Number One, June 2008
My Friend the Wanderer
Amit Raychaudhuri
I met Pradip Gupta at a Bengali association social where his cheerful mien as he introduced himself to me and my friends made us feel at ease. It was our first time at a gathering of compatriots who were long-time residents of the Metropolitan Washington area. In contrast to some guests who ignored us for much of the evening, he was convivial and before long was cracking corny jokes, which helped break the ice. It turned out that he was studying for his PhD in English at Paul University where we were enrolled.
When I found a part time job in Washington , D.C., I bumped into him again at the Scholl's Cafeteria and was intrigued by his tale of how he landed in the nation's capital. He came two years before after quitting his teaching job at a college in West Bengal . He was accepted for a Ph.D. program at a university outside Raleigh , North Carolina . It was his first trip outside India , his first ride in an airplane and he was so thrilled when his plane landed in London . After partaking of what he thought was an authentic English breakfast, he felt proud that his dream was realized. Throughout his college days he had been enjoying Charles Dickens's accounts of robust breakfasts. The memorable line on ‘glorious food' in the movie Oliver Twist came to mind as he looked at the menu, but was disappointed to see that kipper was not included.
'I only had two hundred dollars in my pocket, much of it bought at the black market. You are well aware that up to now students are only allowed what, fifty, sixty dollars at the Indian banks. I could ill afford the almost four dollars for the breakfast, but I felt that I can skip meals if need be when I reach America . But the English breakfast I had to sample. Just like my family and friends I never tasted beef or pork, but had prepared myself for the gustatory adventure. The sausage was really tasty and the smell alone filled me with anticipation.'
'Did you not feel guilty that in your mother's kitchen only fish or chicken are allowed?'
‘As long as I don't tell them they would never know. I can always deny that beef or pork ever touched my lips.'
‘I fell asleep the moment the plane took of for New York . I was not as tense as on the flight to London and looked forward to getting to the college. After clearing customs, following the directions of the lady at the airline counter, got on the plane for Raleigh . At Raleigh , I took a taxi and the taxi driver kindly took me to a small and affordable hotel. Jet lagged, I slept for most of the next two days, going down to the dining hall only for dinner. Though not hungry at all, since the wall clock in my room pointed to eight o'clock and the lights were on, I would go down for dinner after which I took a short walk around Raleigh . I thought that the city was much bigger and more crowded than I believed.
‘Early on the morning of the third day I asked the man at the hotel desk the cheapest way to get to the Glendale College which is about forty minutes away by car from Raleigh .'
‘From Raleigh ? Where is Raleigh ?' He looked perplexed and for a while I thought that he could not understand my Indian accent.
‘I was flabbergasted that he did not know that we were in Raleigh . ‘This is the city of Raleigh , the capital of North Carolina .' I showed him the college brochure. ‘I see, you mean Raleigh .' He pronounced Raleigh as rally , while I said it like ralay , with a long a . Then he said something that took my breath away. From what he said I learned I was in Washington , D.C. , the nation's capital.'
‘Don't worry. You can take the Greyhound bus … it goes to most of the major cities in the United States . Let me see if we have a brochure and the schedule.'
‘I thanked him and went back to my room. My heart sank because I was already late for registration at the school and by the time I get to the real Raleigh I might not have enough money to pay for incidentals. I walked for maybe ten blocks; saw the Washington Post, the Scholl's Cafeteria, a university with a hospital and a big record store called Serenade. I went into some bookstores, one named Krammer or Kramer which specialized in history, social science and economics. I have never been in a shop where the books were limited to certain genres, just the real serious stuff, with no fiction visible. It was my kind of place and I spent almost an hour browsing and started to believe that Washington was a good place for me to stay. The bookstores alone sufficed to promise a congenial environment. I felt it was a closely knit city where I won't get lost. If only I could find an accredited college and continue my studies. I had my first lunch outside the hotel at Scholl's Cafeteria and liked their peach pie immensely. I now order peach pie every time I eat here.'
‘But how did it happen that you were directed to the wrong gate and the wrong plane?'
‘I might have misheard the lady at the counter … you know we are not used to American accent. Then I remembered as I was eating my peach pie at Scholl's that the attendant at the gate was waving for me to hurry up. She probably did not look closely at my boarding pass as there were some other passengers rushing towards the gate; two of them were Indians who seemed as confused as I was. She presumed that I knew which plane to get on and I on the other hand assumed she knew which plane my boarding pass was for.'
‘It must have been my luck that I saw some Indians at the cafeteria, found that they worked at the World Bank which was two blocks away. I told them about my quandary and they asked me if I had a green card. I said yes, and they lifted my spirits with the news that I won't have a hard time looking for work … there were banks, offices in the area. They rattled off the universities and colleges that accept part time or night students and are accessible by bus.'
Pradip's phone has been disconnected and chances are he has gone back to Calcutta for good. In the past, before he got a job at a newspaper, he would abruptly book a seat, often a few days before the flight, go to the Indian embassy for a visa and directly to the airport with a small suitcase. Sometimes he would make the taxi wait while his express visa was being processed. I have gotten used to unanswered phone calls. After his retirement he was once gone for about six months and there was no message that the phone was disconnected.
A man unwilling to learn the use of modern gadgets and technology, he shunned the answering machine, video recorder and all other hi-tech copiers that reproduce one's and family's faces to be plastered on the computer screen, bags and to hang on Christmas trees. He considered the photo printers connected to computers as another exercise in ego inflation, self-absorption and a morbid form of exhibition. People want their images all over the place, or that of members of their family, as though they would forget the faces unless they saw them all the time. The exhibitionist streak in the human race has never been more apparent as in the advent of computers and modern technology. Pradip recalled an officemate, who was always bringing photos of his family on vacation, pictures of the parties he had attended, as well as a trip to the beach and once a barbecue gathering. Before long when they saw him coming with another envelope of snapshots, they pretended to be busy or walked away.
