কিপটে কাকুর জিপসি প্রেম ঃদ্বিতীয় পর্ব

কিপটে কাকুর জিপসি প্রেম ঃ দ্বিতীয় পর্ব

রতনের প্রেম পর্ব শোনার আগে গাড়ী পর্বের কথা শুনুন। আমরা তখন ১৫/২০ হাজার ডলার দিয়ে নতুন গাড়ী  কিনছি , যারা পয়সা বাঁচাতে চায়, তারা অন্তত তার  অর্ধেক দিয়ে ভাল  secondhand গাড়ী কিনছে। কিন্তু রতন ওদিকে  মোটেই গেল না।

আমাকে একদিন সকালে ফোন “ জানিস এখান থেকে তিরিশ মাইল দূরে  একটা ছোট    শহরে শনিবার সকালে গাড়ীর  নিলাম হয়? চল দেখে আসবি”।

কৌতূহল বশত ওর সঙ্গে গেলাম শনিবারে – ও মা, এ তো দেখি গাড়ীর কবরখানা!

সারি সারি প্রায় দুশো গাড়ী দাঁড়িয়ে আছে – ক্রেতার সন্ধানে। প্রত্যেক গাড়ীর সামনের কাঁচে একটা করে সাইন লাগান। তাতে একটা দাম আর গাড়ীটার বিশেষ  “গুণ” লেখা আছে।

“BMW 1985 – no engine – $200!”

“Toyota 1990 – no seats, no tires, $600!

Cadillac 1998 –  no headlights,  no battery, $700

দাম লেখা আছে যেটা  সেখান থেকে নীলাম সুরু হবে। মনে রাখবেন, যা  লেখা আছে  তা ছাড়াও গাড়ীর অন্য সমস্যা থাকতে পারে – যেমন  যে গাড়ীর ইঞ্জিন আছে সেটা যে স্টার্ট করবে তার কোন  মানে নেই !!

আমার ওই সব গাড়ী কেনার কোন ইচ্ছে  হোল না, কিন্তু রতন ওখানে নিয়মিত যাওয়া শুরু করে দিলো।  একটা  গাড়ী কিনল ৬০০ ডলার দিয়ে, সেটাকে সারালো আবার ৫০০ ডলার খরচা  করে – সেই গাড়ী নাকি ছয়মাস দিব্বি চলছে ।

“প্রায়ই  ওখানে যাচ্ছি “ আমাকে ফোনে বলল রতন।

“কেন রে? গাড়ী তো  কেনা হয়ে গেছে!”

“আ রে এইসব গাড়ী যে কোন দিন ভেঙ্গে যেতে পারে, আমি গিয়ে দেখে আসি    বিকল্প কিছু পাওয়া যাবে কিনা “।

রতন চালু ছেলে !  সব প্ল্যান করে চলে।

কিন্তু অন্য একটা  কারণও ছিল। ওখানেই একদল লোকের  সঙ্গে দেখা হয় – বয়স্ক জেমস, আর ওর  দুজন ছেলেমেয়ে, কুড়ি     বছরের  সিয়ারা আর প্রায় তিরিশ বছরের  টমাস। ওরাও পুরনো গাড়ীর ধান্দায়  ওখানে যেত। ওরাও রতনকে  বলেছিল আমেরিকানরা বোকা, মিছিমিছি পয়সা নষ্ট করে নতুন গাড়ী  কিনে। ওরাও খুব কিপটে মনে হোল – রতনের এটা খুবই পছন্দ  হয়েছিল।

ওদের গায়ের রং সাদা লোকদের  থেকে  এক্টু চাপা। “তোমরা মেক্সিকান?” রতন ওদের জিজ্ঞাসা করল ।

“না, আমাদের বাবা মা পূর্ব ইউরোপ থেকে এসেছে , অনেকদিন আগে।“ সিয়ারা বলল

জেমস দুপুরের খাওয়ার জন্য রতনকে  নেমত্তন্ন করল এর পর। খেতে গিয়ে রতনের চক্ষু চড়কগাছ । ময়দার গোলা  সেদ্ধ, তার ওপরে টক দই, আর আলু সেদ্ধ   নুন দিয়ে – কি কিপটে রে বাবা!

রতন পরের সপ্তাহে ওদের খাওয়াল –  রুটি আর চিকেনের  ডানা আর ঘাড়ের মাংস  ! – সস্তার খাবার কিন্তু মশলা দেওয়া, ওদের থেকে অনেক ভাল ।

খাবার পরে,  টেলিভিশনের সামনে বসে জেমস একটা একটা করে প্রায় হাজারখানেক সিগারেট খেলো, আর টমাস ওর  ভিডিও গেম -এর  কনসোলে শুধু খেলতে লাগলো । সিয়ারা কিন্তু ওর সঙ্গে গল্প করে আর মিটি মিটি হাসে । একটু পরে সিয়ারা রান্নাঘরের দিকে চলে গেল।

চোখের  কোণ দিয়ে রতন দেখল, একটি সুন্দর মেয়েলি হাত ওকে  হাতছানি দিয়ে ডাকছে। ওই   হাতছানি ফলো করে রতন পৌঁছে গেল ওর ফ্ল্যাটের একচিলতে বারান্দাতে ।   তিনতলার  ওপরে ছোট বারান্দা। সিয়ারার খুব পছন্দ হয়েছে মনে হোল । “ কি সুন্দর দেখাচ্ছে নিচের রাস্তাটা ! আমাদের ফ্ল্যাটে কোন বারান্দা নেই, জানলা দিয়ে শুধু সামনের বাড়ি দেখা যায় “।

ছোট্ট বারান্দা, সুন্দর  ভিউ, সুন্দর মেয়ের পাশে গায়ে গা লাগিয়ে দাঁড়িয়ে আছে রতন, এইভাবেই ব্যাপারটা শুরু হল।  পরের সপ্তাহে আবার খেতে ডাকল  ওদের – এবারে চিকেনের মেটে আর কাবুলি ছোলা – একটু বেশী খরচাই হয়ে  গেলো  রতনের। এইবারে সিয়ারা ওর ফ্ল্যাটটা পুরো ঘুরে দেখতে চাইলো , আর দেখতে দেখতে রতনের শোবার ঘরে পৌঁছে গেল ওরা দুজন – রতনের বিছানাটাও সিয়ারার খুব পছন্দ হোল ।

এইরকম চলল কিছুদিন ধরে। ওরা তিনজনে এসে রতনের খাবার খায়, তারপর জেমস সোফায় বসে সিগারেট খায় আর টমাস ওর পাশে বসে ভিডিও গেম খেলে। আর সিয়ারা আর রতন  ওপরের তলার শোবার ঘরে চলে যায় ।

কিছুদিন পরে রতন জিজ্ঞাসা করল “রোজ রোজ তোমার   বাড়ীর  লোকদের  নিয়ে আস  কেন? আমরা ঠিকমত একা হবার সুযোগ পাই না।“

সিয়ারা হেসে বলল “ ওপরে  আমি তো  একাই যাই তোমার সাথে, তাই না? ওদের আমি নিয়ে আসি কারণ আমাদের রাতের খাবারের খরচা বেঁচে  যায় । আমাদের  বাড়ির কেবল টি ভি ক্যানসেল করে দিয়েছি, আর সন্ধ্যে বেলায় আমাদের  বাড়িতে আলো জলে না। কত পয়সা বেঁচে যায়   জান?

