“Tomorrow, we will be leaving at 5 in the morning” Santanu announced and added “We got the permit for hunting”.
It was a Friday evening when the usual group had come to the Sengupta residence. Santanu Lahiri had arrived with his wife Nirmala. They both were a bit older but that didn’t deter them from being part of the social escapades of the Senguptas which had become the talk of the town. Santanu was the eldest son of the founder of Chirimiri, Mr. D.K.Lahiri. He was slightly overweight but had an amazing personality and naturally had become the leader of the social group. Nirmala on the other hand didn’t look her age at all. She must have been about 45 years old but with stunning looks and perfectly shaped figure could pass of as a 30 year old. Anuradha among all other people that she knew had bonded with her, whether it was going to the movies, shopping or simple gossip. She too reciprocated equally and treated Anuradha as if she were her own daughter. Both her children Aparna and Arghya were married. Aparna was married to an Engineer in the United States and Arghya had taken up a job with the Kenyan Mining Corporation. To Nirmala, Amitabha and Anuradha were an escape to the void that surrounded her.
Aranya Gupta arrived a bit late with his wife Shobha and their two children Toto and Moni and making himself comfortable in the living room sat next to Santanu. The kids both around the same age, 6 and 7 started playing with Rahul under the watchful eyes of Barouni.
He had recently become the General Manager of Chirimiri colliery. It may have been something for him to celebrate but it was more of an unfortunate event which catapulted him to such an important position. Mr. AnolTarak Bhattacharya the earlier GM got killed in an accident which had prompted an enquiry by the National Security Council. One fine morning he was inspecting one of the under ground road headers when he slipped and the broom mounted cutting head ripped his head off. The attached Huwood conveyor belt which had dutifully transported coal out of the pit, that day, had also transported Mr. Bhattacharya.
Rani and Mriganayani were busy helping Anuradha with the snacks. They were around the same age, close to 21 and old enough to start their own families. Rani was the only daughter of Dr. Chakraborty who had migrated in search of better prospects. Mriganayani on the other hand was an admin staff in D.K.Lahiri College. She had come to this far away place in the midst of a jungle from Calcutta all on her own and stayed in the staff hostel. It was rumored that she was having an affair with Srikanto Lahiri, a professor of the same college that she worked for.
Probir Dasgupta was tuning his Sarod in the living room sitting on the carpet. He worked for the National Security Council and had an interesting job. During those days it was difficult spreading awareness among miners regarding the dangers of working in the mines. His job was to show documentaries on security measures shot on 8mm and 16mm films. He used to travel to all the collieries and would assemble the miners and show them these films which served both as entertainment as well as educational.
Having considerably mastered the Sarod he took care of the cultural aspect of the social club. Anuradha and Probir were both from Ranchi, they knew each other and she also knew that he was madly in love with Mriganayani.
The strumming of the strings filled the large living room. Probir played the Purva raga, which symbolized the falling in love of Radha and Krishna from the epic Mahabharata, maybe trying his best to impress Mriganayani. From the corner of her eyes Mriganayani looked at Probir from the kitchen where she was preparing Samosas.
Probir must have missed a beat as Santanu exclaimed.
“What are you doing Probir, you just missed a beat”
Partha was busy helping Amitabha with the drinks. He was very thin and had a dark complexion. His long and bony fingers flashed numerous rings with precious jewels embedded on them. A firm believer of astrology like most of the Bengalis was advised by one such astrologer to wear those.
“Don’t worry, you will get a very good wife” A local astrologer had forecaster looking at his Kundali and had scribbled names of jewels that he was suppose to wear on a piece of paper. Before handing it over to him he reminded him “Don’t forget to buy them from Sarno jewelers, OK”.
It had taken him about two hours to find the shop located in Bow Bazaar in Calcutta.
“How is Rita doing?” Amitabha asked Partha. The grin was all over his face.
“You will be the first to know, Right?” He replied being a bit sarcastic.
Partha used to stay with Mr. R.A.Kumar an executive engineer for excavation who was an expert on heavy earth moving vehicles. They had a mutual understanding which was a unique one by itself. Mr. Kumar had a Bungalow and had rented Partha a room as his family stayed somewhere in Uttar Pradesh. But when his family visited him every year for a month or so, Partha was suppose to stay outside. Amitabha being a good friend would let him stay in his house. Partha who worked for the Coal Controller department was very much in love with Rita, Mr. Kumar’s eldest daughter which he was not very keen about and kept a close tag on them.