He thought the cell phone to be the most ego-stroking of all modern contrivances. With it attached to the ear, people forget the crowded subway and buses. Walking, crossing the street without paying any attention to the traffic and people that one could collide with, talking in a loud voice in the bookstore, going in circles in the grocery as though someone's consent is needed to buy or find whatever it is that is being sought. In addition to television, he thought that the cell phone is the main invention that has made man an island, contrary to the poetical line that no man is an island. They have become flashy symbols of wealth, like the diamond watch or pendants. All the expensive accessories will be overlooked if one whips out a shabby ringer, not dotted with a few gems.
Pradip was his own man. Being a bachelor he did not have anyone to rein him in when he suddenly decided to take off for India , or in a few instances, for Europe . No one could discourage him from entering all sorts of places of worship. As an atheist, he was a disinterested observer of religious practices. He could hold a discourse on the basic tenets of the major religions, having read scores of books on the subject. For him all religions have something good to offer and so had attended services at Buddhist temples, mosques, and Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox churches. His yearly attendance at the Midnight mass at the cathedral close to his apartment has been a source of fascination for me, being a secular soul.
‘But why did you have to go to the Midnight mass such a bitter night, since you are not a Catholic? Are you thinking of joining the church?'
‘I like the singing and the service, the anticipation and excitement as the crowd rushes in, looking for a seat on which those who arrive an hour or so before have ensconced themselves. There is an aura of joy and peace that I only find at this time of the year. The pomp and ceremony that has been going on for almost two thousand years, I find reassuring, that even when I am gone, I hope will go on until eternity. I attended a Russian orthodox service a number of times and the a capella singing was just out of this world. I don't understand why the Catholics have stopped or reduced liturgical chants to a bare minimum since or even before Vatican II.'
‘I agree with you that year after year I hear the same songs, the harbinger of parties and though not a Christian, I get swept into the spirit of gift-giving around me at work. Usually the women, thanks to their thoughtfulness and efforts, bring all kinds of goodies and tiny presents that you can put on your desk. It is conceivable that an atheist can be moved by ‘Silent Night' or ‘Holy Night' and attaches no religious significance to the hymns.
‘That is what I mean about the real spirit of Christmas, spreading joy and hope in whatever small measure we can. Let me tell you how this spirit has spread beyond predominantly Christian countries. My cousin in Calcutta was estranged from her sister for at least five years due to a court fight about their late parents' estate. Forty percent of the assets went to lawyers and only sixty percent to be divided between them. One morning, she got a call from her sister greeting her ‘Merry Christmas.' She told me she burst into tears, knowing that Christmas is a time for reconciliation and forgiveness. If her sister greeted her with a Hindu puja greeting it would not have affected her that much.'
‘Once my family and I went with our Catholic friends in Calcutta for the Christmas midnight Mass. And I was surprised when I saw a friend and her family as we came out of the church. I asked her if she converted. She chortled and said no, but she liked the music and the lights, the aura. She said that she could bet that some of those who were singing and have memorized the carols are Hindu. She would often descry families she sees at the temple, present at the mass,' I recall her saying.
‘I related to you that when I saw the Pieta--- that was before it was enclosed in glass---I was touched by the ineffable dolorous expression on Mary's countenance. We don't have to believe in God to appreciate beauty; it could be a painting or sculpture with a religious theme, a cathedral and of course music. I read of a number of agnostics who choose Bach's Mass in B Minor as the record they would carry with them if ever they have to stay on a desert island. Masterpieces have an affecting universal appeal. To feel the palpable joy at the Christmas mass is one reason why some Christians who don't attend the Sunday mass the rest of the year make it a point to be a part of the celebration.'
‘I guess you are right about that because I knew that some of my Hindu classmates went to the Christmas services where they sang the carols and even joined in Christian prayers. Regarding forgiveness I know someone who converted because Christianity gives one a second chance. And talking about conversion some of leading British writers like Graham Greene and Evelyn Waugh converted. When some friends and critics chided the latter that he was still as acerbic and testy, he rejoined that he would have been even worse.'
‘I think that conversion to any faith doesn't necessarily mean that a person will be endued with the qualities associated with it, more often than not the convert retains some of the undesirable traits he had. I remember reading about St. Jerome who had outbursts of intemperate language, but that did not stop him from being regarded a saint. By the way, why don't you join me next year on Christmas morning? For the past three years, except today, I have stood outside the Marsh hotel door in my best coat and suit greeting people ‘Merry Christmas.'
‘No rational person would do something like that unless he is panhandling.'
‘Even if some avert their eyes, I greet them with a smile and remind them that Christmas is supposed to be merry. I don't act like a tape recorder. Since I am nicely dressed they don't mistake me for a beggar; in fact, many smile and say ‘Merry Christmas' or ‘same to you.' A few scowling ones who at first thought that a beggar was at their doorstep smiled with relief when they got a whiff of my cologne, saw that I was well scrubbed, wrapped in my best coat and a designer muffler to top it off.'
‘I bet a number offered you money in exchange for your greeting…especially on a cold and blustery day.'
‘I shake my head and return the money when they slip it into my pocket. Except on one occasion, when a lady with a European accent handed me a ten-dollar bill; she was a grand duchess from head to toe; all she lacked were a tiara and a long train being held up by a lady-in-waiting. She held her head high and was gazing at me down her nose. Although I protested, assured her that I just wanted to spread cheer and good will in an otherwise dreary world, she bade in an imperious manner, ‘I insist since you have made the effort to get up and stand in the cold.' She truly looked like she belonged to European nobility or had an aristocratic pretension, so I just said thank you because I did not want to disrupt the rhythm I had gotten into.'
‘But why don't you stand outside shelters, soup kitchens instead of a high-priced hotel where guests don't need any cheering up?'
‘From what I have seen the poor feel happy and comforted by the warmth and the meals they get for free. It is the rich who don't realize that happiness can't be bought. Maybe it is so unexpected because some of them suddenly, almost automatically-- they smile, and sometimes shake my hand.'
