violence in the sauna

I try my hand at a short story & realize words fail me

it was a dreary, cold week in San Francisco and Aishwarya needed to warm up. the dark settled early so she left early for her gym’s sauna, hoping to avoid unwanted run-ins with unsavory characters. she had a lot on her mind and the sauna was where she went to pull apart her thoughts, like playdough.

she floated into the dimly lit women’s locker room, past quiet murmurs of female friendship. she couldn’t tell what smelled better. the eucalyptus aroma or freshly laundered towels.

swaddled in her own soft towel, she padded to the sauna. there was no one inside so she paused, considering her many options for seating. as she stood still, an elderly woman shoved open the door.

a carpet of thick white hair. one towel wrapped firmly around her waist, the other draped over her shoulders.

are you going to take the top or should I? she asked, like a gunshot. Aishwarya’s laughter must have sounded like anklet bells.

all you. I don’t like it up there. too hot. now it was the woman’s turn to laugh and keep the conversation going, at which she was a natural. she asked Aishwarya if she was going to keep her glasses on.

I like to be able to see, so yes.

Sometimes in here it’s better to not see. judging by her tone and appearance, Aishwarya could only assume the lady meant that you might catch a very fat, very comfortable woman, sprawled. this ajji (or ‘grandmother’) is going to eat my head, Aishwarya mourned.

I don’t take anything off. I keep my glasses and all my jewelry on.

But doesn’t it get really hot against your skin?

Oh it does, but I don’t mind it. my body adjusts.

It must burn you! Well, I leave all my jewelry at the front desk in a locker. You know I’ve been hustled here before? Aishwarya nodded solemnly, indicating that she did not, in fact, know this.

Oh yeah. These two large, African-American women. they told the front desk they just wanted to see the place and were considering membership. some 30 year old girl at the front. easily intimidated. they had these locker openers, you can get them on Amazon. the broads hit about twenty lockers before anyone realized!

What did you lose? Aishwarya asked, mired in regret over her damned friendliness.

Credit card, debit card, my driver’s license. Oh it was awful. Hard to reset all of that. the ajji didn’t seem to be able to stop. there was a fellow. South Asian. Vietnamese, I think.

are Vietnamese South Asians? Aishwarya thought to herself, making a mental note to check.

well, this Vietnamese fellow, he could pass as both a boy or a girl so he was going into both locker rooms! I saw him here once.

beads of sweat like condensation on banana plant. Aishwarya’s back felt very hot, pressed against the wooden step. she circled her ankles and jingled her shoulders, hearing them crackle.

the ajji went on to describe how there were thieves nowadays who could scale walls, ten feet high. they get so creative you know! if only they could channel that into something positive is what I’m sayin’.

the ajji was far enough, and the sauna was dark enough, where Aishwarya couldn’t see her eyes. the ajji shared more thoughts. on Nancy Pelosi’s husband, on their gym letting in too many people, and how the country was so divided.

I’m just so upset about the election, the ajji huffed. Aishwarya knew this was where they would land. like so many conversations these days, it seemed to be all of them led to hell. she glanced at the hourglass on the wall. another five minutes left.

are you legal?

throat tightening. playdough melting.

sorry, what?

the physical pain of restraint.

were you born here?

Aishwarya’s answers, like crabs in a barrel, fought to be released first.

yes, I was born here. I was born in Oregon. I’m Indian-American.

well, I hope you are because he is about to deport everyone. and who does he think is going to work on our farms? our restaurants? at this gym? is he going to come pick our fruits?

Aishwarya was raised to stand when elders stand, as a sign of respect. she had seen her family do this her whole life. she secretly thought too many Indians couldn’t live without the validation of their elders, and it made them weak.

torn between upbringing and outrage. strength and weakness. the ajji got up to leave. this country is so divided. Aishwarya stood up.

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yes, this is a true story.

I wanted to share this short story, from my actual life, with all of you. why? micro-aggressions are known at this point. they happen to me, and most people of color, almost daily. sometimes they come from a well-meaning tour guide who peers into your face and says, “you look so exotic, what are you?” other times it’s an elderly white woman at the gym who asks, while you are in naught but a towel, if you are “legal”. not if your immigration status is valid. not if you have documentation. but if you, as a human being, are “legal”. the heat in the sauna that day couldn’t hold a candle to my own embarrassment.

but this story is not about what she said to me. it is about what I did not say in return.

are you legal? I immediately wanted to distance myself from whom she might categorize as “illegal”. I went to Stanford, I wanted to tell her. I’m really well-educated. I could probably run circles around you and your grand-children. I designed one of the first AI writing tools in Silicon Valley. I helped build tools that keep Wikipedia alive. I am a published writer and homeowner. I matter!

then I wondered what I looked like to her. what I sounded like. did I sound “illegal”? did I look “illegal”? I am disgusted that these notions exist yet I was so quick to affirm them, in the hopes that I wouldn’t be incorrectly sorted or labeled.

welcome to the second Trump presidency. may we rise above it.