All the men were on one side sharing jokes and sipping their drinks, the women on the other side murmuring and giggling and the children were all over the place. Probir played on and kept missing beats which was promptly highlighted by Santanu. Finally it was about 9pm when the party ended. All the men were excited about the next morning to come as they were all going for a hunting trip to the jungle.
“So at 5am we all will be here at your place” Santanu reminded Amitabha before he left.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Going to Chirimiri
Anuradha’s husband Amitabha Sengupta got home late in the evening on the 15th of December 1966. While having tea, which was promptly served with his arrival, he announced
“We have to go to Chirimiri, I have been transferred”
“Rahul is just three months old, how will we manage there?” Anuradha exclaimed and added after a brief pause “Where on earth is Chirimiri?” Her face had a definite worried look.
“We will figure that out when we reach” Amitabha sternly replied leaving no chance for his wife to argue and then added.
“It’s in Madhya Pradesh”
They started from Ranchi, a small town in the state of Bihar, in the wee hours of January 1967 . The rented car was a mark II ambassador. The journey was a long and tedious one, a full 300 Kilometers. By the time they reached, it was dark and they were completely drained out.
The house they had rented belonged to one of the most prominent families in that area; The Lahiris were the owners of the surrounding collieries and were regarded as the founders of the place. Situated on a hill top one could view the railway station at the foot hills and could savor the panoramic view of the surrounding hills. It had about 11 rooms in total, 6 on the top floor and the rest on the ground floor.
So the Senguptas finally made themselves comfortable in the top floor apartment.
“I never though this place would be so beautiful” Anuradha exclaimed one day while she and Amitabha were having Tea one evening.
“Did you know that Satyajit Ray shot some parts of the movie called Apur Sansar here” Amitabha said with a smile and added “He got mesmerized by the hills and the landscape”
“No wonder” Anuradha continued “Where would they find such a place near Calcutta”
Anuradha was a beautiful woman. She was about 5 feet 4 inches tall and had a petit frame. She had almond shaped light brown eyes and very thin eye brows. Her long brown hair was always tied at the back resembling a bun. She had pale skin. The soft and innocent face made her stand apart from the crowd. To top it all she had a heart of gold. At an age of 21 others considered her as the perfect hostess.
Amitabha was stout and muscular. Had broad shoulders and with his thick moustache and curly back brushed hair looked very manly. He wasn’t very tall but had an amazing personality. If one were to comment then what came to people’s mind were his self confidence and his articulation. At the age of 30 he had already become a Manager of a reputed British company.
Barouni sat next to them with Rahul.
“Barouni, do you know where Calcutta is?” Anuradha asked her.
“No, but I hear that it’s a very big city, so big that you need trains to travel from one place to the other” Barouni proudly answered widening her eyes.
They both amusingly smiled, they were sure that she was referring to the trams that ply inside the city. Anuradha wondered whether she was aware how slow they were.
Barouni, a native of that place had become a surrogate mother to the Senguptas. An old lady despite of her language barrier and her age became a part of their small family. Whether it was taking care of Rahul or household work, Anuradha completely depended on her.
Amitabha’s office was on the next hill and one could see it from the top floor terrace. During the week at lunch hour Barouni and Anuradha used to go to the terrace and stand there, once they saw Amitabha’s Jeep coming out of the office gate they started laying the food on the table. By the time they were done, Amitabha was home for lunch.
“Let’s settle down here in Chirimiri” Once Anuradha confided to Amitabha.
Amitabha had smiled and said nothing.
“We have to go to Chirimiri, I have been transferred”
“Rahul is just three months old, how will we manage there?” Anuradha exclaimed and added after a brief pause “Where on earth is Chirimiri?” Her face had a definite worried look.
“We will figure that out when we reach” Amitabha sternly replied leaving no chance for his wife to argue and then added.
“It’s in Madhya Pradesh”
They started from Ranchi, a small town in the state of Bihar, in the wee hours of January 1967 . The rented car was a mark II ambassador. The journey was a long and tedious one, a full 300 Kilometers. By the time they reached, it was dark and they were completely drained out.
