Colours of Bombay - BLACK

Present Day
A sudden outburst of emotion – of being all alone again, rushed through my spine, as I entered my Syracuse apartment. I had just returned after dropping my parents to the Rochester Airport. They were going California and I was going to be all alone again in Syracuse for 20 odd days. I was lying in bed, waiting in anticipation to pass out from exhaustion. An exhaustion which had come from a long day at work, a 5 hour grueling drive to Rochester and an unseen emotional turmoil of a space which was being handed back to me. My mind started checking an invisible list of all the work I would have to do on my own. Cleaning the house, cooking food, washing vessels, grocery shopping, doing laundry, the list was endless, but not quite without the worst of household chores-- ironing the cloths. I realized how quickly our bodies and minds adapt and get comfortable when provided with all the possible material and emotional amenities. How fortunate and pampered does one feel, with a little love and affection? That night I went to bed thinking about this new comfort zone I have built around myself, that I was back under my parents umbrella of affection and I was eating food with my family again.
My parents visited me this summer. It was Papa’s first trip to USA. The night before their flight I was all worked up. "How will I adapt to such a big change!! Change staying with my family in US, especially after a gap of seven years?"
“What will they do, in this small town of Syracuse? What are their expectations from me? Will they like my house, Syracuse, the SU hill area, the flat screen television? Should I install Hindi channels with all the K serials for my mother, so she feels at home? Will they be able to switch on the TV or the cable box and safely switch it off? Where should I take them in Syracuse, when I return from office– Skaneateles Lake, Green Lakes, Onondaga State Park, Carousel Mall? Where else we can go around this area? Will they be bored in Syracuse? What will I do, if they lock themselves out of the apartment? I will need to buy new cell phone, for them. Do I have enough grocery for four grow ups? Will they like my new car; is it big enough and comfortable for four? Can they drive in US? Where should I take them in US? I should take off, for a week. Do I have vacation left? How I will manage my office, and late night emails and conference calls when they are in the house? How many times, we should drive to Manhattan? Will they enjoy in the city, and what – the Broadway shows or the Times Square or the SoHo area or the south side pier? Will they like my friends – both Asian and American? When should I call my friends for Dinner – just the Indian or American? How much it will cost me to travel with them, what credit card should I use, what are the interest rates on the cards?” All such questions, along with feeling of overwhelmed excitement and joy rushed through my mind, while I was waiting to receive them at Syracuse’s Hancock International airport along with Sonal.
I could not believe that I was missing them in just couple of hours, I was elated over the fact, they where going come back in twenty days. I said to Sonal on the phone, that evening lying on my bed.
"I am so happy they are just thousand of miles away in California and not ten thousand miles away in India...They are in the same dam country!!”
Just hours before dropping them to Rochester airport, I was happy that they where leaving for LA. I was going to be independent, like a bird!! Free to hang out in local pubs in Syracuse with my friends on the weekend. Not having to driving to NYC or NJ or Philadelphia or DC or Boston getting bored and stressed getting lost on American Interstates. As they slept on the back seat of my car.
"I don’t have to answer them - where I am going, with whom I am going and what time I am going to come back. Whose house I will be staying over - girl or a guy, in the same bed or on a coach….not answerable to anybody…"
Paradoxical sequence of thoughts –emotionally getting attached to someone so much that even couple of days are difficult to get by in their absence, but at the same time, the their mere presence sometimes bothers you. I have observed similar paradoxical and self contradicting feelings before. Hence I call it “banal emotional peevishness”
My cousin, Amu constantly complains about managing the Payal, her 18 months old baby daughter, with her 24/7 over elated state.
"Sabir, Sometimes I hope that Payal was never born. I want to ship Payal to India to her grandparents, and see her again only after she is turned ten and timid, or sometimes I want to forget Payal in the mall." Her rhetoric words surprises me all the time. But, at the same time, when I take Payal for a drive in my car, Amu, will call me every two minutes to check on her daughter.
