If Sugar Ray Leonard and Foreman can do it, so can I. I too have (unashamedly)
changed my mind and have decided to come out of retirement slowly. So,
here is another Pulitzer quality article.
Ajay Palvayanteeswaran, like a zillion other desis before him, discovered
one day that he too was afflicted by this incurable
itch to visit India and be with his family and friends. He was just
about tired of not working on his thesis. He needed a break. Heck, he might
even interview some girls and get married. Besides, that would wipe out
the massive debt he owed India.
From his wingmate, he learnt that there is actually a small village
in the middle of nowhere in Mexico called Los Maramarimos, where unbeknownst
to anyone and SCI in particular, an American Consulate has been functioning
since the days of Mayan civilization. He drove down there non stop from
Pittsburgh and looked straight into the eyes of the Consular Officer and
asked him "When you have the in-field fly rule and a runner runs from
the second base to the third, does he have to be tagged to be out ?"
And while the officer was trying to figure this out, he thrust his visa
documents at him and got a multiple entry visa for a lifetime. Of course,
Ajay had to fly into Pittsburgh, because some desparado had cannibalized
his two hundred dollar steel beauty of a car into two bicycles and sold
them off.
Ajay made about twenty three reservations in all the airlines possible.
The cheapest deal he found stipulated that he would
have to go standing, (giving a whole new meaning to the term 'stand-by')
clutching his luggage and yes he would be allowed to peek into the first
class cabin about three times during the entire trip. He was told that
a Hindu vegetarian meal will be
provided once the airlines figured out what a true Hindu is. His bank
balance took a free fall after he paid for his tickets and
he was left only with a few hundred bucks and a new visa card to buy
gifts and momentos. In the Palvayanteeswaran family even the thirteenth
cousin matters and he was already going crazy trying to think of appropriate
gifts that would annoy his relatives.
He bought the most massive suitcases when K Mart had them on sale.
He bought Simpsons T shirts for his brother and mother, Docker pants for
his dad, a plastic walking stick for his grandfather and a lovely, cheap,
tantalizing perfume called "Le Savage", for his grandmother,
to bring out the animal in her. Unmindful of the cultural imperialistic
implications, he even bought a Barbie doll for his niece and one for himself.
He bought a hundred ball pens, two hundred sewing needles, a
five-in-one, three hundred jelly beans after feeding the machine with
his lifetime's collection of pennies. With every shopping bagful of goodies,
his adrenalin got pumped up some more and he was counting days.
The last few days were so hectic he almost never slept. The travel
agent had mispelt his name. 'God, these guys have trouble
even with such simple names. Wonder what he would have done if I had
a Russian sounding name'. And his suitcases wouldn't close. His trick-accounting
of writing checks against his next month's paycheck somehow backfired and
now, he couldn't find his toothbrush. In the middle of everything his
friends and foes stopped by to give him those little parcels with microwave
ovens and washers to take home to their folks. His beer buddy finally arrived
- an hour past the appointed time, grabbed everything in the living room,
from carpet up, including Ajay, piled them into the trunk of his car and
deposited the mess at the airport, just as they were pulling off that large
earthworm connecting the darned plane and the terminal.
Ajay sank into his seat and closed his eyes. "Aarti, beti, apni
seat mein nahin baitogi to mummy maaroongi" ('Aarti, daughter, if
you don't sit down in your seat, your mother is going to beat you up')
said a rather huge mother in the adjacent seat, lovingly to her five year
old, as the kid stepped over Ajay for the umpteenth time, trying to get
out of her seat. Ajay smiled philosophically. He knew right then he was
heading off to India, nowhere else. He was hoping a Madhuri Dixit or Sridevi
would surprise him by appearing in the aisle dressed as a stewardess. In
his wildest dream, he even fell in love with the stewardess as the plane
was touching down in Madras and promptly caught the return flight with
her, ignoring the desparate, tearful pleas from his parents. But reality
hit him hard in the form of a hulk of a steward who spoke with a confusing
British accent, which seemed so phony and put on.
After several dreamy hours, during which the kid in the next seat went
to the bathroom about two hundred times, the plane
landed in Madras. He tried to rush through the green channel at the
Customs when the Customs guy caught him by his shirt collar and made him
declare that Chunky Pandey is a better actor than Brando Bakshi. It was
hot and humid and there were millions of little brown people everywhere.
They were seemingly very busy, but in reality not really achieving anything
significant. Boy, how many people does this country have, almost as many
as there are cars in the US of A. He suddenly discovered that some of those
brownies were actually his family members and a tearful reunion followed,
and his psychological energy soared to new heights.
The first week in India was fantastic. Everything was romantic and
cute - grown men chasing buses with dhoti in one hand and tiffin carrier
on the other hand and jholas on their shoulders, old, rusty Ambassador
cars, large 'Muniammas' with even larger bindiyas (dots) fighting each
other in street corners using the kind of obscene words that he had only
heard in his IIT hostel, his ex-little neighborette who has now blossomed
into something else. This really was seventh heaven. And the food ! Whoever
synthesized sambhar must be given a Nobel prize in chemistry, he thought.