The house they had rented belonged to one of the most prominent families in that area; The Lahiris were the owners of the surrounding collieries and were regarded as the founders of the place. Situated on a hill top one could view the railway station at the foot hills and could savor the panoramic view of the surrounding hills. It had about 11 rooms in total, 6 on the top floor and the rest on the ground floor.
So the Senguptas finally made themselves comfortable in the top floor apartment.
“I never though this place would be so beautiful” Anuradha exclaimed one day while she and Amitabha were having Tea one evening.
“Did you know that Satyajit Ray shot some parts of the movie called Apur Sansar here” Amitabha said with a smile and added “He got mesmerized by the hills and the landscape”
“No wonder” Anuradha continued “Where would they find such a place near Calcutta”
Anuradha was a beautiful woman. She was about 5 feet 4 inches tall and had a petit frame. She had almond shaped light brown eyes and very thin eye brows. Her long brown hair was always tied at the back resembling a bun. She had pale skin. The soft and innocent face made her stand apart from the crowd. To top it all she had a heart of gold. At an age of 21 others considered her as the perfect hostess.
Amitabha was stout and muscular. Had broad shoulders and with his thick moustache and curly back brushed hair looked very manly. He wasn’t very tall but had an amazing personality. If one were to comment then what came to people’s mind were his self confidence and his articulation. At the age of 30 he had already become a Manager of a reputed British company.
Barouni sat next to them with Rahul.
“Barouni, do you know where Calcutta is?” Anuradha asked her.
“No, but I hear that it’s a very big city, so big that you need trains to travel from one place to the other” Barouni proudly answered widening her eyes.
They both amusingly smiled, they were sure that she was referring to the trams that ply inside the city. Anuradha wondered whether she was aware how slow they were.
Barouni, a native of that place had become a surrogate mother to the Senguptas. An old lady despite of her language barrier and her age became a part of their small family. Whether it was taking care of Rahul or household work, Anuradha completely depended on her.
Amitabha’s office was on the next hill and one could see it from the top floor terrace. During the week at lunch hour Barouni and Anuradha used to go to the terrace and stand there, once they saw Amitabha’s Jeep coming out of the office gate they started laying the food on the table. By the time they were done, Amitabha was home for lunch.
“Let’s settle down here in Chirimiri” Once Anuradha confided to Amitabha.
Amitabha had smiled and said nothing.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
The Apartment and the American Dream
After three months of struggling, Rahul and Moksha finally managed to shift to an apartment of their own. They had also managed to buy a two door black Honda civic with a moon roof. The monthly EMI came to about $375 but money was never an issue with them. Their DINK status had assured them the comfort.
The three months that they stayed in the company guest house were not so bad either. Jignesh had moved to a new apartment sometime during the second month after a lot of persuasion and regular hints. Minakshi and Moksha became the best of friends and were almost inseparable. Rahul on the other hand had nothing much to complain about. They took the Caltrain to San Francisco every day sharp at 7 in the morning and were back by 7 pm. The 1976 built EMD F40PH trains were regular, dependable and the journey was quite comfortable.
The Sunnyvale station was about 10 minutes walk from the apartment, they got down at 4th and King in SF and walked another 20 minutes to their work place. But that was before they owned their car.
The apartment had a single bedroom with an attached bath. The living room was spacious with a small portico. The kitchen was narrow but was well designed. The entrance was wide and had a big Avocado tree. Opposite to the house there was a school which had a huge playground. This was in fact the beginning as the task of furnishing the apartment was a bigger challenge. The futon was the first to arrive followed by the cot, which was picked up from a furniture shop down El Camino. Within days they had a home of their choice. So Mister and Misses Sengupta parked themselves at 780 Morse Avenue.
“Can you switch on the room heater?” Moksha asked Rahul.
“Sure” He replied and went about the task of switching on the Gas-fire vented room heater.
After about 10 minutes Rahul realized that this was a different beast. It had no visible switch. After a quick call to the Mrs. Dianne the apartment owner, he came to know that it was a gas operated heater and he had to use a match box to light it up and that there was a small lever which had to be operated for the gas to flow. By the time the room heater was fully operational an hour had passed and Moksha was fast asleep.