“How is your child seat, where you able strap it! ….Did you put her seat belt? Don’t go on the Interstate; don’t drive fast. Are you talking on the phone without the hands free? How is Payal doing, is she enjoying…my babby…It is 5 minutes, since you have gone. When are you coming back? What is that noise, is it Payal crying? Get her back….blah blah.”
When I pointed out to Amu these paradoxical emotional tantrums, she said,“What can I do –she is part of me, I can’t disown a part of my body! I have the right to complain about it - don’t take that right. And Stop being philosophical all the time.”
Sonal, was one day talking about similar feelings, explaining her blissful relationship with her new boyfriend Mike, and how they miss each other and yell at the same time. She said, “Every morning Mike has to pass my test, to prove love exist, and is going strong. I am generally first to be out of the bed. I get up I turn…I kiss my Mike, with his eye closed he will smile and turn to the other side, muttering something. That smile means the whole world to me. I don’t care even if he fakes it. You fake it till you make it and once you make it you don’t have to fake it. He has passes my stringent love inspection most of the time, and I say to myself ….the spark still exists." Sonal was now blushing, then with a serious look she added, "When he is traveling, all I miss that morning smile. But at the same time, when he is round me, I will constantly compare him with my other relationships, guys. I yell on the way he dresses, walks and his clumsiness. You know….He drops his coffee on the shirt every time he drinks from the cup…every time. It is the embarrassing! Sometimes, annoyed with his gauche behavior, I feel like leaving him… but what you can do – love is fucking blind.”
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Anil
Many graduate students, in US or any other country go through the phase of unemployment. I remember Bombay – in the summer of 2001 without a job, just after graduation. The dot com bubble had just busted companies where issuing, pink slips to their new hires. Amey and I used to walk on the streets of Andheri –SEPZ area, handing resumes to the companies. The August Bombay heat did not stop us from walking in our unkempt attire from one company to other. I remember the objective on my resume read - “There will always be dreamers… we dream to achieve...to achieve my dreams, I need a job...” It was the tacky!! Retrospect when I think about those days - it was the 3 page long resume and my tousled appearance that was responsible for all the rejects; I didn’t even receive a single, first round interview call. After Master’s I went through a similar phase of unemployment and this time I didn’t have the money or the companionship to make door to door visits to companies. Again it was summer, The Summer of 2005. The main difference this time was a Master degree, passion to excel, a resume with objective clearly stating– “Interested in a full time position in Operations and Supply Chain Management….” I spend my entire day smoking and applying to some twenty to hundred odd companies each day. But this time, I was missing the emotional support, or should I say, I was missing the emotional support to Cultivate self pity. I was missing the physical presence of some person who can understand the emotional stress, to feed my ego – saying – “you are good, aggressive and qualified - don’t worry you will get a job soon. It is just a bad phase in your life. The diamond shines no matter what. They have to find the diamond from the mine, and clean the dirt accumulated and polish them.. then Valla...”
My apartment lease expired in the August and I had to move out of Syracuse. Anil, who stayed in Boston, offered me shelter. Anil, worked with me in GE, and was now working for over six months with a service provider in Marlboro - a suburb of Boston. Boston for me was one of the most beautiful and expensive cities in the North East.
It was around that time, I realized that emotional support or EQ - Emotional Quantum is a vital motivating factor. I always said to friends in US, “EQ and my ego are the only things that keeps up and running.” In this case, as much as I agree it was all self pity, but the fact of the matter was I needed someone who could keep me going; else I would have given up. Every day in Marlboro, instead of smoking on Anil’s porch, I used to apply for Jobs, prepare lunch, catch a train to Boston, and return in the evening before Anil returned to have dinner together. I had dinner with Anil every day during stay in Boston. Over the table we discussed the bitches of life, good GE days and the post cold war capitalistic flexible corporate America. With two weeks of my stay in Marlboro, I received a call from ABC, followed by couple of other interview calls. I had nailed all the interviews and opted for Syracuse over San Francisco and a Fortune one company. And for all the towering excellence in communication skills in cracking the interviews, I give all the credit to Anil, not because he guided and taught me "how to dream and achieve," but because he boosted by morale by his mere presence. Somewhere down the line, he had provided - the intangible emotional support, to keep me up and going. Anil was my lucky charm, the blessing in disguise.