‘I suppose that they got a Christmas surprise…that a distinguished gentleman in fine attire was hired by the hotel to greet them. I never know when you are serious, daydreaming or just kidding. But, why don't you don a Santa Claus costume so there is no mistaking your mission?'
‘If I were a Santa Claus it would mean that I am from the world of lucre, materialism, and consumerism and would dilute my message. I want a plain and no-nonsense approach to the season as it was meant to be. My invitation for you to join me is valid for next year. I will remind you…two months or so before Christmas…in October.'
‘It is an irony that an atheist like you has to show Christians the real meaning of Christmas. The hotel guests would think when you turn down their alms that you are a Christian sincerely spreading Christ's love. But bear in mind that in some banks the associates are warned not to say ‘ Merry Christmas' because there are some Jews who are offended…that's why in many companies they just say ‘Happy Holidays.'
‘Why any one should get annoyed by a greeting that starts with merry, happy or good is beyond me. ‘Happy Diwali, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year or good luck.' There is so much sadness and misery around us that we should always look for any opportunity to be pleasant. A grumpy person will always find a way to be irritated. If people start saying ‘Miserable Christmas' or ‘bad luck' to you that is when we should be offended.'
Sure enough, he called me in October and early December to join him in his mission to spread comfort and joy to stressed out, credit card-weary humanity, but I told him nothing can get me out of bed early in the morning just to get dirty looks for my effort. I still thought that he was kidding. I was too lazy to wake up early just to find out if he really stood outside a hotel on a very original work of cheer. Although my wife encouraged me to go and keep my friend company and maybe learn firsthand the reactions of the rich to a stranger's greeting, I kept my distance.
Years later, I got wind of his Christmas practice. My aunt's friend and her husband were coming out of a hotel in the same block as Pradip's Christmas hotel…when they saw him they thought he was waiting outside for a friend. They strode over and greeted him, glad to see him after not hearing or seeing him for years. He was one who would drop out of sight, not tell anyone where he was going, not attend any of the Bengali affairs, puja and parties for years and suddenly returns.
Early on, the rumor was that he was with the CIA…this was during the cold war. He was personable, fluent in English and a host of Indian languages. West Bengal, and Calcutta especially, was the seat of the Communist government, and American spies, and a few Indians who immigrated to Western countries, were suspected to be operatives. How else can one explain that a man who had qualifications for a teaching and other white-collar jobs was drifting from one retail job to another and yet would be away for months. When asked upon his reappearance where he has been hiding, he would say that he was in Europe or went to India for a long vacation with his relatives.
‘How are you Pradip?' Delighted to see you again on a joyful day like today, Mr. Lahiri expressed his delight at seeing him. Waiting for someone? It's much better to wait inside.'
‘Merry Christmas, Lahiri babu. I am waiting for guests to come out so I can greet them Merry Christmas.'
‘Is this a hotel public relations gimmick? They must be paying you a lot for you to be out in this frigid weather.'
‘No, no. I am doing this on my own.'
‘You have a great sense of humor. Well, we have to rush now. We can't stand this cold.'
A couple smelling of money, the man drenched with expensive cologne and the lady with French perfume, enclosed in elegant coats and scarves was just coming out. With alacrity Pradip turned to them and smiled, expressed his Christmas sentiment, not even saying goodbye to the Lahiris.
‘I can't believe this…he really greets strangers who are likely to be snooty even on Christmas day. But standing outside a hotel where he might be booked for obstructing the passage or accosting guests. This is another evidence of his weirdness,' observed Mrs. Lahiri.
‘You have to admire a non-conformist like Pradip. I wish there were more of his kind. He is not shackled by society's rules, etiquette…a free-ranging creature. He does not have to worry about the right way to bring up children, scrimp and scrape for their college education. He is a bright star, refreshing in his outlook and can give us lessons on how to live life on one's whims, impulses and convictions.' After more than twenty-five years of marriage, the predictability and drabness of his life was getting to Mr. Lahiri. There were times when he wanted to take a tour of India for about two months at a time so he could see much of the country, out-of-the way places which he had read about in Ruskin Bond's stories and Jim Corbett's haunts. Mr. Lahiri grew up on books written by Corbett or some other writer about his adventures and experiences when India , like most Asian countries were covered by forests, thick vegetation and wild animals were freely roaming around in many areas. He was a fearless man who tracked, captured and, sometimes to his dismay, had to kill man-eating tigers. Mr. Lahiri was particularly moved by an incident involving a man-eating tiger that had already killed six people. The village elders asked the government for help. And Corbett was hired to find the tiger. He walked miles to find a house where someone could show him the area where an attack or attacks happened. The houses were miles away from their neighbors. Then in an isolated hut, a brave ten-year-old girl, with the consent of her mother, volunteered to lead him to the place. Corbett asked the girl if she was not afraid to go to the forested area where she said she often gathered firewood. She answered that before the tiger became a menace she, her siblings and friends used to play there and felt that no harm would come to her. Her behavior was a contrast to that of grown men who recoiled when asked to accompany him to look for the man-eating tiger in their village. Definitely no one would go alone, there had to be a group to ensure safety.
He wanted to see the Jim Corbett preserve for wild animals. Maybe when he retires…but will he be healthy enough for the trek?
Pradip is a reader who does not waste time on fiction. He goes through the newspapers in a cursory manner, knowing that most of the news is slanted, fabricated, exaggerated and should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism, just like statistics. Having worked as a copy editor at a daily paper for fifteen years he wonders if the media are not an extension of the government. What would be labeled corruption in developing countries does not elicit any outrage in the United States where citizens hold themselves up as the most moral, generous and honest ever. The ‘greatest and the most generous' as their leaders would constantly tell them. It turns out that the United States government and citizens are at the bottom of industrialized countries in generosity based on population and per capita index.