এই চরম কিপটেমির কথা শুনেই রতন একেবারে প্রেমে পড়ে গেল। একে বিয়ে করলে দুজনে মিলে কত টাকা জমানো যাবে! একেবারে জীবনসঙ্গিনী!

এইবার অঞ্জলিকে “এক্স-পারটে” (একতরফা) ডিভোর্স দেবার সময় হয়েছে, অঞ্জলির কলকাতার টাকার কোন  দরকার নেই আর!  

অনেক ভেবে রতন একটা  ছোটোখাটো হীরের আংটি কিনল । সিয়ারা খুব খুশী হয়ে বিয়ের প্রস্তাবে রাজী হয়ে গেল।

আমরা বন্ধুরাও খুব খুশী হলাম রতনের জন্যে।  

“এই শোন, আর কতদিন টাকা কোলে করে বসে  থাকবি?”  আমরা রতনকে  খোঁচা মারতে শুরু করলাম। “আমরা দশ বছর আগে নতুন গাড়ী কিনেছি। তুই শুধু  আলফাল ভাঙ্গা গাড়ী চালিয়ে এতদিন কাটালি। নতুন বউএর সাথে একটু আনন্দ করবি ত? একটা নতুন গাড়ী কেন আর একটা  বড় ফ্ল্যাট ভাড়া কর। অনেক কিপটেমি  করেছিস!”

রতন আমাদের কথা শুনে রাজি হয়ে গেল । এখন ভাবি, কেন এসব আইডিয়া দিলাম । চুপচাপ থাকলেই ভাল হত!

রতন আর সিয়ারা অনেক প্লান করে সব ঠিক করল। গাড়ীর জন্য সিয়ারা প্রায় ২৫% টাকা দিল। ঠিক হল দুজনের নামেই গাড়ীর TITLE হবে।

নতুন  হণ্ডা গাড়ী কেনা হয়ে গেল। নতুন একটা  বড় ফ্ল্যাট  ভাড়া   করা হোল, তিনটে বেডরুম , মস্ত বড় বসার ঘর।

একদিন, শুভ বৃহস্পতিবারে সবাই রতনের পুরনো  ফ্ল্যাটে জড় হল। জেমস আর টমাস রতনকে জানাল যে ওরা ওদের পুরনো ফ্ল্যাট ছেড়ে দিয়ে রতনের ফ্ল্যাটে চলে আসবে। একটা লীস সই করে রতনকে  দিয়ে দিল, প্রতি মাসে রতনকে ওরা ভাড়া দেবে।

সিয়ারা বলল “ আজ আর কাল আমরা আমাদের পুরনো ফ্ল্যাট থেকে সব জিনিস  এখানে নিয়ে আসব। গাড়িটা আমি দুদিন রেখে দিচ্ছি এইসব কাজের জন্যে।

তোমাকে এখন আমাদের নতুন ফ্ল্যাটটা , যেখানে আমি আর তুমি থাকব, সেখানে ছেড়ে আসছি। শনিবার সকালে, আমি তোমার সঙ্গে দেখা করবো । তোমার কিছু পুরনো জিনিশপত্র আমি নিয়ে আসব সঙ্গে করে। তারপর আমরা সব নতুন ফার্নিচার কিনতে বেরবো। আমি তোমার সঙ্গেই থাকব তারপরে।

রতন শুক্রবারে ট্যাক্সি করে অফিস গেল আর ফিরে এল। রাতে নতুন ফ্ল্যাটে মনের আনন্দে ঘুমিয়ে পড়ল। কাল থেকে ওর সুখের দিন শুরু হয়ে যাবে!।

ওমা শনিবার সকাল  থেকে সিয়ারার ফোন বন্ধ হয়ে গেল। অন্যদের ফোনও বন্ধ।

ওই শনিবার  রতনের ভাল কাটলোনা । বলা যায় খুবই খারাপ কাটল । দুপুর বেলা একটা ট্যাক্সি করে রতন ওর পুরনো ফ্ল্যাটে গেল প্রেমিকার খোঁজে। কি আশ্চর্য , সেখানে কিছু অচেনা লোক ঢুকে  বসে আছে। ওরা জানালো যে জেমস ওদের এই ফ্ল্যাটটা ছয় মাসের জন্য সাব -লীস করে গেছে, অগ্রিম ভাড়াও নিয়ে    নিয়েছে ছয় মাসের জন্যে। শুনে রতনের মাথায় হাত।

 আস্তে আস্তে সব ব্যাপারটা পরিস্কার হোল। ওই  প্রায় ৪৮  ঘণ্টা সময়ের মধ্যে, সিয়ারা এবং তার পরিবারের লোকেরা রতনের সব আসবাবপত্র বেচে  দিয়েছে, সোফা, টেবিল, আলমারি, কম্পিউটার, টি ভি বিছানা, সব কিছু । জেমস রতনের এই ফ্ল্যাটটা ছয় মাসের জন্য সাব -লীস করে গেছে, অগ্রিম ভাড়াও নিয়ে    নিয়েছে ছয় মাসের জন্যে। রতনের নতুন গাড়ীও সিয়ারা বেচে  দিয়েছে।   এইসব করে এখন  ওরা হাওয়া !! কোথায়  গেল?

দুদিন পরে সিয়ারাই ফোন করল – হাওয়াই  থেকে – “ ডার্লিং আমরা হনলুলুতে একটা ফ্ল্যাট  নিলাম। জেমস আমাকে বিয়ের প্রস্তাব করেছে। সমুদ্রের ধারে বিয়ে হবে, খুব মজা।“

রাগে রতনের কথা প্রায় বন্ধ হয়ে আসে আর কি “ কি বলছ? জেমস  তোমার  প্রেমিক? বাবা নয়? টমাস তাহলে কে?”

সিয়ারা হেসে বলল “ আমরা জিপসি মেয়ে ডার্লিং। আমাদের একাধিক বয়ফ্রেন্ড থাকে। ওরা  দুজনেই আমার প্রেমিক।  তুমিওত আমার বয়ফ্রেন্ড ছিলে । তোমার সব সাহায্যের  জন্য ধন্যবাদ, টাকাগুলো  কাজে লাগবে। তোমার আংটিটা দিয়ে আমার বিয়ে হবে। আর, বলতে ভুলে গেছি, তোমার ভিসা কার্ড দিয়ে তিনটে প্লেনের টিকিট  কাটা  হয়েছে হাওয়াই যাওয়ার জন্যে। তোমার বাড়ি থেকে, তোমার কম্পিউটার দিয়ে কাটা  হয়েছে টিকিটগুলো, ব্যাঙ্কের কাছে নালিশ করে কোন লাভ হবে না।  টা টা !!”