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Every emotions comes with a dollar tag
When I met Sonal two years ago, in a club, she said –“Nothing is free, in this fucking country, not even sex. In the night club the guy has to use his charms to impress a girl. So looks are important and most important is to buy drinks for the girl and her girlfriends. Also, maintaining a level of chivalry is important. Then the guy has to make sure the girl is drunk enough, and only then try to cast his spell, and may be – only, may be if the girl is drunk enough the guy might get a kiss or phone number based on intoxication level. But, the bottom line is the guy has to keep the drinks following. Now, said that, are you buying me a round of shots or not!!” Six years of staying in US, I still wonder, in all the relationships that I had - did my character impressed the girls or was it the dollars in my wallet? Today, frankly I don’t want to know the truth. As my anal mind would start questioning – “Was the sex paid for or was it is due to alcoholic overdoes, or was it out of genuine affection or combination of all.”
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Over last 10 years, I have gone from too many friends, family members, to select few, to no friends. In Dadar, it was beset by undergrad friends visiting 512 Ocean View apartments, during finals month. Sometimes I had to flight with my friends in order to focus on my studies. It was like an open house Library, with “Silence please” signs missing. We still call my apartment wada - big social joint. Sometimes I pretended I was not home, and lock my door from outside. In Sixth semester - Junior year, 17 of my friends stayed over for 3 days at my one bedroom apartments and Suraj, my house maid complained and threatened me to leave the job, if I continued to invite friends. My neighbors, The Kolekars, complained to my parents about the noise caused by constant talking throughout the night. All and all, they where the fun days, chaotic, but fun filled with strong emotional bonding, 24-7 morale support, in the worst and the best times of the indecisive, immature, yet responsible - undergraduate days. Every passing semester was an achievement and the wait for the next semester was short. We said "4 gone 4 go to, and 4.0 to maintain." And today, every evening is empty. I hate to go to my lonely Ivy Ridge apartment, and watch repeat broadcast of Seinfeld on NBC or Planet Earth on Discovery Channel. My apartment is equipped will all the material comforts one on think off - kitchen filled with sophisticated gizmos to alleviate fine cuisine, red wines hand picked from local wineries, flat screen LCD 56" HD TV, laptops with high speed internet and hi-fi in the house, king size bed with a Posturepedic mattress - basically all the material comforts, I dreamt when I was in Bombay. But today, the wait for the next turning point is longer, and longer. Like a kid, I fear of falling sick and no body by my side to attend or give medicine or cultivate my self pity. Worst, sometimes I fear I would be alone driving at hundred miles an hour through the narrow streets of Syracuse, towards, Waverly Ave admitting myself into the Emergency Room, of Upstate Medical, without Sonal or Ashwin by my side. If ever my heart decides to flutter at the rate it did on that awful night of Dec 11th 2004.
It is not because I don't have friends, or family in US, but I think it is the way small town American is structured. Friends and family are considered in terms of total cost. It is Economical to Emotional!
Somehow I feel staying away for so many years, especially away from family and now, away from my friends - I have lost the feeling of belongingness and lack emotional bonding. I guess the distance plays an important factor, in the way we think, act or react emotionally. Staying away I have become immune to the virtues of emotional attachment. I am in a constant state of denial. Not sure of what I am denying. Maybe I am in denial - to like someone or something or maybe I am questioning my ability to love? I hope the later is not true, after claiming one world family ideology. The only logical justification to my apathy towards emotional feeling is - “Every emotions comes with a dollar tag.”