All in all the Sengupta’s were beginning to realize the American dream. First the brand new car; then the apartment and not to mention the regular visit to Albertson and Wall Mart and of course the weekly visit to COSTCO and FRY’s.
Pizzas became a regular dinner table delicacy; Burger King the lunchtime favorite and on some occasions Sweet Tomato’s. The choices were many, be it Taco Bell or the Indian restaurant which served buffet during the afternoons or Subway near Kifer Road.
Within another 6 months they bought another car. It was a 2nd generation MX5 Mazda Miata, the convertible was a slick machine. It had a 1.8 liter turbocharged engine with a 5-speed manual gear.
During weekends they drove to the Palo Alto hills and Rahul boasted his driving skills to Moksha. It mostly ended with a visit to the beach during the evening when few souls could be found. Rahul would roll up his beige Route 66 trousers and Moksha would follow him around.
Sometimes, they drove to Livermore where Rahul’s aunt lived. His aunt and uncle were residents of the states and had a son and a daughter. One of those early academic settlers in the United States, they had been around for about 40 years or so and were more American than Indian.
“I just don’t feel comfortable.” Moksha had remarked during one of those visits.
“Well, I guess you will get used to the way of life here” Rahul had assured her.
The three months that they stayed in the company guest house were not so bad either. Jignesh had moved to a new apartment sometime during the second month after a lot of persuasion and regular hints. Minakshi and Moksha became the best of friends and were almost inseparable. Rahul on the other hand had nothing much to complain about. They took the Caltrain to San Francisco every day sharp at 7 in the morning and were back by 7 pm. The 1976 built EMD F40PH trains were regular, dependable and the journey was quite comfortable.
The Sunnyvale station was about 10 minutes walk from the apartment, they got down at 4th and King in SF and walked another 20 minutes to their work place. But that was before they owned their car.
The apartment had a single bedroom with an attached bath. The living room was spacious with a small portico. The kitchen was narrow but was well designed. The entrance was wide and had a big Avocado tree. Opposite to the house there was a school which had a huge playground. This was in fact the beginning as the task of furnishing the apartment was a bigger challenge. The futon was the first to arrive followed by the cot, which was picked up from a furniture shop down El Camino. Within days they had a home of their choice. So Mister and Misses Sengupta parked themselves at 780 Morse Avenue.
“Can you switch on the room heater?” Moksha asked Rahul.
“Sure” He replied and went about the task of switching on the Gas-fire vented room heater.
After about 10 minutes Rahul realized that this was a different beast. It had no visible switch. After a quick call to the Mrs. Dianne the apartment owner, he came to know that it was a gas operated heater and he had to use a match box to light it up and that there was a small lever which had to be operated for the gas to flow. By the time the room heater was fully operational an hour had passed and Moksha was fast asleep.
All in all the Sengupta’s were beginning to realize the American dream. First the brand new car; then the apartment and not to mention the regular visit to Albertson and Wall Mart and of course the weekly visit to COSTCO and FRY’s.
Pizzas became a regular dinner table delicacy; Burger King the lunchtime favorite and on some occasions Sweet Tomato’s. The choices were many, be it Taco Bell or the Indian restaurant which served buffet during the afternoons or Subway near Kifer Road.
Within another 6 months they bought another car. It was a 2nd generation MX5 Mazda Miata, the convertible was a slick machine. It had a 1.8 liter turbocharged engine with a 5-speed manual gear.
During weekends they drove to the Palo Alto hills and Rahul boasted his driving skills to Moksha. It mostly ended with a visit to the beach during the evening when few souls could be found. Rahul would roll up his beige Route 66 trousers and Moksha would follow him around.
Sometimes, they drove to Livermore where Rahul’s aunt lived. His aunt and uncle were residents of the states and had a son and a daughter. One of those early academic settlers in the United States, they had been around for about 40 years or so and were more American than Indian.
“I just don’t feel comfortable.” Moksha had remarked during one of those visits.
“Well, I guess you will get used to the way of life here” Rahul had assured her.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
The Temporary Home
Rahul and Moksha had just got married, in fact about a week ago before they took that long flight to San Francisco. No, it wasn’t one of those Bengali men getting a dutiful wife from Calcutta. They both were on a L1 visa to work for a software company.