রাগে কাঁপতে কাঁপতে রতন ফোন ছেড়ে  দিল।

পরের দিন এক উকিলের কাছে গিয়ে সব খুলে বলল রতন। উকিলবাবু সব শুনে মুখ চাপা দিয়ে খুব কাশলেন, মনে হল হাসি চাপার চেষ্টা করছেন।

“শুনুন স্যার “ উকিলবাবু বললেন “ এরা সব ইউরোপের জিপসিদের বংশধর মনে হচ্ছে। এরা গত সাতশ বছর ধরে প্রতারনার কারবার করছে। আপনাকে ওরা অনেক প্ল্যান করে ধরেছিল। কি করলে আপনি রাজি হবেন , কি করলে ওদের বিশ্বাস করবেন সব ওরা হিসাব করে নিয়েছিল। এমনকি আপনার সঙ্গে যেখানে আলাপ হয়েছিল গাড়ি নীলামের জায়গায়, সেটাও কাকতালীয় নয়।“

“মামলা করে আপনার পয়সা নষ্ট হবে। “criminal fraud” প্রমান করা যাবে না, “civil fraud” প্রমান করে একটা ক্ষতিপূরণের রায় পেতে পারেন, কিন্তু টাকা আদায় করতে আবার মামলা করতে হবে, প্রায় দশ বছর কেটে যাবে। ভেবে দেখুন কি করবেন”।

রতন কিছুই করল না। ক্ষতি হল অনেক, নতুন গাড়ি, সব  ফারনিচার, টেলিভিশন,  কম্পিউটার, ছয় মাসের বাড়িভাড়া, হিরের আংটি্‌ – রতনের মত কিপটে  লোকের বুক ভেঙ্গে যাবার মত! আমরা আর রতনের পেছনে লাগিনা। বেচারা!  আর্থিক    ক্ষতি ছাড়াও ও মানসিকভাবে খুব আঘাত পেয়েছে –সিয়ারা যে এরকম করবে তা ও ভাবতেই পারেনি।

কিন্তু অঞ্জলি রতনকে ছেড়ে দেয় নি। ছেলেটা এখন বড় হয়েছে,  ওকে কলকাতার সব থেকে দামী স্কুলে

ভরতি করার জন্য টাকা চায় রোজই!

ও বাবা। ছেলে তো রতনের নয়। কিন্তু তা প্রমান করতে হলে কলকাতার কোর্টে গিয়ে ডি এন এ পরীক্ষা করতে হবে! ততদিন পর্যন্ত অঞ্জলিকে টাকা দিতেই হবে!

কি কাণ্ড!!

কিপটে কাকুর জিপসি প্রেমঃ প্রথম পর্ব

কিপটে  কাকুর জিপসি প্রেমঃ প্রথম পর্ব

“টাকার আণ্ডিল  জমাতে হবে, যত তাড়াতাড়ি সম্ভব !” এই ছিল রতন বাবুর motto।

আমরা ওর কথা  শুনে হাসতাম। আমেরিকা এসেছি , টাকা  তো কিছু হবেই  ভবিষ্যতে, আমাদের  তা নিয়ে খুব একটা চিন্তা  ছিল না।

পরে আমাদের সকলেরই অল্পবিস্তর টাকা হয়েছে।

 কিন্তু ছাত্র জীবনের প্রথম দিকটা  বড় ঝামেলায় কেটেছে। ভারতের বিভিন্ন জায়গা থেকে আমরা সব ভালো ভালো  ছাত্ররা  গবেষণা করতে এসছি – অঙ্ক, পদার্থবিদ্যা,   রসায়ন , অর্থশাস্ত্র, এইসব বিষয়ে । আমরা পড়েছি  খুব নামী বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়তে, নামটা এক কথায় চিনবেন। কিন্তু আমাদের স্কলারশিপের পরিমাণ খুব কম ছিল।

একটা মস্ত বড় ফ্ল্যাটবাড়িতে সব ছাত্ররা থাকতো। প্রত্যেকটা ফ্ল্যাটে দুজন বা তিনজন ছেলে। ফ্ল্যাটের ভাড়া, ইলেক্ট্রিক বিল, মেডিক্যাল ইনসিওরেন্স , এইসব দেওয়ার পরে আমাদের কলেজের ক্যাফেটেরিয়াতে খাওয়ার পয়সাও থাকতো না।তখন মাইক্রোওয়েভ ছিল না, রামেন ছিল না, টোনির পিজা বলে একরকম পাওয়া যেত ওভেনে গরম করে খাবার জন্যে  – সে একেবারে কার্ড বোর্ডের মতো খেতে!!

চাল, আলু আর চিকেন কেনা হতো সুপারমার্কেট থেকে। রান্নাঘরে তিনজনে বসে আমরা হাঁ করে আস্ত frozen  চিকেনের দিকে তাকিয়ে বসে থাকতাম – এটাকে নিয়ে করব কি? সারাজীবন মা, বৌদি, দিদি এরা সব  আমাদের মত প্রতিভাবান ছাত্রদের যত্ন করে খাইয়ে এসেছে , রান্নাঘরে যাবার  তো কোন  দরকার হয় নি!!

যাই হোক, আস্তে আস্তে আমরা রান্না শিখলাম একটু একটু করে। দিনের বেলা পড়াশোনার চাপ, বিকেল ছটার মধ্যে  বাড়ি  ফিরে রান্না হত, দিনে একবার! ভাত, আলুভাজা, আর চিকেনের ঝোল – পরে ডাল , কপির তরকারী এইসব নতুন জিনিস যোগ হয়েছিল আর কি।

সন্ধ্যে সাতটা নাগাদ  ফ্লাটের   রান্নাঘরে ভালই গন্ধ বেরত, খাবার রেডি, এই খেতে বসব আমরা। ঠিক  এই সময় রতনের উদয় হত।

“কি রে, করছিস কি, গন্ধ তো ভালই বেরোচ্ছে , কে শিখিয়েছে এসব?”  নিজেই একটা  প্লেট আর চামচ নিয়ে, একটু ভাত আর চিকেন তুলে নিত।

“বা বা চমৎকার চিকেন হয়েছে, একেবারে এ প্লাস । শুধু ফিসিক্স নয়, তোর রান্নাতেও  প্রতিভা আছে মনে হচ্ছে । কলকাতার কেউ বিশ্বাসই করবে না। চালিয়ে যাও গুরু!!”

একদিন হলে  ঠিক ছিল, কিন্তু সপ্তাহে তিনদিন এই ব্যাপার  হতে লাগলো। তারপরে শোনা গেল, অন্য  ফ্ল্যাটেও রতন যায় হামেশাই – একটু চিকেন, একটু মাছের ঝোল, একটু সাম্বার আর দোসা , একটু ছোলে আর চাপাটি – একেবারে অল ইন্ডিয়া ভোজ হয়ে যায় রোজই ।

আমরা  সব প্রদেশের ছেলে মীটিং করলাম। সবাই এক কথায় বলল ওই  শকুনকে ভাগাও। তারপর ছটা থেকে আটটা অবধি সব ফ্ল্যাটে নো  এন্ট্রি  শুরু হয়ে গেলো ! চালাকি নাকি! রতনের ভাগ্যে ফ্রি দেশি খাবার আর জুটল না।

আমরা সবাই কিছুদিনের মধ্যে Ph.D.  শেষ করলাম, চাকরিও পেলাম ভালো জায়গায় , আমেরিকার বিভিন্ন সহরে। রতনও ভাল চাকরি পেল। আমরা মাঝে মাঝে ফোনে কথা বলতাম।

“ কি রে, টাকার বস্তা কত বড় হোল ?”