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Bombay - Reheman
Dec 18 2006
On the fifth day of my trip to Bombay after recuperating from my semi gastro attack, I decided to hang out in Dadar. Dadar to me is place where my dil – heart is. My "home"in Bombay. I was born is Ghatkopar, and spend 20 years of my life at my parents house, from Kinder Garden to High School, but I still call Dadar, as my home. Dadar was the place where I grew, learnt to take responsibility, got new perspectives, made friends for life, realized life is never a black and white, and there are no simple solution to a big issues nor a quick fix. I quote at times to my parents, "In Dadar, I became, Mr. G from Billy." Shoddy! But true.
After spending some time with my parents that morning, I called Ashwin. We decided to meet at Shivaji Park Katta - bench, near Shivaji Park Gym (SPG) at eight. Ashwin took the responsibility to coordinate with others members of the gang, so we can group up at the infamous SPG katta as we used to during the good old undergrad days. I set out on my brother’s cruiser bike, to Dadar – excited to re-visit the best days of my life. Deep inside I was on a quest to know - how life has changed in my home town, and wanted to compare it to my new life in Syracuse, NY. I was on a quest to gather more samples for my self derived axiom – “Every emotion comes with a dollar tag?”
We spend the entire evening gossiping on the SPG katta, with Ashwin, Vishal, Deepak, Amey and some new members. Since most of them where directly coming from office to crash our katta party, they had to leave early. Everybody, but Ashwin, left by eleven. Ashwin and I decided to have coffee at the new Coffee day. And at twelve we left for Dadar train station to have tea at Ragu’s.
Study from noon to evening at the wada, catching up with weekly gossips from eight to ten at the katta, dinner and light beer at Sherrey’s China house, back to studies at eleven at the wada, tea at two in the morning at Ragu’s, back to studies at the wada –this was Sunday during the finals months in Dadar.
At around midnight we left for Dadar station, as we where driving from Shivaji Park to Dadar railway station, I started pondering over my faint memories with Ragu. I remembered my first meeting with Ragu. Ragu’s tea house was a big discovery for me, it was like, discovering Ctrl S shortcut feature on the computer. Something that becomes trivial, over a period of time. But, every once in a while you feel glad that you discovered it, giving you a remote sense of achievement. During undergrad I used to study whole night especially during the finals month, and used to go to Dadar railway Station in the middle of the night for a stroll, tea and sometimes to buy some cigarettes. It was during one of these visits in my second semester –freshmen year, I found Ragu’s Tea House. Ragu’s welcoming smile and the smell of the elichi tea attracted me. At first it was just business. I buy the cutting chai -tea, pay, buy some cigarette as needed, say hello, and then say goodnight. As the visits increased, it was more then just business. I spoke to him for hours sometime I sat there for hours studying in the mist of early morning Bombay vegetable market rush hours. Sometimes I explained him microprocessor technology from my text books – and used to tell him how it is going to change the world. I have to admit Ragu was a good listener and was earnest. He used to say “You are my most loyal and most educated customer I have.” One day, drunk from a party, I was not able to find Ragu’s small tea shop, so I suggested him to put a board – called– “Ragu’s Tea house –devour the elichi.” Ashwin and I painted the board that Sunday… Ragu, discussed his personal problems openly with me, and sometimes expected some advice. He of impression, that - I had all the knowledge and wisdom in the world, since I was educated and can read and write in English. Hmm…Talk about subaltern philosophy. I remembered visiting Ragu’s house, near Mahim railway tracks and meeting his wife –convincing her not have a third child, due the pressing financial situations.