Moksha was taller compared to the average Indian women. At 5 feet 7 inches with a petite structure could easily pass off as a model. She had high cheek bones and her cute nose separated her wide eyes evenly. Her upper lip protruded a bit in contrast to the lower, perfect for a face that was oval. The Auburn hair added to the overall appeal. In short she was an attractive woman.
Much like Moksha, Rahul was tall about 6 feet and lanky. He had a sharp aquiline nose and small watery eyes with thin eyebrows that arched evenly on either side. His complexion was wheatish which lent him that Middle Eastern look. The long dark hair which hid his forehead at the front was parted in the middle. If one had to comment on how he looked the answer would be – good looking!
They had known each other for about 5 long years before they finally decided to get married and eventually set foot on this faraway land. She came from a very conservative Gujarati family and he was a product of a conservative-corporate mix. The announcement of their marriage hadn’t gone very well with either of the families so they decided that staying away from their respective families would be good in the long run.
After taking a right on N. Mathilda they hit California Street, driving further down the road they finally reached Briarwood apartments; Their final destination for the day. It had taken them about an hour to cover the 35 miles from SF Airport on a Bay area shuttle van that they had finally managed for $80.
The company that they worked for had arranged for their stay. The apartment was quite spacious; it had two bedrooms, one with an attached bath, on either side of the living room. The kitchen separated out from the living room at the far end and next to it was a common bath. Well, the only catch was that apart from Rahul and Moksha there would two more people living with them.
Minakshi a stunning 28 year old Bengali girl and Jignesh a 24 year old Gujarati guy who could easily be mistaken for a Bollywood hero till he spoke. Both were from Calcutta. They were acquaintances from back home and worked for the same company. But the idea didn’t gel well with Moksha.
“How can we all stay in the same apartment?” Moksha questioned Rahul when they had a private moment.
With a bit of persuasion Rahul convinced her that this was a temporary arrangement as they would be having their own apartment very soon.
So there they were, two Bengalis and two Gujaratis all set to live the American dream. The arrangement was simple the bedroom with the attached bath went to Rahul and Moksha, the other bedroom Minakshi had already claimed. What remained of the apartment belonged to Jignesh; the kitchen too!
Moksha was taller compared to the average Indian women. At 5 feet 7 inches with a petite structure could easily pass off as a model. She had high cheek bones and her cute nose separated her wide eyes evenly. Her upper lip protruded a bit in contrast to the lower, perfect for a face that was oval. The Auburn hair added to the overall appeal. In short she was an attractive woman.
Much like Moksha, Rahul was tall about 6 feet and lanky. He had a sharp aquiline nose and small watery eyes with thin eyebrows that arched evenly on either side. His complexion was wheatish which lent him that Middle Eastern look. The long dark hair which hid his forehead at the front was parted in the middle. If one had to comment on how he looked the answer would be – good looking!
They had known each other for about 5 long years before they finally decided to get married and eventually set foot on this faraway land. She came from a very conservative Gujarati family and he was a product of a conservative-corporate mix. The announcement of their marriage hadn’t gone very well with either of the families so they decided that staying away from their respective families would be good in the long run.
After taking a right on N. Mathilda they hit California Street, driving further down the road they finally reached Briarwood apartments; Their final destination for the day. It had taken them about an hour to cover the 35 miles from SF Airport on a Bay area shuttle van that they had finally managed for $80.
The company that they worked for had arranged for their stay. The apartment was quite spacious; it had two bedrooms, one with an attached bath, on either side of the living room. The kitchen separated out from the living room at the far end and next to it was a common bath. Well, the only catch was that apart from Rahul and Moksha there would two more people living with them.
Minakshi a stunning 28 year old Bengali girl and Jignesh a 24 year old Gujarati guy who could easily be mistaken for a Bollywood hero till he spoke. Both were from Calcutta. They were acquaintances from back home and worked for the same company. But the idea didn’t gel well with Moksha.
“How can we all stay in the same apartment?” Moksha questioned Rahul when they had a private moment.
With a bit of persuasion Rahul convinced her that this was a temporary arrangement as they would be having their own apartment very soon.
