Otherwise, it would be quite troublesome. If we don’t support each other here, how will we survive? What do you say?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“Oh, certainly! I’ll keep an eye out for you. You go ahead,” said Raju. He stood up and said, “Well, let’s meet again. This Raju is from your region. He’s a very good fellow—he’ll help you with anything you need. I have some work to attend to, so I’ll be off now.” With that, he shook my hand and left. Raju then moved into the chair he had vacated and sat down.

“So, my friend! Where are you from? When did you arrive? Tell me all about yourself—your background, your circumstances,” he said, introducing himself as being from Bhimavaram, a Telugu man, and a Kshatriya. “Now, go on—tell me about yourself,” he urged.

Without skipping a single detail, I narrated everything that had happened to me up to that point. “And your luggage—where is it?” he asked.

“I left it at the station,” I replied.

“All right then, let’s go. We’ll fetch your things and come back to my place. You can stay with me until you find your own room—don’t worry, you won’t face any trouble. You’ll be quite comfortable,” he said.

So, I set out with him to the station, collected my luggage, paid the porters the usual fee, and then arrived at Raju’s room.

I rested there comfortably for a while. At four in the evening, without my even asking, the lady of the house brought me tea and some bread, setting it all neatly on the table. After I had eaten, I sat in the room flipping through some books. Not long after, Raju returned from college.

“Well, did you have a good rest? Did you have tea?” he asked.

“Oh yes, everything’s taken care of. I feel so at ease here,” I replied.

Raju tossed his books aside and went to the washroom to freshen up. By the time he came back, the lady of the house had brought tea and snacks for both of us again. “I don’t want anything,” I said.

That was when he taught me my very first lesson here: “In this country, whenever anyone...

Even if you don’t want it, you mustn’t refuse at least a cup of tea. In our country, just as you’re offered water to wash your feet and cool drinking water as soon as you enter a house, here in this country, at all times—whether in hardship or in comfort—they first offer you tea. You mustn’t refuse it,” said Raju.

After we had our tea, Raju asked me to narrate my story in detail. “So, where exactly are you from?” he asked. I replied, “Mogalturru.”

“What! Mogalturru! That’s quite close to where I’m from. We have many relatives in those villages. Our ancestral home is actually in Poduru,” he said.

After that, I explained my situation in detail, and he listened attentively. I requested him to help me find a room and get admitted to a college. “Of course, I’ll definitely do that. What’s so great about this help? If we don’t help each other in a foreign land, who else will?” he replied. “Let’s go out for a while, sit in the park, and have a chat. Tomorrow morning, we’ll look for a room,” he said.

The two of us set out and went to a nearby park and sat down. By then, it was around six o’clock. It had grown quite dark, yet the place was bustling with people. Men and women, so many of them! All the children who had been playing there until then were now scampering home, running as fast as their little legs could carry them. Among those who had come to the park, many were young men and women—couples, some sitting on benches, others sprawled on the grass—laughing, chatting, and, every now and then, engaging in such passionate embraces and kisses that they seemed to have forgotten this world and entered another altogether. Because of this, no one paid us the slightest attention. They all behaved as if no one else existed in the park but themselves, lost in their own happiness. So, we too sat comfortably on the grass, at ease.

“What’s your name, young man?” Raju asked. “They call me Parvateesam. My family name is Vemuri,” I replied.

“All right, very good. But here, I must tell you briefly about the customs, manners, and ways of this place. If you learn these ways and adapt to them…”

If we behave as we do back home, only we will have to face difficulties. The first thing is, if anyone asks you your name, just say “Parvateesam.” That’s enough. No need to add “I am called,” “they call me,” or “I am known as.” No need for all those extra words.

Now, the next matter. I must tell you about renting rooms here. All those who let out rooms for rent here are called the “lower middle class.” That is, people of a slightly lower status than our own middle-class families. Usually, they are widows. But sometimes, they are elderly spinsters who have never known marriage, or couples with low incomes, who rent houses with one or two rooms more than they need, and let out the extra rooms. These rooms are furnished with chairs, sofas, and so on. That means three or four chairs, a sofa, a table, a bed, a mattress, pillows, a side blanket, rugs to cover yourself, and towels to wipe yourself with. The rent for the room includes all these things. Not only that, they also provide towels and soaps.

Next, in every room—you must have seen it in my room—there is something called a fireplace. It’s a stove built into the wall, where they stack coal and light a fire. There is a pipe to let the smoke out so it doesn’t fill the room. This fireplace burns day and night for seven or eight months