When our bikes pulled into Dadar station, Ragu was busy attending to customers, serving and making tea at the same time, with his only good left hand. We knew, he will be busy, as midnight was always the peak hours, at Dadar station. Ragu looked the same - big eyes, with dark circles lacking sleep, skinny, murky complexion, but well composed and poised in the mist of the midnight rush, with a spark in his big eyes, welcoming very customer with a smile, even though some patrons where yelling at him for no substantial reason. He was wearing the same white t-shirt with holes, caused due to constant cleaning, washing and reusing and khaki shorts – now torn in some places. I remembered that I had never seen Ragu in any other attire. The tea house smelled the same – a mixture of elichi and pungent smell of boiling milk. The shop looked the same – as I had seen it the last time I was there, seven year ago. A bench by the stove, painted in the customary pista color, occupied by customers, four bamboo bars, supporting the aluminum shelter just above the stove, and big enough to provide shelter for customer sitting on the bench and Ragu’s open kitchen. The kitchen was the same – it included a big aluminum vessel for the milk, a table for the stove, with two small drovers use as galla’s –place to collect money, a tea vessel and a seven jars filled with various types of khari biscuits. Men where standing and yelling at Ragu’ to hurry up, and blaming him of missing the train, as if he had focused them to stand there.
After couple of minutes the rush subsided–Ashwin and I found a place on the pista colored bench. Ragu noticed Ashwin in the crowd, he a passed a smile and winked, indicating to wait patiently and he would attain him as soon he could. In the same motion he glanced at me. I smiled, in anticipation – to receive a more emotional gesture, as I was meeting him after seven odd years. But he just passed a welcoming nodded, and continued with his dual task, as a cook and server, with is only good hand. Suddenly after few minutes, he looked at me and there he was…standing with glass of tea is only hand and trembling, with tears in his eyes. I knew he had recognized me, this time. It took him time, for which I forgive him –as I had lost over forty pounds, and looked different –little fairer, short hair with a gouty and maybe well dressed. I was not in my normal ugly shorts, and lose t-shirt. For a moment he did not know how to react. Then keeping the glass aside he hugged me, as if I was back from the grave, and busted out in tears. I have to admit, I too had flint tears in my eyes, not because I met Ragu – but seeing the excitement in Ragu’s eyes, to met me. He served the remaining customers on the bench, who where now staring and perplexed. Ragu, put a wooden plank over the stove, which read in Marathi, Bhandh - closed for the day. Ashwin and I were not surprised by Ragu’s reactive gesture. He had closed his stop many times before this for Ashwin and I– inspite of yelling at him. The Ragu’s tea house was his only source of income. But we knew Ragu was an emotional guy.
I spend the rest of the night talking with Ragu. He prepared special tea for me, with material water – for which he had to run ten blocks to the nearest open glossary store, and spend twelve rupees, approximately 20 cents, which was one fourth his entire days earning, after hafta. I did not gather enough courage to eat the khari biscuit, from his containers. My excuse was hygiene. But Ashwin did.
Ashwin was tired and left, after having a cup of tea the khari biscuit. After Ashwin left, we sat chatting for good two hours. From my past life I knew Ragu as a good listener, but that night I got to know Ragu as talkative, detail oriented and highly emotional person. I got to know Ragu as a person to whom I could relate to. I got to know Rage as person who lived for love. I got to know Ragu, who in someway – was like me. I got to know Ragu, as a person who believed in Emotional connection. Ragu was high on his EQ, and always smiling.
He detailed every small change that happened in Dadar since I had left. He started by asking me when I left Bombay, and based on that he started detailing all the changes. He knew that I was in US. For him it was just some place thousands of miles away from India and Pakistan. All he knew about America was – people like me go there to study and earn money, the currency is called Dollars and all gora’s –white people, are from America.
He talked about the construction of the new platform, at Dadar railway station. The amount of time it took and the hullaballo caused due to the construction. He said, “Sabirbhia - I had to move my tea house, to other side of the bridge, and the business was really slow. When the construction was done I had to fight with the officials, and the local gunda’s –Gangsters to get this place. You know how much this place means to me. This is my annadatta – food provider. Moving to a new location was sacrilegious for me. Allah had blessed me with this place.” After a pause he said, “Ganesh had blessed me with the place.” I smiled, at Ragu and said, “Remember, you told me that you are Muslim and I was not going to kill you for it…” He laughed and continued, explaining how much he values and finds himself lucky to have a tea stall at that precise location. He told me that Allah was on his side during his flight with the local bhai – Gangster and corrupted police officials.