So there they were, two Bengalis and two Gujaratis all set to live the American dream. The arrangement was simple the bedroom with the attached bath went to Rahul and Moksha, the other bedroom Minakshi had already claimed. What remained of the apartment belonged to Jignesh; the kitchen too!
Monday, April 30, 2007
The Flight to San Francisco
On the 7th of March’2000 Rahul and Moksha made their first Trans-Atlantic journey. It was a long flight from Singapore to San Francisco; 18 hours to be exact. The jet lag which was inevitable was just sinking in which till this point of time had been kept at bay by the sheer excitement and feeling of being in a foreign land.
Deprived of smoking for those several hours Rahul went to the smoking lounge just outside the sliding doors of the waiting area. A long drag at the Wills Navy Cut cigarette, which Rahul specially brought from India, relaxed him; the urge for the nicotine pacifier was indeed required.
The chill outside made Rahul shiver a bit. It was drizzling and the gush of the cold wind hitting his face was making him a bit uncomfortable. He was about to stub the cigarette on the floor when he realized that a steel ashtray was right beside one of the cylindrical pillar that supported the massive structure under which he was standing.
As advised by his father Rahul very dutifully went to the phone booth to call his aunt from the airport. Till then everything was fine but the complication started when Rahul had to decide whether to make a collect call or spend the dime or was it a penny that he had to use. After a bit of deliberation he looked at the instruction on the big yellow phone and made his first call in the United States of America. Back in India he was quite familiar with the way trunk calls could be made, call the operator provide the number get a token, disconnect and just wait for the call, which at times would take hours. But never had he made a collect call. As per the instruction he dialed “1-800” then was a bit taken aback by the “COLLECT” part of it when he realized it was “265-5328”. When he was prompted for his aunt’s number slowly he punched the number looking at the small diary that his father had given him, which in fact had all the telephone numbers that his father ever had, followed by his name, which he pronounced loud and clear. After a brief pause the line came alive.
“Hello, Raju?” it was his aunt. His face lit up; it was comforting to know that somewhere in this faraway land, there was someone who he could call. All though she addressed him by his “Dak naam” or the name by which you are known by your close relatives, but never the less she remembered.
“Yes, Pishi” Rahul replied.
“When did you arrive?” His aunt asked.
“Just sometime back” Rahul promptly replied.
“Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?” She offered.
“No, that’s alright, we are taking a bus to Sunnyvale, you need not worry” Rahul assured her.
“OK, then let me know if you need any help” “I will…” Rahul continued.
After about a minute he placed the receiver back and walked back with an added sense of achievement to where Moksha sat carefully watching over their luggage. He had just successfully accomplished his first task.
Just to be sure that he was comfortable handling the currency of the land. He made his way slowly to a counter where a transparent glass case displayed a range of items. With a quick glance he decided to buy a packet of cigarette ; Marlboro, the red and white packet reminded him of those books that he voraciously read when he was in school. Harold Robbins was it? He couldn’t remember but in any case he walked up to the guy across the counter.
“A packet of Marlboro, please”
“That would be $5 ” the guy announced handing him the packet.
Rahul, didn’t have any change. The company that had sent him on a L1 visa had paid him about $200 and another $200 which his father had given him, saved from his only visit to Europe. He pulled out a $100 bill which was neatly stacked in his wallet and handed it over.
The guy looked back at Rahul and said “Very few people carry $100 bills around here” and asked “Just arrived?”
Rahul nodded and watched the guy turn the $100 bill few times as if he was making sure that it wasn’t counterfeit money. Finally he returned him the change. While counting the money did Rahul realize that he had just spent about Rs.225 for a packet of cigarette? Back in India he could buy 15 packets of Wills Navy Cut!!
Later he would learn, that never convert your money to Rupees and avoid carrying $100 bills. But in any case he felt good to have accomplished another task; spend money.
Deprived of smoking for those several hours Rahul went to the smoking lounge just outside the sliding doors of the waiting area. A long drag at the Wills Navy Cut cigarette, which Rahul specially brought from India, relaxed him; the urge for the nicotine pacifier was indeed required.
The chill outside made Rahul shiver a bit. It was drizzling and the gush of the cold wind hitting his face was making him a bit uncomfortable. He was about to stub the cigarette on the floor when he realized that a steel ashtray was right beside one of the cylindrical pillar that supported the massive structure under which he was standing.