‘Why would the leaders of a country talk all the time about human rights and democracy when no redress has been made to the American Indians who were massacred and cheated of their land? The tribal leaders had to bring a suit against the government for billions of royalties due them from oil, minerals and timber taken from their lands. For a century now, the Bureau of Indian Affairs does not know where the money went. The bureaucracy is such that no one is accountable about disappearing monies, property, equipment, throughout the government,' Pradip ventilated.
‘I read that both the Clinton and later the Bush administration have not complied with the judge's orders on paying them their due. It is a wonder that a country gives billions in foreign aid to favored countries, but not to the Native Americans. I was aghast that an official who was appointed to help clear the mess affirmed that she did not know much about the pitiable conditions in reservations and other native territories. I have been here for 15 years and during the first few years alone I have read often in newspapers, magazines and once seen in a movie how the white man treated the Indians. I asked my children if they have learned about the massacre and the oppression of the real American natives in history class and they don't know.'
I found Pradip Gupta exasperating, entertaining, who mispronounced words deliberately, like saying personal instead of personnel. Once I bumped into him at the Scholls Cafeteria where he was about to dig into his homemade peach pie for which the place was known. ‘Why don't you sit down at my table, I still have 20 minutes left…I have not talked to you in a long time…how is your wife?' ‘She is fine, still adjusting to a new job…her bank was acquired a year ago. We are just glad that they found her a place for her…many were let go.'
‘I just overheard two Indian women talking about how difficult it is to lose weight. One said that she had been through a number of diets, but keeps gaining the pounds she lost. I wanted to butt in and tell her that she was of average weight. In fact, she was slimmer than the women seated around us…if she were a friend I would tell her to think of people starving not just in India , but in many countries. I looked at her plate when she left and sure enough there were a big piece of chicken, a half-eaten roll and one third of an apple.'
‘My wife is starting on a diet, although she is of average weight for her build and height. I think it has become an affectation for some Indian women in her circle. And the irony is that it is the ones who don't need to lose weight that are determined.'
‘The other lady suggested that she should take an Arabic class.'
‘It is to our advantage if we learn a number of languages like Castilian Spanish, for example. Just to be able to read classics like Don Quixote in the original is quite an accomplishment.'
‘When the dieter said that the gym is far from her house, the friend said that there is one close to her place of work.'
I laughed when I finally got the drift. ‘You mean aerobic, not Arabic.'
‘Well, that's how it sounded to me.' So many times I would get confused when he gave his own version of pronunciation of words that I had never heard uttered in another way, sometimes I think just to elicit laughter or controversy. With his masters' in English from a university in India , he was unfamiliar with American English and would insist that some American words don't exist or can't be found in any dictionary. In part, because of his wide-ranging knowledge of music, art, painting and religion…more than anyone I knew, I tried to bear with his peculiar pronunciations. He took so much pride in his Master's in English, although he told me later on that he barely passed. He almost resigned when in one of his first jobs in America he was told by this supervisor to cart boxes to the post office.
‘What? You are asking me to carry boxes? I have a Master's from the Bengal University .'
‘Pradip, this is America . I have carted boxes when no one is available. Only the vice-president and president are exempt from physical labor. Anyway, these two boxes are not heavy.'
‘Okay, let me put on my jacket so people won't think that I am a common laborer.'
Pradip, whom I never call by his first name as he is twenty years my senior, in turn would address me as Sourav babu, never just Sourav, as a sign of respect. He is a private man, with an aura of mystery, which he could have deliberately cultivated or perhaps without meaning to, and fostered with his frequent absences. From what I have been able to gather from dribs and drabs his family fled east Bengal which is now Bangladesh during the partition of India . Being a Hindu his parents felt that the predominantly Muslim State was not the place for them. They migrated to the West Bengal countryside, lush but desolate, and made it possible to treat an expanse of field, rivers as their playground. His restlessness not just physical, but mental must have been a product of this environment. I would listen raptly to his tales of his adventures as a child and later on his wanderings in the Himalayas .
‘I really miss those days when to take a bath you just go to one of the two rivers near us. On a hot day, even when the water itself was hot, you emerge cool under the banyan and Neem trees. But at night when you hear the call of nature you carry a small pail, run across the field to the stream or river in the dark, hoping that you don't disturb a snake and other dangerous creatures. If there is a spare hurricane lamp or a torch it made me feel at ease especially during the monsoon when you try to avoid the deep parts of the river. Some people, children have drowned at this time. A number have been bitten by snakes.'
‘Did you go to a village school up to high school?'
‘Part of high school. The last two years I spent in the town of Baroda where my parents moved. My father was already teaching in a high school there but was commuting to our village. We visited him often in his quarters attached to the school…so the transition was easy. But my mother missed the vegetables which she could pick from our garden or were given away by our neighbors and the farmers during years of plenty when some of the bumper crop produced could end up as fodder for the livestock.'
Once when he just got back from India , he showed me pictures of his siblings and their families. He started to reminisce about the time his family was worried that he wouldn't be able to finish college. He was in his second year when he dropped out of school and went on a trek to the Himalayas , wandered for a few months before he found a holy man whom he stayed with and followed around like a sanyassi or disciple. He left his first teacher and attached himself to some holy men, participated in their rituals and devotions, sleeping under the stars, in caves and hovels. He sent his family a few letters rhapsodizing about the Himalayas, Nepal and Tibet .
‘You were too young to become a sanyassi. You know that is the last stage in a Brahmin or observant Hindu's life, after his children or family is self-sufficient. A Hindu has to partake of the banquet of life first. Of course, if you don't get married you can do it at a younger age, but there is still a lot to learn, experience, right?
‘ For billions of people life can never be a banquet, it's a crucible to the least fortunate, the poorest who are not endowed with abilities to improve their lives…no matter how hard they try, they don't get a break. Life is an anvil on which one gets beaten, burnt and toughened by constant pounding. For many, it is a maze where they keep going around in circles, a maze that disorients or confuses, with no formula for what the West calls happiness, though for pragmatic societies peace and tranquility are good enough since happiness is an elusive goal. Life is a mountain where people keep going down the slippery slopes… when they think the ascent is going smooth, they fall again.'