He said “Sabirbhai – I am still here because of you. If you remember Sabirbhai, the day you walked in to my shop for the first time, it was Eid-Mubarak and the chaad –moon was out. You where wore a green t-shirt, and asked me if I made elachi chai in a polite manner. I knew since then, you are my blessing in disguise – and some day inshallah- by the grace of god, you are going to bring me luck, which you did.”
I was confused, and was not able follow or remember. He continued, with tears in his eyes– “Sabirbhai- you started visiting my tea shop, and sometimes you used to read in English in my tea shop, you brought all your friends – Ashwin, Vishal, Shankar – and all used to study here. You explained me how a computer worked. I was motivated by you guys and registered by two kids in English school. Thanks, to Ashwin’s network and his kind help – my kids are in local primary school. They now study– in kindergarten! I hope one day they will become like you guys and work on the computer, instead selling tea. I will tell them, then – I know how the microprocessor inside the computer works, and how it just knows - yes and no” He nodded his left and right head, in the same way I had explained him Logical circuits. He continued. “One and zero, and just based on a combination of ones and zeros it can perform complex mathematical operation.” I was, stud by his remark. Wow…Ragu still remembers, what I had taught him one day – when frustrated and amazed while studying R. P Jain’s – Introduction to Logical circuits. “Wow, you still remember” I said in English, now with tears rolling over my face.
He continued, “You and your friends studied in this small shelter - all this caused good vibrations. My tea shop got more business because of those good vibrations. You suggested me to put that board – which grew by business, ten fold.” I smirked at him. I was still not sure what he was talking about.
“After the platform construction – the bhai, did don’t allow me to put my stall here. Ashwinbhai used his network and pressurized the corrupted police officer. Hence you can see me here – at my sacred place of workship, my annadatta. Sabirbhai – the day I re-opened Ragu’s Tea house again, I missed you dearly. I called all your friends for a jasham –party. We had cold beer. First time – Sabirbhai First time. I had English alcohol.” said blushingly.
“Because of Ashwin and your friends support I am here. I know Ashwin because of you, you are my blessing is disguise. We are surviving because of you. Else what would I have done with just one hand and two kids.”
It was getting too emotional for me to handle. In an effort to change the topic I asked his to pass me a khari biscuit. I was staring at it for a long, and was now tempted to have it.. He paused and reached out to one of seven jars and severed me two biscuits. My efforts, where in vain, as Ragu continued...
“Ashwin, told me about your health – and that you where hospitalized. Sabirbhai – you should care of your health. I had kept my shop closed, the day when Ashwinbhai told me, and went to Hijiali – and prayed to Allah for your good health. I also I went to Shidivinak to pray to Ganesha. Ashwin and Shankar came along. You have not idea how I feel seeing you in such a good and health– fair, and slimed down. I did not even recognized you, when you first walked in.” He smiled. “Tomorrow I will go to Hijiali again to thank Allah. I knew Allah, won’t take you way from us.”
It was too much for me to handle. The tears kept rolling. I told Ragu to stop taking. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed by all the emotion. I told him that I have to leave – as it was getting late and he needs to re-open his shop. I hugged him, and I promised him that I will visit him again before I felt for the States. The hug this time was filled with genuine affection. Reheman had stopped crying – and wished me luck. I wrote my address and phone number, and told – to write to me and call me when his kids learnt to write and speak in English.
I reached for my pocket to pay for the tea, material bottle and khari biscuit, and suddenly I realized – “These emotions did not come with a dollar tag.” I realized with people like Reheman, my parents, friends like Ashwin, Anil, Sonal - praying for me, I don’t care if I had to drive alone at the speed of hundred miles an hour through the narrow street of Syracuse to admit my self in Upstate Medial emergency room. As I know Allah and Ganesh both are by my side in disguise. I will be up and running again and again, in no time.
Salam Bombay…