As advised by his father Rahul very dutifully went to the phone booth to call his aunt from the airport. Till then everything was fine but the complication started when Rahul had to decide whether to make a collect call or spend the dime or was it a penny that he had to use. After a bit of deliberation he looked at the instruction on the big yellow phone and made his first call in the United States of America. Back in India he was quite familiar with the way trunk calls could be made, call the operator provide the number get a token, disconnect and just wait for the call, which at times would take hours. But never had he made a collect call. As per the instruction he dialed “1-800” then was a bit taken aback by the “COLLECT” part of it when he realized it was “265-5328”. When he was prompted for his aunt’s number slowly he punched the number looking at the small diary that his father had given him, which in fact had all the telephone numbers that his father ever had, followed by his name, which he pronounced loud and clear. After a brief pause the line came alive.
“Hello, Raju?” it was his aunt. His face lit up; it was comforting to know that somewhere in this faraway land, there was someone who he could call. All though she addressed him by his “Dak naam” or the name by which you are known by your close relatives, but never the less she remembered.
“Yes, Pishi” Rahul replied.
“When did you arrive?” His aunt asked.
“Just sometime back” Rahul promptly replied.
“Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?” She offered.
“No, that’s alright, we are taking a bus to Sunnyvale, you need not worry” Rahul assured her.
“OK, then let me know if you need any help” “I will…” Rahul continued.
After about a minute he placed the receiver back and walked back with an added sense of achievement to where Moksha sat carefully watching over their luggage. He had just successfully accomplished his first task.
Just to be sure that he was comfortable handling the currency of the land. He made his way slowly to a counter where a transparent glass case displayed a range of items. With a quick glance he decided to buy a packet of cigarette ; Marlboro, the red and white packet reminded him of those books that he voraciously read when he was in school. Harold Robbins was it? He couldn’t remember but in any case he walked up to the guy across the counter.
“A packet of Marlboro, please”
“That would be $5 ” the guy announced handing him the packet.
Rahul, didn’t have any change. The company that had sent him on a L1 visa had paid him about $200 and another $200 which his father had given him, saved from his only visit to Europe. He pulled out a $100 bill which was neatly stacked in his wallet and handed it over.
The guy looked back at Rahul and said “Very few people carry $100 bills around here” and asked “Just arrived?”
Rahul nodded and watched the guy turn the $100 bill few times as if he was making sure that it wasn’t counterfeit money. Finally he returned him the change. While counting the money did Rahul realize that he had just spent about Rs.225 for a packet of cigarette? Back in India he could buy 15 packets of Wills Navy Cut!!
Later he would learn, that never convert your money to Rupees and avoid carrying $100 bills. But in any case he felt good to have accomplished another task; spend money.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Prologue-ICU
It was 30th of August 2006 when the phone started ringing on a warm sunny afternoon in a busy area of Chennai. Moksha informed Rahul that his mother was in the ICU and they had put her on ventilation.
“When did it happen”? The urgency in Rahul’s voice was lacking. Maybe he was expecting something of that sort to happen.
“About 3:00 in the morning, they said they tried reaching us but no one picked up the phone” Moksha replied.
“I will be there in the hospital as soon as possible” Rahul said.
The screeching noise of a skidding motorbike and the loud noise that followed made him realize that he had forgotten to switch on the right blinkers before making that sharp U turn. An unsuspecting biker trying to over take Rahul’s car had banged into the right side and was thrown on the other side of the divider.
“Are you OK?” was what Rahul could manage to say.
The guy looked at him in disbelief; shaking his head he picked up his bike and kick started it. His faced carried a mixed expression of astonishment and anguish. No one was hurt and the guy on the bike seemed to be in a hurry, as he mumbled something and slowly drove away.
Rahul waited for a moment , his unfocused eyes still on the guy. The honking of the cars behind made him realize that he had to reach the hospital where his mother was admitted.
“Hi, my name is Rahul. My mother is in the Neuro ICU, I just got a call…" with a brief pause he continued "Anuradha Sengupta is her name” Rahul blurted at the reception.
“1st floor, show your pass they will let you in” Was a mechanical reply from one of the guys. “You have a visitor’s pass right?”