রতনও কম জায়না। “ আ রে, বস্তা ফেটে গেল বলে। তোদের মতো আমি নতুন গাড়ী কিনেছি নাকি? সব টাকা ব্যাঙ্কে ঢুকিয়ে  দিয়েছি । একটা রিসার্চ গ্রান্ট  পেলেই টাকার বস্তা ফুলে যাবে আরও। “

আমেরিকায় একজন প্রতিষ্ঠিত একাডেমিক হিসাবে রতন বাবু  কিছু  টাকা করে নিলেন, তার পরেই দেশে বাবা মার কাছে চিঠি গেল  “আমার বিয়ের জন্যে মেয়ে দেখো – শিক্ষিত এবং চাকরি করে এইরকম মেয়ে চাই, সুন্দরী না হলেও চলবে।
তারপর  এক মহিলা ডাক্তারের সাথে সম্বন্ধ করে রতনের বিয়ে হল। আমরা ভাবলাম অঞ্জলি, রতনের বউ, আমেরিকায় চলে আসবে। 
সাধারণত, এই সব ক্ষেত্রে, ডাক্তার  মার্কিন যুক্তরাষ্ট্রে স্থানান্তরিত হয়, তার মার্কিন মেডিকেল লাইসেন্স পেতে অতিরিক্ত কোর্স  নিতে হয় , আবার পরীক্ষা দিতে হয় আর আমেরিকার হসপিটালে শিক্ষানবিশ হয়ে থাকতে হয়।  এই সব করতে  বছর  পাঁচেক লেগে যায়। কিন্তু তোমার রতন কাকু  এর মধ্যে একদম গেল না।  ফোনে আমাদের বলল “আমরা দুজনে দুই জায়গায় ভালই কাজ করছি। একসঙ্গে হলে এখন আয় কমে যাবে। তাই অঞ্জলিকে বললাম – “ তুমি কোলকাতায় থাকো, আমি এখানে থাকবো - প্রতি গ্রীষ্মে আমার গ্রীষ্মের ছুটিতে তিন মাসের জন্যে তোমার  কাছে থাকব। আবার কি?””
 হুমম..., কম দাম্পত্য সুখ হল হোল কিন্তু নগদ টাকার বস্তা ভরে গেলো – রতন কাকুর কি মাথা দেখেছেন?
রতন বাবু তার স্ত্রীকে কখনো আমেরিকায় যেতে দেননি। 
"তুমি এখানে কাউকে চেন না, অঞ্জলি । আর আমেরিকায় দেখার কি আছে! শুধু কিছু উঁচু উঁচু বাড়ি !  তুমি কোলকাতায় থাকো, আমি এখানে থাকবো ।
 আমি প্রতি গ্রীষ্মে তিন মাস যাব এবং তোমাকে এবং আমাদের পরিবার এবং বন্ধুদের  সকলের সঙ্গে দেখা করব,  এক ঢিলে  অনেক  পাখী মারা যাবে হা হা!   
ডাক্তার  অঞ্জলি,  কলকাতায় ভালই প্রাকটিস  করছিলেন, রতনের টাকার বস্তায় সব যোগ  হয়ে যাচ্ছিল।  
বিয়ের তিন বছর পর অঞ্জলি প্রেগন্যান্ট হয়ে পড়ল । রতন আনন্দের সাথে শিশুটিকে ভারতে বড় করার পরিকল্পনা করছিল, আরও বেশি টাকা তাতে  জমবে, যখন একটা  খবর পেয়ে ওর মাথাটা একদম ঘুরে গেল। 

তখন মার্চের শেষের দিকে। রতন আমেরিকা থেকে অঞ্জোলির কলকাতার গাইনি  ডাক্তারকে ফোন করছিল। তিনি একটু  ইতস্তত  করে জানালেন, বেবি ডেলিভারি হবে অক্টোবর মাসে ।
 রতনের মাথায় রক্ত উঠে গেল “কি বলছেন কি ?” রতন ডাক্তারকে জিজ্ঞাসা করল।
আগের বছরের আগস্টে ভারত ছেড়েছিলেন রতন।
উফ! আসুন এখানে কিছু সহজ অঙ্ক করি।
 আপনি জানেন কিভাবে বাচ্চারা বড় হয়, তাই না?
এই বছরের জুন, জুলাই বা আগস্টে গর্ভধারণ করা একটি শিশু পরের বছর অক্টোবরে হবে না!
"এই বাচ্ছা আমার হতেই পারেনা, এর বাবা কে"? রতন ডাক্তারকে জিজ্ঞাসা করল
ডাক্তার বাবু চুপ করে রইলেন কিছুক্ষন, বললেন শেষে "অঞ্জলির সঙ্গে কথা বলুন" 
ফোনে বিশাল চেঁচামেচি কান্নাকাটি শুরু হয়ে গেল, একেবারে কেলোর কীর্তি  ! 
রতন আর ভারতে যাওয়ার নাম করল না।
কিন্তু অঞ্জলিকে ডিভোর্স দেওয়া মানে ডাক্তারের টাকা থেকে আলাদা হয়ে যাওয়া!
টাকার বস্তার অর্ধেক ছেড়ে দিন বা প্রতারিত স্বামীর  জীবন যাপন করুন - সাধারণ পুরুষদের জন্য এই সিদ্ধান্তটি খুবই সহজ হবে। 
 কিন্তু আমাদের কিপটে কাকুকে  এ নিয়ে ভাবতে হয়েছে। প্রায় পাঁচ বছর!! তখনই সেই জিপসি মেয়ের সাথে দেখা!

হ্যাঁ, আমেরিকায় জিপসি আছে! তারা বহু বছর আগে ইউরোপ থেকে এসেছিলো , অনেকে আমেরিকার মূল সমাজের সাথে মিশে গেছে।  যারা মূলধারা থেকে বিচ্ছিন্ন, তাদের মধ্যে কেউ সার্কাস এবং কার্নিভাল চালাত, কেউ কেউ গানের ব্যবসায় নেমেছিল , কিন্তু একটি ছোট অংশ ছিল যারা  নিজেদের অস্বাভাবিক জীবনযাত্রা অব্যাহত রেখেছিল।

সিয়ারার মা, একজন শ্বেতাঙ্গ মেয়ে,  ষোল বছর বয়েসে  আমেরিকার একটা ছোট  সহরে   কার্নিভাল দেখতে গিয়ে এক ভীষণ সুদর্শন যুবকের দেখা পান – তার হাঁসি আর চোখ দেখেই ছোট মেয়েটা প্রেমে হাবুডুবু।

দুজনে পালিয়ে গেল    ক্যালিফোর্নিয়ায়্‌, ছেলেটি  কার্নিভালের কাজ ছেড়ে দিল।

কিন্তু এর ফল ভাল হয় নি খুব একটা । দেখা গেল ,ওই  জিপসি যুবক শুধু চুরি করতে পারে, আর মদ খেয়ে বউকে বেধড়ক  মারতে পারে।

প্রায় ষোল সতেরো  বছর এইরকম অত্যাচার  সহ্য করে    মেয়েটি পালাল, চলে এল ছোট  সহরে       ওর বাবা মার কাছে। সঙ্গে ওর চারটি ছেলেমেয়ে , সিয়ারা  তিন নম্বর সন্তান। কোন কোন  সময় দাদুর কাছে, কখনো মায়ের কাছে, কখন এক মাসীর  কাছে, এইভাবেই  সিয়ারা বড় হয়েছে  কিছুটা  অবহেলায়। কিন্তু সিয়ারা  তার বাবার কথা মনে রেখেছে,  মনের দিক থেকে সে একদম  সত্যিকারের জিপসি ছিল। কিন্তু রতন এসব কিছুই জানত না।

রতনের সঙ্গে সিয়ারার  দেখা হবার পরে কিপটে কাকুর জীবন একদম বদলে যায় । কিন্তু দ্বিতীয় পর্ব  না পড়লে এগুলো কিছুই জানতে পারবেন না !