‘I know that so much depends on the circumstances of one's birth, the genes of intelligence and character passed on by one's forebears.'
‘I often act on instinct, intuition even at this age, as you very well know. There is so much freedom, not just physical…the timelessness of the Himalayas , the spectacular sunrise and sunset filled me with wonder. It was as though my thoughts and imagination had no limits. I tell you that short time I spent there…my mind was always churning.'
‘But, could it be that you just did not want to think about the other stages of Hindu life…education, job, marriage? It was a form of escapism. No wonder, you told me that a few times you slept at the McPherson Square Park although your apartment was a few blocks away. You used to live like a vagabond or should I say an ascetic in India and you thought you could sometimes sleep outside in a public space in Washington . Those were peaceful times though and the chance of being robbed or beaten is not as bad as today.'
‘I have met men, who were professors and scientists, but decided to live on the bounties of nature alone. I tell you most of them seem healthy after 15 years away from civilization. There were a few westerners from England , Germany and France . Do you know it was during that time that I was fully convinced about evolution? There were some men so old and wizened that they looked more like monkeys than men. Age and the bitterly cold weather wreaked havoc on their bodies, faces. Regardless of race, newborn babies look like monkeys and after ninety they will again look like them.
‘That reminds me of a friend who remarked that his infant daughter looked like a monkey when she was a few days old.'
‘He was just being honest. I remember a comic book, which illustrated the similarities of the physiognomy of people to different animals. When I first came to the States, familiarizing myself with the streets of Washington , D.C. , I would go into all sorts of bookstores. There were two that also had comic books. It reminded me of our Bengali children's comic books. The drawings really helped me become interested in reading. Flipping through one…I think it is called Archie, I decided to buy it because it showed these teenagers drawing pictures of their teachers, friends and relatives. One had a resemblance to a horse because of her long face and extended chin.
‘I really miss those small bookstores that had out-of-print books, some rare editions. Now, I have to go to College Street in Calcutta to find them.'
‘Well, going back to my story…when I arrived home my mother offered puja for my safe return. I went back to school, managed to travel to distant towns in West Bengal during school break with money I earned from tutorials. Soon I finished my Bachelors in English …my siblings urged me to start looking for work. I passed the civil service exam and landed an Army job, but in a few months got into a heated discussion with an officer, was summarily dismissed. I was questioning the rules he wanted us to follow. After losing another government job my parents thought that may be with a Masters in English my chances of getting a teaching job would be greater. With help from my older brothers who were gainfully employed after college, I squeaked through graduate school and got an appointment at a small college.'
‘So, your parents and siblings were understanding and patient with your lapses, ha? In some Indian families I know everyone is uncompromising…a son who falters in school is cudgeled physically, verbally. In extreme cases, he is sent away to stay with relatives in the village and has to try hard to get back into school.'
‘Yes. I have classmates, friends who were almost disowned by their families when their college performance was below average. It is as though the father himself is put on trial when a child, especially a son does not make the grade. It is important not only to graduate but also to have a respectable second at least. There is the emphasis on family honor and status in society… and yet the community, including relatives won't help out when they fall on hard times.'
‘A family is only as good as long as the father has his job, the children are thriving in school, and everything is hunky-dory. Now, what kind of society is that? When one is down and out…he is shunned. There is so much emphasis on appearance and paragons.'
‘ When I dropped out of college my parents were distressed, I was given a beating, but my mother prevailed on my baba to give me a chance…she hoped that away from home and school I would have a better perspective on what I want to major in. Although she herself did not have any formal education, she was taught by her father to read and write in Bengali; she had an innate desire to learn about the world around her and beyond.'
‘So, you finally found yourself teaching at a college. Then what made you come to the United States ?'
‘After three years, I was feeling bored…I had to stick to the syllabus and felt stifled by the constant monitoring of the dean and the tenured professors. Being an instructor, I was given extra assignments that nobody wanted. I resigned and took a government test for the railroad service. I was hired as a checker of the number of passengers that got on the train at different stations, compared the receipts handed by the station managers. In a number of instances the amount was short, but the managers would say that when they counted the take before they left the office it was the exact amount and the cashier made a mistake. Although the difference was not much, I got aggravated that just because I was new they thought they could filch a few rupees at a time. After a year I was given a new assignment which I thought would suit me. I was made the Head Cashier's deputy assistant's assistant, double-checking the accuracy of the rupee count. Soon I had to count the money myself when my boss was not around. That's when I realized that under pressure my fingers were slow and I also would keep going back to the bills that I have already counted because I don't remember if I was into four hundred or five hundred count. Often the bills were filthy and smelt of fish, lamb and other raw food. The queue got longer and the people would get restive. It was then that I decided to file an immigrant visa application to the United States . As soon as I got the approval I resigned.'
‘I sympathize with you on your inability to count stacks of bills. I once got a job as a teller and into my second month I was about to resign. I had nightmares that one day I would be short fifty or more dollars…I couldn't count accurately and fast enough, at the end of the day I was sometimes a few dollars short. It got so bad that one night my wife shook me awake.'
‘What happened? You were alternately laughing and saying, ‘come back here' and then shouting ‘bastards.' ‘She knows that when I utter English obscenities or pejorative words, it is a serious matter. When I get mad in Bengali she and the children don't think I am in earnest, but if it's in English, they know better than to trifle with me. I dreamed that I was at my desk, balancing the day's work. Suddenly the bills sprouted wings and were flying away from my hands…in denominations of one, five, twenty and even a few hundred. At first I was thrilled to see the bills come to life, but I could not catch any. I calculated that I must have lost thousands of dollars. After that, I realized that I better look for another job to save my sanity. This was well before the ATM machine and all day there would be a line of people. It was providential that just when I thought I would be fired, a desk job at the back office became available.'