Rahul nodded without thinking while he made it to the flight of stairs.
What he saw was something that vaguely resembled his mother. A thick ribbed pastic tube ran from her mouth to the ventilator, the tube like a hydraulic machine synchronized with her breathing as if they had bonded. The pulse oxymeter’s screen on the right rack indicated that her oxygen concentration was about 90 and the pulse rate had soared to 140.
The light blue apron that she wore just didn't suit her; he had never seen his mother wearing anything but a Sari. For that matter his mother had never visited a hospital before but only for a brief period when he was born.
“She is my mother” Rahul suddenly announced to the nurse who was standing nearby.
“She was in a very critical state this morning, we tried calling you but no one picked up the phone” The nurse complained.
It was the first time tears rolled down his cheeks. He wasn't afraid of his mother dying but the though that he would never be able to communicate with her; never be able to call her ma again; never in his life again would he be able to share with her those little meaningless moments that assured the comforting feeling of existence.
He carefully navigated to her bedside; stood there motionless for a while then with his fingers touched the cot made of steel; cold and unwelcoming.
While going out he met the doctor who was attending her. Dr. R Dharan a man of very few words.
"Does she have a chance?" Rahul asked half heartedly.
"I don't think so" Dr. Dharan replied, which was almost inaudible.
By the time Rahul had come out of the ICU his tears had dried up. The acceptance was hard but permanent; he had just lost the most important person that had shaped his life. He knew that life wouldn’t be the same again but for some unknown reason he was at ease with himself.
“When did it happen”? The urgency in Rahul’s voice was lacking. Maybe he was expecting something of that sort to happen.
“About 3:00 in the morning, they said they tried reaching us but no one picked up the phone” Moksha replied.
“I will be there in the hospital as soon as possible” Rahul said.
The screeching noise of a skidding motorbike and the loud noise that followed made him realize that he had forgotten to switch on the right blinkers before making that sharp U turn. An unsuspecting biker trying to over take Rahul’s car had banged into the right side and was thrown on the other side of the divider.
“Are you OK?” was what Rahul could manage to say.
The guy looked at him in disbelief; shaking his head he picked up his bike and kick started it. His faced carried a mixed expression of astonishment and anguish. No one was hurt and the guy on the bike seemed to be in a hurry, as he mumbled something and slowly drove away.
Rahul waited for a moment , his unfocused eyes still on the guy. The honking of the cars behind made him realize that he had to reach the hospital where his mother was admitted.
“Hi, my name is Rahul. My mother is in the Neuro ICU, I just got a call…" with a brief pause he continued "Anuradha Sengupta is her name” Rahul blurted at the reception.
“1st floor, show your pass they will let you in” Was a mechanical reply from one of the guys. “You have a visitor’s pass right?”
Rahul nodded without thinking while he made it to the flight of stairs.
What he saw was something that vaguely resembled his mother. A thick ribbed pastic tube ran from her mouth to the ventilator, the tube like a hydraulic machine synchronized with her breathing as if they had bonded. The pulse oxymeter’s screen on the right rack indicated that her oxygen concentration was about 90 and the pulse rate had soared to 140.
The light blue apron that she wore just didn't suit her; he had never seen his mother wearing anything but a Sari. For that matter his mother had never visited a hospital before but only for a brief period when he was born.
“She is my mother” Rahul suddenly announced to the nurse who was standing nearby.
“She was in a very critical state this morning, we tried calling you but no one picked up the phone” The nurse complained.
It was the first time tears rolled down his cheeks. He wasn't afraid of his mother dying but the though that he would never be able to communicate with her; never be able to call her ma again; never in his life again would he be able to share with her those little meaningless moments that assured the comforting feeling of existence.
He carefully navigated to her bedside; stood there motionless for a while then with his fingers touched the cot made of steel; cold and unwelcoming.
While going out he met the doctor who was attending her. Dr. R Dharan a man of very few words.
"Does she have a chance?" Rahul asked half heartedly.
"I don't think so" Dr. Dharan replied, which was almost inaudible.
By the time Rahul had come out of the ICU his tears had dried up. The acceptance was hard but permanent; he had just lost the most important person that had shaped his life. He knew that life wouldn’t be the same again but for some unknown reason he was at ease with himself.
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