Professor N.N. -The Snapshots

Professor N.N. – the   snapshots       

One of my friends remarked after reading my previous piece that I appear to be somewhat vindictive while characterizing  Dr. Naqvi’s shenanigans.

 Perhaps.

Another friend remarked that I appear to be jealous of Nadeem’s success with women and that’s why I am trashing him

Perhaps.

But the main reason I am fascinated with him is that  my mind is boggled as to how far a human being can stray from the beaten path without facing any serious repercussion. We all have heard of Karma, which appears to have skipped him.

 I have created  snapshots of Naqvi, at different times, in  different contexts. Please keep in mind that upto May 2015, I did not know him very well, nor was I comfortable with my own surroundings in Almaty.

Can working and befriending a serious drug addict be entertaining? You decide!

Naqvi and females : Professor N is handsome, skinny, eloquent, charismatic and articulate. After talking to him about social, political or economic issues, you will form the impression that you met a truly cultured person, a scholar of social sciences.

As I indicated before, these qualities attracted females, which is normal. What is somewhat of an outlier is that many professional females, younger and very attractive, will casually sleep with him, knowing fully well that he is married and he has a wild lifestyle The set included a couple of Associate Deans in their early forties, a very hot Journalism professor and many others. After going to dinner with Nadeem, the females will find that he is willing to offer them cocaine, hashish or other narcotics, which are very hard to find in Almaty. Many of them will be tempted to experiment. Nadeem also provided help in writing petitions or applications or even grant proposals for these women. These have to be precise and English was not the native language of these women. All these induced the women to succumb to him.  Or was there something else?

You can probably investigate these Nadeem phenomena in Almaty by hiring a trained sociologist, or you can form your own hypothesis. I will talk about Gulshan, the Journalism professor. I heard her speak fluent Russian, English and German. She also claimed she had working knowledge of Arabic, Turkish and Farsi. She had a Ph.D. in media studies. She was slender and generally stunning.

I was totally intimidated by Gulshan. We went to lunch once, but I was way too polite and professional with her. Then I found Nadeem casually hanging out with her on campus , and going to dinner in nearby restaurants. She was married to this Iranian guy who lived in Tehran, by the way. Later, when Nadeem and I hung out a lot, I would visit Nadeem’s apartment and Gulshan would show up, to discuss about writing a petition or something. Hmmm.

The three of us went to dinner once. When Nadeem went out to smoke, Gulshan shook her head ruefully ,“Too, bad” she said “he smokes too much. But he is alive. Most of you are dead!”

I don’t exactly know what she meant by the above remark!

The venerable Dean Jaundice: Dean Jaundice was actually not the Dean of Academic Affairs, but the Associate Dean of Academic Affairs, actually his new job was still in the process of being approved, so he was Acting Associate Dean of Academic affairs only. He liked to be addressed as Dean Jaundice, and everyone complied, except Nadeem! Jaundice was Nadeem’s nemesis and he drew a lot of his wrath over time!!

Poor Dean Jaundice did not have a degree in Business or Economics, but he had a doctorate in Education and used to teach high school in USA before coming to Almaty. Surrounded by people who did not think much about his educational background, he developed some sort of inferiority complex. As Kazakhstan was part of Soviet Russia, there were a lot of obscure rules and regulations still on the books. His mission was to find these rules and try to enforce them seriously. This did not go very well with the faculty, he was met with casual non-compliance from most of us. But Professor Nadeem got furious at this nincompoop’s efforts to control his actions. He really went to war on Jaundice!!

Professors in all universities are supposed to keep “office hours”, three or four hours a week when they are going to be in their offices, doors open and ready to talk to the students about whatever questions they have. In reality. most professors stay in their offices a lot longer and meet students whenever the students want.

Dean Jaundice wanted to enforce the “office hours” rules!. He would pick some professors at random, and call their landlines in their offices during their office hours.  At the end of the week, emails will be sent to all seventy people at the faculty about the professors who did not answer the call from  Dean Jaundice.

This was too petty and too invasive, and we did not like it. Nadeem and a Geography professor, Dr. Whitman, absolutely hated it. Their names showed up on the list of absentees almost every week. They started playing games with Dean Janudice. Dr. Whitman would email him :

“ Dear Jaundice, I am in my office at my office hours, but nature calls. Please allow me to take a break. I measured myself doing this activity before and it should not take me more than four and a half minutes. I will wait for your approval. Please hurry!” This will be cc-ed to 70 people. Nadeem would also write emails to Jaundice saying that  he is too gassy today and he will need to go to the University health center, get some medicine and wait for a while before actually coming to his office, otherwise students in his office will be inconvenienced. All this will provide free entertainment for all of us, except professor Jaundice.

Jaundice went to town big time regarding our vacation breaks. There were three vacation breaks, one week in March, one week in Winter, and two and a half months in summer. There were lots and lots of protocols. If the vacation started from the following  Monday, you could not leave on the previous Friday , even if  you had  no classes or meetings on that day!  You have to return to campus one day before the classes resume for the short breaks and about seven days prior to when classes begin after summer. If you have a titular position , like department chair or director of graduate program, then you have to find your substitute for the time that you are going to be away for 48 hours or longer! . Fortunately, we had Kazakh colleagues who often did not travel anywhere during the break and they could substitute for us. There were many other protocols, all equally pointless. All the arrangements will have to be documented on an application form for leave of absence before every break and will need to be pre-approved by the college Dean, before being submitted to Dean Jaundice before his deadline. The whole set of regulations were redundant because the students were all gone during the short breaks, there were no classes to teach as well. In USA, you can do anything you want during the break as long as you return even five minutes before your classes begin! But not here, and Dean Jaundice cracked the whip on us. We all suffered, but Nadeem’s plans got spectacularly destroyed His proposed trip to Germany to visit his family would be rejected by Jaundice sometimes even after his application being revised and resubmitted. Angry emails in flowery language will float around with many copies sent to others –I always got cc-ed. Many times, Nadeem will take an “unauthorized leave” and he will be threatened with losing his “vacation days” and all hell would break loose on the e-mail server.

A political science professor, Dr. Zar, finally found a way to break the fangs of Dean Jaundice. He suggested this: Let Jaundice take away “vacation days” for not following the protocols properly. Suppose he takes away seven days from you during winter break. Then you, the faculty member, ask for seven less days of leave during summer. That will make you return to campus in August seven days before others. Do not return, but email to Jaundice, saying you are back in Almaty, in your home, since you have no duties on campus – which is closed anyways . If he asks to meet him, you tell him you are not feeling well, but you will be happy to answer his queries online. He can not force you to come to campus because it is closed, and you have no responsibility to be there. He can not call a meeting of only the people that are present on campus (the local Kazakhs)  because more than half of the faculty are absent. So your annual salary will remain the same (one extra week of “paid vacation” in winter, but one less week of “paid vacation” in summer).