Pradip has managed to take a trip to India yearly, and since retirement as often as twice a year. He has often talked about buying a flat in Calcutta and every time he came back I would ask him about the prospects, since I was interested myself.
‘Buying a house, apartment in India is not a pleasant experience…you would think that the seller would give you as much information as possible. The more expensive the apartment, the less facts are given out. Can you imagine being shown a model you are very much interested in and…only after asking for the price three or four times will the agent tell you, if at all.
‘The receptionist asked me and my cousin to sit on their plush chairs as she called the real estate agent. ‘Mr. Agarwal will be with you in a moment.' We flipped through the thick glossy brochures and although we had an idea of the floor plan, the appearance of the rooms, the amenities…we found the company Web site with the illustrations and descriptions, the pictures in the brochure were even more dazzling. Before I bought my unit in Washington , I went to some places in Virginia and Maryland and all my questions were answered. In a low voice I told my cousin that there were more amenities, which means higher condo fees. After thirty minutes or so, I walked over to the desk and ask the lady if Mr. Agarwal will see us. ‘Yes. We have been flooded with calls, appointments, that it is hard to keep up.' I returned to my seat and got hold of one of the Indian magazines…after going through the dailies, some of which have a supplement of pictures of Bollywood actresses in skimpy clothes.
‘So, the mainstream newspapers now carry pictures, stories of celebrities…which belong to movie magazines.'
‘That's right, even the serious newspapers which have a nationwide readership have succumbed to frivolity, sleaze. This is one effect of globalization. After thirty more minutes, as we were about to leave, Mr. Agarwal came out, apologized for being late.'
‘Which floor plan do you want to look at?'
‘I would like to see the one which has two beds, two baths and is the smallest of the lot.' He led us to the carpeted corridor and opened the door to the unit. ‘You can see that the floor is pure marble and the same with the bathroom floor. The unit is pre-wired for air conditioning, washing and drying machines.'
‘Don't you have any with bigger closets…although I am alone, that is one feature that I find wanting in my flat in the USA ?'
‘Well, some of our clients in flats with similar dimensions have added closets…there is enough space to add two closets.' He took us out to the balcony, saying that there is a panoramic vista of the city…but all I could see were the crumbling, shabby buildings around the complex.
My cousin observed that the completed buildings had flats with wash hanging on the balcony, pieces of long wide colorful cloth which are draped around as women's saris. ‘So, you allow clothes to be hung in the balcony.' Agarwal said that the residents insisted that the saris are too delicate to dry in the dryer.
‘What is the price of this flat?'
‘Just tell us what color you want for the walls.'
‘A beige color is just right.'
He turned on the light in the kitchen, opened the door of the oven, opened and closed the cabinets. ‘You have everything that one would want in a modern kitchen.' Do they operate on gas or electricity? On gas. I presume that all I have to do is ask company to turn it on.
‘Actually, the gas is conveyed in cylinders.'
‘What is the price for this flat?'
‘You will find this complex a congenial place…many residents are well-traveled…all are educated.'
‘ The brochure says that the complex will have shops on the first floor, gymnasium, swimming pool, badminton and tennis courts, game room, children's room and ‘social climbing room'.
‘Ha! Ha! Ha! ‘Social climbing' is a suitable description of what goes on in the party room,' Agarwal conceded.
‘Since there is also a hiking trail in addition to all the amusement at the tip of our fingers, a lot of maintenance and upkeep are needed, so how much condo fee are we looking at down the line?'
‘The supermarket that will be built soon will have most of the staples that you are used to in America or Europe . We have many non-resident Indians in our finished buildings who are used to certain breakfast food that are not available in the market or bazaar.'
He led us back to the reception room, gave us his card and left without quoting the price. He took leave of us so suddenly, that we were confused that he ignored our question on the price and the condo fee. We asked the receptionist who looked pleasant and must have been used to prospective buyers confused when they leave without knowing the price.
‘The unwritten policy here is if you ask for the price it means you can't afford it. I will tell you…the two bedrooms start at sixty lakhs.'
‘Namaste… you have been helpful.' We walked out of the office without the pertinent information needed.
‘What a hassle…nothing is straight forward or transparent. It means that since there is nothing printed in terms of price, the promoters and developers can easily raise the price. A world of difference from the way flats and houses are marketed in the United States . The ads tell you the essentials and of course the price. There are rules that everyone, including an owner selling his place has to follow.' I remarked.
‘We don't have such a thing as consumer protection in most every aspect of life. It might take a decade or more for Indians to learn about consumer rights and laws. On the subject of consumer rights, let me tell you about my friend who lives in the United States and visits Calcutta almost every year. Just last year she came and had an unsettling experience. She went to a sari shop which happened to be crowded and, after looking at a number of saris, she settled on two, and gave her credit card to one of the men who were near the counter. She waited for the man to give her the charge slip for her signature and hand her the package. Since transactions are slow, she did not think anything was amiss. After 10 minutes she asked the cashier who was behind a glass window about her purchase. It turned out that the man pretended to be a salesman and ran away with her credit card. Frantically, she dialed the international bank's branch in India . She waited patiently as the lines were busy, but the recording kept saying that her call was very important and an executive in the consumer service department will soon talk to her. Finally, a man with a curt manner became testy when she reported the stolen card. She was interrogated mercilessly and was given a lecture, almost calling her stupid for giving the card to a stranger. Before and after the card was cancelled she was given a warning about how important it is to be aware of her surroundings.'
‘You know that I have lost a number of credit cards in the United States and just a few questions are asked to make sure that they were not taken by a family member and how long ago I noticed that they were missing.'
The subject of flat hunting came up again after another trip. If someone else told me of the amorphous housing market, practices of condo developers and flat owners, I would have been skeptical. The quest was becoming more urgent as he felt that he had to live in India permanently so he can go to places he has read about, like the Sunderbans. There was a TV documentary and long article, pictures of the wild life, and mangroves that appear and disappear with the tides.
