie in front of us. Must've been quite the picture, and one that continued as we adjourned to a relatively deserted Indian restaurant for dinner.


The same happened last weekend as an Iranian friend visited from DC, the two of us seeming to make a relatively entertaining pair judging by the smiles and chuckles radiating from our waiter. This wasn't much, however, compared to the blatant stares I received from other (all Latino) customers when joining a Cuban friend for lunch at a Central American restaurant several weeks ago. What's more, if I'm too believe the observations of my Ghanaian friend Kofi, we also become the recipients of various looks with the vast majority of our outings - not disapproving, he clarifies, but more along the lines of simply noting (or, in one case, what he took to be a look of approval for our voluntary mixing of nationalities and ethnicities).


Interesting, isn't it, what most grabs our attention? Sometimes, like with Kofi, I don't notice being watched, perhaps because I became so accustomed to it while we were in Ghana, or because he's so loud and lively that it's nearly impossible to notice things like mere looks from passersby. Other times, I almost wish I could see the scene I've unconsciously become a part of, look down upon myself and friends as though another observer, see what they see. Of course, it's a fleeting thought - better to live it than merely watch from the sidelines.