I do not know how many people actually followed this, but one semester after Dr. Zar revealed this plan to us privately, Dean Jaundice was fired by the President of the University for an unrelated infraction, so we never got a chance to test Zar’s idea on  a large scale. Jaundice is currently back in the States.

Love in the office: Then there were two young people, in love (lust?). One was Dastan the Mastan, the handsome son of a network scion (not computer network but goon network!),  who drove a brand new Audi at the age of  22. The other was beautiful Miss Molotova, daughter of an even bigger network scion, she drove a new Mercedes at a tender age of 21. Both were Nadeem’s teaching Assistants. Molotova was the head Assistant and hence had the task of entering students’ assessment scores in Nadeem’s own spreadsheet. When I taught courses like this in USA, I entered the students’ scores myself because of possible security breach and fraud if I let my Assistants even look at the official spreadsheet. However, having been fired from a regular faculty job around 1999, Nadeem never really learned how to use computers (or maybe he was too lazy  to learn), although his job required a lot of computer use. He usually relied on his colleagues and Teaching Assistants, notwithstanding the security problem.

So Miss Molotova worked in Nadeem’s office for a few hours everyday, entering students’ scores, and Dastan the Mastan started visiting her. She claimed  she was a virgin, which Dastan was not. She wanted to lose her virginity to Dastan, but the office was not a good place for such an  act. They kept on messing around, but before Miss Molotova could successfully lose her cherry Nadeem caught them red-handed. At this point a flustered Dastan asked for Nadeem’s help. Apparently, cars could not be parked at secluded places in Almaty for romantic purposes, there were too many cops around.  The parents of both kids strictly monitored the number of kilometers the cars were being driven  so they could not drive out of town. And Miss Molotova did not want to go to a  cheap hotel, she would only go to Hotel Kazakhstan or a classier place which Dastan the Mastan could not pay for – his father did not give him much cash!  

So, you guessed it, Nadeem’s apartment was right on campus, a key for which was given to Dastan the Mastan, and he made sure (when Nadeem was gone) that Miss Molotova was a virgin  no more! He even repeated the act a few times just to confirm this!

A cute story, but I was the department Chair and it violated many Departmental rules, too numerous to mention. But I did not report Dastan, or Molotova or Nadeem to anyone. My logic was that the whole thing was a classic victimless crime – both Dastan and Molotova were willing participants, and Nadeem was clearly complicit and  irresponsible but otherwise not guilty. If I was Nadeem,  I would have given Dastan enough money for a room in Hotel Kazakhstan!!

Computers and security breaches: Using Nadeem’s TA’s for computer work led to  some serious potential problems. Apart from entering Midterm exam scores or interim assessment scores or homework scores, Nadeem also let the TA’s calculate the students’ final course grades as a weighted combination of all these scores. Also, he would pick questions from a question bank and ask the   Teaching Assistants to construct an exam from these. The Teaching Assistants were young people, they  had friends who were students of the class  which Nadeem was teaching, and they would want to see their own grades and change them if possible.  Worse yet, some of the Teaching Assistants were Masters students from foreign countries like Uzbekistan, Tajikistan etc.. They were not rich people’s kids, they were on scholarships and financially strained. Inevitably, at one time, a TA from Uzbekistan, Sarav, started selling the exam questions to students at $50 per piece.  Nadeem found out, and lo and behold he verbally abused Sarav, calling him a motherfucker, a cocksucker (which is a huge insult to a Muslim from Uzbekistan or anywhere else) and other things in front of everyone else, before firing him. Because he abused him in public so badly, I  as a department chair could not take any further action against Sarav.  After this incident, Nadeem still used Teaching Assistants for entering scores and compiling exams, but he now used students like Miss Molotova, who were supposedly wealthy enough not  to be tempted by a mere $50 per question!! So  lazy and stupid!

During this time, once  Dastan the Mastan and his two friends requested recommendation letters from me because they were applying for admission to masters programs in European Universities. When I said I will write and send the letters online, the students were very disappointed.

“But professor”, they said “ this is hard, it requires use of a password and coding each letter. You are so busy, why don’t you let us do it? Professor Nadeem allows us to send the letters ourselves, he even gives us his own password”!

I started laughing “ If I let you do it, you can change the content of my letters, that’s fraud. And in USA, I have sent at least two-hundred letters like this to different universities. Listen you boys, unlike professor Nadeem, I learned to use computers when you were in Kindergarten”.

“Of course, sir, sorry sir. We will never think about altering the letters or  anything like that,  ha ha”, they also laughed and left my office.

The iconic Naqvi

Sometime in December 2017, I was going to India. Nadeem’s mother in India was  very sick so he decided to visit Delhi as well, instead of going to Germany to visit his wife and kids. We were both booked on the same Air Astana flight at 7:30  AM from Almaty. We needed to leave around 5 AM  from our  houses. Our apartments were on campus in adjacent buildings, so Nadeem took the responsibility of calling a taxi on time. By the time I was almost ready, early in the morning,  Nadeem called, his voice was filled with excitement.

“Dude, come over, I am having a lot of fun here.” It was 4:30 AM when I went over to his place with my luggage, somewhat alarmed at this sudden invitation.

It turned out that my trepidation was justified. Nadeem was not ready to go to the airport in an hour. For him the night was not over yet! He was all naked, covered with a bed sheet. One skinny leg was poking out.  A young woman  was giving him a massage. Nadeem already had his drugs and sex. He was relaxing now, getting a massage and explaining Amartya Sen’s social choice concepts to the masseuse! I am not kidding!. Sen’s Social Choice was one of his favorite books, gave him a lot of research ideas. The woman, of course, spoke only a few words of English, so Nadeem’s eloquent discourse was going way over her head – she was merely nodding from time to time!

I sat down in the living room, Nadeem greeted me with a big grin from the  bedroom – the door was ajar. He seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to the upcoming trip to the airport in a few minutes.

Wait, there were other people in the apartment. There was Najaf, Nadeem’s student, about twenty-one years old, and a very young girl about sixteen or seventeen. Apparently Najaf procured these two  women for Nadeem, the younger girl was given to him as a reward for his services. They were both in the living room/kitchen area, shuffling about nervously. Every five minutes, Nadeem would shout at Najaf, “Pack my bags, you stupid fool” and Nadaf will get some random shirts and pants from the closet and put them in a  suitcase. So Nadeem did not totally forget about the trip after all.

I had enough – it was 4:55 AM. It was my turn to  shout at Nadaf. I told him to get a taxi for me pronto because I was not going to wait for Nadeem- he was going to miss the flight anyways. I could not call a radio taxi by myself because my Russian was not good enough.

Seeing my dismay, Nadaf called a taxi, I took it at 5:15 AM and went to the airport on  time. Nadeem missed that flight, shelled out twice as much money to catch the flight the next morning and lost one full day out of a four day vacation – all for a few tender moments of lecturing on  social choice while getting a massage in the nude! When it happened I was righteously annoyed, but now I burst out laughing when I think about it.

This is our iconic Nadeem living  his favorite lifestyle!