‘The more I look for a place, the more convinced I am that India has the real laissez-faire industries. At one complex I was asked to fill out a four-page application. There were a lot of questions on my educational background…starting with my elementary education, ending with a space on a graduate degree, if I had one. It turned out that they only want buyers who have at least a graduate degree, or a professional one, like law, engineering or medicine.'
‘You are kidding, are you? And no one has taken them to court for discrimination?'
‘Only if one is rich can he afford a lawyer…besides, the case would drag on. And what would happen if he gets in? The residents would look down on him as not up to their standard of an educated Bengali. Bengalis still put a premium on education and scholarship. Houses, even the new ones, including those of my relatives', proclaim the educational attainment of the occupants of the house on plates attached to the mailbox. Woe to the householder who can't show any degree.'
‘ My cousin narrated a case of an America-based businessman who bought a flat for which he paid before completion…most of the buildings have not even laid the foundation when they sell the units. He did not have the time to look at the features of the flat. It turned out there was no provision for electricity, no wires at all. He had to contract with an electrical company. ‘
‘You mean all you have are the walls…does it mean that they have to tear them down to put in the wiring?'
‘ I don't know, but I was told that when you look at the checklist, be sure that it says it is pre-wired, has points for TV, air conditioner, computer, and other machines, pre-wired for telephone. It is an irony that the government regulation is strict that there should be a bathroom for each bedroom, but does not care about provisions for electricity. What you take for granted in many countries, you can never take for granted in India . When you buy a flat in Calcutta , be prepared for unpleasant surprises.'
‘I have heard some incredible tales from friends who live in the city. A marriage almost broke up when the flat the couple bought had too many defects, unfinished rooms; one did not even have a coat of paint. The man blamed his wife for not making sure that the unit was ready for immediate occupancy; the place was on her way to her office and she dropped by the building often to see the work in progress. Despite her efforts to make sure that they would get what they were promised in the brochure and documents, the slick developers shortchanged them. When one gets the keys to the flat he can't just move in. He has to contract electricians, painters, may be plumbers to complete the house. He has to have the electric meter, water meter installed. So, they have to spend ten, fifteen, and in some cases, even twenty percent more than the price of the flat. The registration fee alone is about three times what a homebuyer here pays for settlement and other paper work. The worst part is the exorbitant grease money for the registration office employees who can hold the registration papers for years. If they deem trifling the amount an applicant is willing to pay under the table to oil the machinery and lubricate their arms and fingers to lift the papers, the helpless owners are coerced to give more.'
‘Quite discouraging …we are saving for a small flat where we can retire when the children are independent. Maybe we can stay with them in the U.S. during the height of summer and stay there in India for the rest of the year.'
‘By the time you are ready to buy a place, there would be a code of ethics for real estate developers and brokers.'
‘Did you stay with your dada all the time you were in Calcutta ?'
‘Yes. But for one month during the scorching summer I was in Darjeeling , then a month in Puri.'
‘I hope that the hangers-on who miraculously appear the moment you arrive at your brother's place did not bother you this time for free meals, free trips and gifts of all kinds.'
‘But what can I do, some are seasonally employed, undereducated and only time they can again eat as much chicken or fish is when I am there.'
‘I hope that you have set your affairs in order as your sister-in-law urged you. You don't want the government to be the beneficiary of the rewards of your years of labor. In the United States the middle class gets shafted; in effect they support the poor and the rich. Almost all of the government concessions, entitlements and tax breaks go to these people at the top and the bottom of the tax base. The minimum income for which one qualifies is so low that the middle class is shut out. Though the salary does not keep up with the cost of living, housing in particular, no one pays any attention to the average worker. ‘
My friend disappeared again for the longest time. His phone was disconnected and I had no way of getting in touch because he did not give me his brother's address and phone number in Calcutta . I gave up the search and planned to find him on my next trip to Calcutta .
Just when I was slated to go on vacation at the end of the year, I got a phone call from Calcutta . It was a stranger who identified herself as Pradip's niece.
‘I am Mr. Pradip Gupta's niece. He gave me your name and phone number to call in case of an emergency.'
‘Where is he now? How is he doing? I have not heard from him for a long time.'
‘I am sorry to tell you that he died a week ago. He died about three weeks after coming back from the United States . He died from complications of pneumonia.'
I was aware that he had a lot of ailments, he limped and each time I saw him it was getting worse. But it was still a shock that this man of mystery was forever gone from my life. He did not observe the mundane rules of conduct that the average person reveres and follows. His niece said that they don't know much about his personal life, won't say if he was married or had children in the U.S. , or if he owned his home. In short, the vital things and information that matter most to society, he did not divulge to friends and relatives. Frankly, after a quarter of a century of ‘friendship' I did not know much about him. How much does one really know about the real person inside a person? This set me thinking that he was an extreme case of anonymity, but I bet nobody knows in essence the real values and aspirations held by closest relatives and friends whose intimate pages of their books are hidden or even torn. The masks that one wears are interchangeable and camouflage different personalities.
I have a confession to make. On his last stay in Washington , D.C. I espied him shuffling with obvious pain and difficulty across the street where I had gone for a dental appointment. A coincidence that I now feel was an unexpected chance to see him for the last time. Why he did not call me the moment he was back made me resentful and stopped me from going up to him. All these years, I had to initiate contact when he came back from one of his trips to Europe or India . Furthermore, I had my appointment. Later I tried to call the building where he lived, but was told he no longer was a resident there.