Imagine, they even named a whole species of deer after the dish, called
sambar deer. Tell me, have you ever heard of any species, let alone deer,
being called 'subji' or even 'aviyal' ?
He even visited his IIT. God, was he living in these tiny little prison
cells for four years? He drank a cup of tea at the dhabha
by the gate at Tarams for old times sake and for the first time observed
how dirty the place actually was. He was a sensation
in the Jamuna hostel. He gave a pep talk to all the aspiring NRIs,
who still have a couple of more years to go before heading
toward the US. "It is cool. Write to me for info about univs
and schol shols". Another time he would say "Turbo C is easy
to
program in. Imagine, if Pondy can do it, you guys too can." He
savored every minute of the attention and the open-mouthed awe that he
elicited from his juniors. He even took an auto rickshaw (scooter rickshaw)
to get out of the jungles of IIT Madras to show off his new found affluence.
God, these cute machines ! Whoever invented these rickshaws must have had
a sense of humor to fit them with a funny sounding horn. The way they slime
through the traffic. Maybe I should import one to the US. These can also
double as golf carts when I eventually become a yuppy.
Back at home, his mother was pressuring him to get married. "You
remember the doctor who was living in the next street. You used to call
him Doctor Uncle. He would always give you those pepper mint candies. His
daughter has done BA in Tulu literature ... or this other girl whose father
is an IAS officer and he even owns half an acre of land.."
"Only half an acre ?"
"Yes, but that is in Saudi Arabia and has an oil well"
"But mom, those are the wrong kind of Saudis. Did you check with
Sridevi's parents"
"Son, but have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately ? Your
grandma is pushing ninety three and she would go happily if she sees you
married and in fact that would be good for me too."
"I am not ready for it".
"I know son. Even if you get married now, it will be years before
the dignity of marriage ever gets to you. Your father is
already retired and we need the dowry money to see us through our sunset
years"
Within a week the pressure was slowly starting to eat into his cool
personality. Ajay realized that it is a no-win situation
with mothers. They are on the offensive if he goes on the defensive
and they get very defensive if he raised his voice.
Besides he knows that he would say 'yes' to the very first girl he
would meet and might later regret it. He might even end up
being henpecked, just like his dad. And yes, his dad has become so
mellow and friendly that Ajay was actually missing those intense fights
he used to have with him.
Ajay is a product of two cultures - Madras and Bangalore. He was really
hoping to go to Bangalore also. But his Indian Airlines flight to Bangalore
was cancelled and he wasn't even told about it. In a nutshell, that explained
to him what kind of crisis India is facing these days. 'India should get
out of its Third World mentality' he told himself. And the politicians
are making an even greater mess out of it. What this country needs is a
benign dictatorship, somebody sensible at the top, like himself. Imagine
the plight of India if the only unifying force is Joachim Martillo.
Suddenly he even felt the heat and humidity of India. He was craving
for the airconditioners. He found the place very dirty,
very crowded. He had to deal with a million crude, rude, ill-mannered
people, all at one time. The traffic was so chaotic he had the feeling
that his next step would be his last. The food was too spicy, the relatives
too nosy. His friends had drifted too far from him and now every session
with them seemed so artificial. And they were too busy to be with him,
most of the time. With what, he wondered. Lastly, he was even missing the
usual creature comforts like orange juice, deep dish pizzas and the TV
shows. India was also improving, he conceded, after all, they do telecast
Oscars and Emmys these days. But he really
wouldn't be able to stand one more episode of Mahabharat depicting
the Kurukshetra war. He found himself strangely out of
place, all alone. Oh, yes, his mother was always around.
Not that life was too much better in the States. He had his own pet
peeves. The food for one. His inability to blend into the
culture and learn the rules of American football and never being able
to find out who or what Pat Buchanan was. Did he really fit in ? Or was
he in Limboland ? Where does he belong ?
He looked up. The old Sri Ganesh Provisions Store, a reknowned landmark
in his neighborhood, had now become Sri Ganesh Computer Centre. A cow was
starting to nibble at his shirt. He pulled away. He was trying to make
sense out of all this.
And it suddenly hit him. Like a thunderbolt. He wasn't unwanted. He
realized that there really was a place where he belonged. His own place
in the sun. Where he was no longer uncomfortable about some of the things
going on around him. Where he was surrounded by people just like him.
The world of Soc.Culture.Indian ! He resolved that the first thing he was
going to do upon getting back is to read a whole month's postings that
would have piled up. The air suddenly seemed to
have cleared and Ajay started humming "Ek do teen char panch....",
unable to figure out where to stop.
Man, isn't he in for a pleasant surprise when he sees his pet topic,
IIT vs Non IIT discussed on the net !