No, I do not despise him!

No, I do not despise him!

This guy, Dr. Naqvi, I hung out with him for years. He was my colleague, but I also befriended him on my own. The more I knew about him over time,   more of his despicable traits were revealed. In the end, like right now, I have no open animosity with him, but I regret ever meeting him, in spite of his charisma, eloquence and scholarly qualities.

Let me describe his life story to the readers, reconstructed from published sources,  common knowledge among friends, Naqvi’s own recollections, and my observations about his behavior and lifestyle. There will be some rumors which will be clearly specified as such. I will vouch for the veracity of the main narrative, which will span about five decades.

You have heard of people being born with a silver spoon in their mouths, spending their childhood surrounded by lavish excesses, all their material needs being taken care of by a retinue of retainers and relatives. Imagine  a child born with a silver spoon in an environment steeped with economics! Yes, that will be our Nadeem, born in the late fifties. His father was the venerable Dr. Khaled Naqvi, Director of Research in the Delhi School of Economics. His mother was also an economist, and a socially active person. Both parents were officially  members of the Communist Party of India.  Famous economists frequented his house, from Delhi School and from other places in India. Delhi School was then one of the  hubs for discussions about economic theory  and India’s planning strategies. Nadeem will sit next to Amartya Sen and listen to his conversations with his father and others. Sometimes Mrs. Naqvi will prepare snacks for the guests and put them on a tray, and a ten year old Nadeem will serve these  snacks to Sukhamoy Chakrabarty, Mrinal Datta Choudhury and such.  I guess even the walls of the Naqvi residence were qualified enough to get an advanced degree in economics!

Sometime in the sixties, Senior Naqvi went to Cambridge on a research scholarship for a semester. Auntie Joan (The Joan Robinson – remember her? !) was his thesis supervisor from before and his current  co-author.  Nadeem remembers watching Auntie Joan riding her bicycle to her office, sometimes she would stop and chat with him.

Indeed, Nadeem was naturally primed to be  an economist and he did not disappoint.  After a stint at St. Stevens college, he enrolled in Delhi School of Economics for his Masters. He studied under giants – Sukhamoy  taught them theory and economics of planning, Naqvi saab Macroeconomics, the famous Nagar saab lectured on Econometrics. There were other famous economists also whose names I can not recall at the moment. Overall, Delhi School was a premier educational institution at that time.

He went to Southern Methodist university for his Ph.D. and wrote under Ravi Batra, who was really a prolific publisher of international economics articles at that time. Indeed, Batra taught him  trade theory and all the tools required  to come up with new angles and find solutions to new problems. Unlike us, who struggled mightily to find a research topic and solve our own  research problems, his transition from a student to a published author was rather smooth.  He published in very good journals with Batra, with other co-authors and independently as well.

His first job was as an Assistant professor at University of Goergia. Within six years of finishing his thesis, Nadeem got married to an Indian woman he met at Delhi, had a daughter and most importantly was granted tenure. With tenure came a promotion to Associate professor and a lifetime of job security.

 A university can not fire a tenured professor regardless of his activities and views and research topics, as long as he meets his academic responsibilities of teaching, research and departmental service. Dismissal proceedings could be initiated for academic dishonesty,  moral turpitude or criminal activities , but the onus of proof is very high and there are multiple levels of appeal, including appeals at  the university level followed by the  state High court and Supreme court at the end. The tenure system was established to preserve academic freedom of faculty in American Universities. A professor with heretic views that are hugely unpopular can not be ousted from the University. On the other hand, a professor who becomes lazy and incompetent after tenure will nevertheless continue to work as long as he satisfies the bare minimum responsibilities. Of course, in practice, things may work a little differently. A heretic  may be forced to leave if his views are politically incorrect . Sexual harassment  of females by a  heretic can be grounds for dismissal but sexual harassment by a productive and popular faculty member might be ignored or covered up for a long time. On the other hand, a lazy professor may get the most unpleasant assignments and receive minimum salary and the department may try to oust him at the earliest opportunity. Around 2010, when I taught at the University of Kansas  the salary range of tenured faculty was from 70000 annually ((about 52 lakhs) to a whopping 250000 annually (187 lakhs ) although keep in mind that even the lowest salary was adequate to maintain a decent standard of living.  The deadwood got 70000 while most other normal faculty received between 90000 to 130000 per year, only the distinguished faculty were in the 200 K range.  If you are a deadwood faculty, your salary would be stuck at 70000, while others will get a decent salary increase every year.

After tenure, faculty members breathe a sigh of relief and usually go. through some important lifestyle changes. Of course, the real nerds may decide that they are going to spend only  seventy hours per week on research rather than the ninety hours that they were used to.  Others , though,  make more meaningful changes in lifestyle. Some start playing sports and participating in outdoor activities, some spend a lot of time with their families, some pursue meaningful hobbies seriously, some pursue women (or men) hoping to catch up on missed fun in college.

Drug use is not uncommon in America, so it is not surprising that Naqvi started delving in cocaine and marijuana and drinking heavily after tenure. What I find disturbing is that he got involved in selling cocaine. For about nine long years he was selling cocaine from his house in Atlanta, hopefully he did not sell to his students who would have given his name to the police and the university. As I indicated before, he had adequate income, so why was he doing this?

 I asked him , many years later, in Kazakhstan, why he indulged in this high risk activity where he could have gotten killed or assaulted by angry customers or other drug dealers. Even twenty years after he quit, he still was not sure why he did it. He had a secure job with an above average salary. So why? From his muffled answers, I figured out he had multiple aims:

To achieve a high rate of return on his investment on drugs

To wield power over strong black men and beautiful white women who were his buyers

In Kazakhstan, many years later, he told me while high on marijuana , alcohol and pain pills, how much satisfaction he got seeing his investment in cocaine business achieve 300, 400, or even 500% returns.

He did not seem to have an iota of conscience for wasting so many lives by selling them drugs. To him, this was only collateral damage for his profitable, albeit dangerous investment.

Most people from India, myself included, marvel at the physique and the strength of the big black men we see in the USA.  Granted, there are Caucasian men with large builds as well,  we are fascinated by them also because Indians generally are small-statured (the great Khali excepted). Nadeem is specially skinny, taller than most Indians, but basically skin and bones, not a single muscle  in his body! He certainly needed a couple of goons around him to run his drug business. He said he always had a steady supply of large men on drugs who will protect him in exchange for drugs and a little money. He was never in danger in spite of his frail body which could be twisted and taken apart by most American men if they wanted to.

Female companionship was Nadeem’s major interest all his life. His ability to procure drugs helped him to wield control over many beautiful women – we will talk a lot more about this later.

By 1999 or so, Nadeem’s tenure was revoked by the University of Georgia. As I said before , this is a very serious matter, some documents are available on the web but most documents and newspaper reports that I have seen in 2014 are not available any longer. So you have to rely on my memory for the most plausible explanation of a complex event.