We read about scientists who would like to dissect the brain of Albert Einstein and other world-class geniuses, but for me my friend's would be more interesting. As some psychologists, psychiatrists label some character defects like drunkenness as a disease, leading a bishop to blame his genes for his adulterous adventures, then they might find a protein in Pradip's brain that earned him the pejorative label of ‘the weird phenomenon.' He could not help acting the way he did. The glaring paradoxes in his behavior were more than that of anyone I know. I found out that when he was with his relatives he lavished them with gifts: a car, down payment for a condo or a piece of land and others helped with college expenses for the entire course. These in addition to the countless restaurant lunch and dinner he treated them to. Sometimes he would even favor them with a trip, one across India and many to shorter destinations. It did not matter that he did not know if the men were his relatives or not. He intimated that he could not recognize some faces in his entourage, but it did not bother him. Strangers who could be friends or acquaintances of his distant relatives were beneficiaries of his largesse. I reminded him often that he had to save money for old age and medical needs, taking into account that his relatives would not be able to help him. For them his homecoming meant an endless round of food and drink. He blurted out after a visit to Calcutta that his sister-in-law, his beneficiary for an apartment unit he bought, forged some documents that gave her sole ownership. And before that he vaguely made reference to another brother's wife who pilfered a huge amount of money when he stayed with them. These were egregious dishonest actions that I told him were criminal and should be prosecuted. At least the forgery could be proven. I was disheartened when I learned that he still stayed part of the time with his brother and his house grabber of a wife.
He lived like a miser as evidenced by the broken furniture, the broken appliances retrieved from the trash room, the second-hand jacket, coats and shoes. But he freely bought expensive books, mostly on art and religion. The closets were stacked up to the ceiling with tomes that could knock him out cold if they fell on him. There were some more lying around the bathroom. He bought a fifteen-year-old car that was always breaking down and caused him to be late for work. A psychiatrist might conclude that he subjected himself to indignities of borderline poverty, but spent a fortune on worthless relatives because he needed attention, obeisance or what could be a substitute for companionship and warmth of human contact. He was beyond the pleasantries, the obsessions, naked longings and concerns of society that has gone more materialistic, rapacious and crass. The excesses of conspicuous consumption and the status attached, when expensive possessions are thought of as a sign of elegance, culture and good taste was beyond his understanding. His life was anti-establishment, an antidote that many of us need when the natural resources are plundered to satisfy the ego of the rich for sprawling estates with ten bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms made of the finest wood and marble.
Mr. Pradip Gupta, wherever you are, you are now beyond the reach of your crooked money- grabbing relatives. They will fight for your second condo, which is beyond their reach, as you did not designate a beneficiary. Since you likewise did not designate a beneficiary to your bank accounts only the governments of the United States and India would have access to them. But what happened to all your precious books? Hope you passed the books on to somebody who would read them or to a library. I would have wanted a dozen of them, books that were beyond my budget as they were rare limited editions of works by W. B. Yeats, Robert Browning and other writers in Bengali and English. I covet the complete twenty-plus volumes of Rabindranath Thakur, the Nobel Prize winner in literature whose stories, poetry and music are a staple in West Bengal . Like the common man who wants more, I am not contented with just three or four of his books. I am confident or presumptuous that I can finish the entire oeuvre if I am lucky to acquire them in the future. I learned from his niece who contacted me upon his death that he kept buying books that were now all over his apartment in Calcutta , thousands of them. Since he stayed with relatives for weeks or months at a time, he also left books with them. Upon his departure they were speedily sold at the College Street secondhand bookstores. He had turned into a bibliomaniac, a hoarder but sincere in his hope that he could read most of the books he bought.
Mr. Gupta was the most exasperating, infuriating and unpredictable person one can have the opportunity to know or barely know, but the idea that he did not give any importance to the restrictions or expectations of society gave me a vicarious pleasure. No rational being would sleep in the park at night when he has his own place; in his case less than three blocks away. No rational being would stand outside the door of a posh hotel on a frigid Christmas day to extend wishes to strangers, just to make plain and clear the true meaning of Christmas, spread a little cheer. His shyness and awkwardness with women were belied by his instant familiarity when he marched up to complete strangers, complimented their fine saris, and sometimes touched the border of the scarf. In a breach of etiquette, he had been spotted taking pictures of women without permission at Hindu festivals. He would approach a stranger, usually an Indian man or woman, on the street or at a café or restaurant, start a conversation without any hint of self-consciousness.
I discontinued walking the busy streets of Washington , D.C. with Pradip while on extended lunch breaks. He would suddenly stop in the middle of the sidewalk when he got excited about a certain topic or idea. I warned him that a pedestrian might trip or collide with him.
‘You are not in the Himalayas where there is no danger to man or beast when you stop for no obvious reason in the middle of the field.'
His prodigious learning in literature, philosophy and religion and some arcane periods of history made me call him to save me time from doing research on questions or doubts on some topics that happen to arouse my curiosity. It is the eccentric individuals, explorers and adventurers who go where few venture who make our lives exciting and remind us of the profound ‘sine qua non' of human existence. They live life as they damn please. Their astounding or ludicrous behavior can be refreshing and truly original. To keep secret vital personal information from his siblings and other relatives with whom he regularly stayed was an enigma. In his relations with me, he never told me that he would be away for many months, seldom called that he was back. But his niece revealed that he showed her my pictures in his albums and a few years ago, gave my name and phone number in case of emergency. He did not give any importance to our long-time friendship, but took it for granted that I would help his family sort out his papers, of which I knew next to nothing, when his earthly journey ended.
The world is poorer, and mine even more so, that Mr. Pradip Gupta has finally left for his abode in the Himalayas of his wanderings. My life would be dull without my atypical friend, unpredictable in his absences, astonishing in his learning and perspectives on history and current news and passionate appreciation of liturgical music.
Once in a while I hear of a man who leaves his family to stay in an ashram or be the disciple of an obscure holy man. A particular case was my cousin's friend who suddenly departed, gave up his thriving business, lands and made sure that his wife and two young children would be taken care of. He was a regular guy, not particularly religious and did not pass up a ‘good time.' It takes a lot of courage and resolve to turn one's back at a relatively young age, never to see his family and friends again. I doubt in Pradip Gupta's case if he ever had a good time, the mundane pleasures that many look forward to at the end of the day or the week. Maybe his definition of a good time will be different, but he definitely lived life as he saw fit.