By 1996/7, Nadeem was hooked on drugs, marijauana,  cocaine, alcohol, anti-depression pills, he did it all. This severely affected his job performance. His colleagues would notice his absence from important department meetings or his disruptive behavior in the meetings when he did show up. The students complained that he did not show up for lectures, sometimes for several days. He also frequently canceled homework that he had assigned earlier, I guess he did not want to spend time correcting them. He also rescheduled exams often, I guess because of the same reason. In North American colleges, faculty has  a lot of freedom regarding assignments and exams, they can do whatever they want. But the University demands consistency. Once the schedule is announced at the beginning of the semester, everyone is supposed to follow it.  Nadeem was breaking this rule left and right , annoying his colleagues and students. He would also target one or two of the university administrators that have been critical of him in the past and viciously attack them for small or perhaps trivial infractions. As happens in a bureaucratic environment,   the university would be forced to investigate these accusations formally, lot of manpower would be wasted and a lot of angry words will be exchanged between Nadeem and his nemeses. This was all induced by his drug-fueled paranoia, people were getting tired of it.

In spite of his erratic and irrational behavior, there was no direct evidence of his drug addiction which could be used to start a dismissal procedure against him. The powers that be, then, decided to frame him using his other weaknesses.

The whole scenario unfolded one evening in the little town of Athens in the state of Georgia, in  a bar popular with the students of the University of Georgia. Nadeem arrived already half-drunk and buzzed on cocaine, he started drinking some more and talking loudly to the students present. By prior arrangement , a large number of attractive economics major students were around that night. By prior arrangement, they continuously flirted with Nadeem and encouraged him to drink more. Finally, as expected, Professor Naqvi got seriously drunk and started asking these women for sexual favors. Some alleged boyfriends of these females and other spectators objected to Naqvi’s shenanigans. A lot of verbal abuse were hurled back and forth during  that evening.  There were a lot of neutral spectators who witnessed Naqvi’s predatory behavior. Although cell phones did not have cameras then, some spectators recorded the abusive language of Naqvi on their phones.

A few weeks later, the University started dismissal procedure against Nadeem for sexual harassment. His drug addiction was mentioned as an additional offense. The whole case was built on one evening’s incident although many other female students testified about Naqvi’s harassing behavior that they experienced on campus earlier.

It was unfair to Nadeem, but the whole incident  was well-documented  and he was fired. He countersued and appealed, and I am not sure where all that ended, but apparently the dismissal decision stands till today.

After Georgia, Nadeem moved from one temporary job to another, United Nations consultant, post-doc in a German University and then a job at American University of Bulgaria. There , he met Gerald Pech, another economist and a very stable and conscientious German guy, and a young woman with a doctorate in political science that he married after a couple of years.  Around 2011, Gerald got an offer from KIMEP (Kazakhstan Institute of Management, Economics and Public Policy) University in Almaty, Kazakhstan and in 2013, Nadeem was offered a job in KIMEP as well.

Nadeem actually recruited me. I applied for the KIMEP job in 2013 online and Nadeem picked up my application, my CV and all and called me on Skype. We Skyped for a long time. I was glad to find a normal Indian guy on a thoroughly foreign campus, in fact I was delighted to find that his qualifications and background matched mine. We had many common interests. The next Skype interview was with the Department Chair, Dr. Gerald Pech, and about four or five people on the faculty, including Nadeem.

My first year, August 2014 onwards, I was kind of freaked out. New students, new courses, new colleagues, a language that everyone speaks all around me and I do not understand (Russian) and the  brutal cold that started from November – all these did not help.  People who live in their own countries do not understand how not speaking and not reading a language can be stressful. Suppose, you are in your own apartment  on a Sunday afternoon and the power suddenly goes out. In USA or India, you would call the electric company or a mechanic. Here, you will just panic and pray that power will come back before it gets dark because you will not know what to say to the electric company or the mechanic!  Or, at the supermarket, you want to ask for something that you do not find. Of course,  Google Translate will give you the Russian name for it. You ask somebody, he will tell you to go down five aisles and then turn left in Russian, and you are clueless and embarrassed!!

Anyway, over time,  things got easier, I found a workable solution for most problems. During the first academic year, I did not see Nadeem much. During Spring 2015 , my first  year, his wife came with his daughter and his newborn baby and lived with him in Almaty, so I just saw him at the office. The next semester,  his family had gone back to Germany by then , and he visited them in Germany too many times, so he was often absent form campus. We really hung out from Fall 2016 to Spring 2019, three years, both professionally and personally.

Our lives were inevitably intertwined, we had the same background, same profession, same employer, same interests and some of the same  vices. However , please remember that what follows is a review of his life and activities at Almaty. Although my life happens right next to his, please do not judge me here, I will write a separate diatribe on my Kazakh life later, where you will get ample chances to judge me and/or hate my guts.

Some of Nadeem’s activities and attitudes  I found strange, some I found very weird , almost disgusting, yet others I found nauseating and absolutely unacceptable,  in spite of my own rather unconventional approach to morality and sexuality. Apart from relationships and sexual matters, I also worked with him as a fellow professor, researcher and university administrator, and for a while, I was his neighbor. Again, his actions sometimes were merely strange, but sometimes thoroughly corrupt and hypocritical, and occasionally absolutely atrocious and despicable.

I went to Almaty during August 2014. Nadeem was living in a very large apartment, very beautiful, fully furnished, because he expected his wife, his daughter and his new baby boy to come from Germany and live with him later in the year , like in late November.

We talked about having a party at his place a few times, his wife was not there yet and I was still freaked out from my new job and new country and all that. Finally, he invited me over to his house for a “fuckfest”!

Apart from Nadeem, there were three Kazakh men who were  Nadeem’s ex-students and two Kazakh girls. One girl had a nice body , but had a  hard face like a pro, the other girl was very attractive but looked very young, possibly underage (and hence illegal). Every so often a guy will get up, take one of the girls and go to the bedroom next door. After fifteen minutes or so, the guy will come back to the living room and light up a cigarette or a joint.  The girl will go to the bathroom, freshen up her make up and come back to the living room and light up also. The next person will pair up then. All of the four men had sex with each of the two girls and were comparing notes about the girls’ techniques!

I did not want to participate in this. They were surprised but  I left after I watched the proceedings and talked to the people in the living room for a while.

Over the next few years,  I discovered a few traits about Nadeem that were disturbing. His drug use, which I thought were limited to Cigarettes and alcohol, actually were much more extensive. He would go to Germany to visit his wife and bring back the hard stuff, like cocaine and opioids with him, although he will deny this,  saying that if the cops at the Kazakh airport catch him , the penalty was  severe – many years in  a harsh Kazakh prison. But he would bring them anyways, notwithstanding the risk. I would see him often popping Xanax with whiskey (which can cause death!). His speech would immediately become blurred and his whole body will kind of shut down. I would also see the classic paranoid shouting and the excessive, energetic talking about nothing, and getting into vicious arguments with people about trivialities,  which is a  typical sign of  cocaine use.

He messed up several economics department end of semester parties because of his excessive drug use. These parties were hosted by the department, usually in one of the few good Chinese restaurants in Almaty. Faculty and Teaching Assistants showed up, ate and drank to celebrate the end of the semester. Nadeem would show up late, already high on cocaine. He would stumble into his seat and start speaking loudly, forcing everyone to listen to his meaningless gibberish. Sometimes he will dislike a remark made by someone and start ranting against him, almost coming to blows. Sometimes he will start yelling at the amenities of the restaurant (“Why is the damn window closed? We are suffocating here”) or the quality of the food. One time, I remember, he insisted that a few women employees of KIMEP (that were at our party) have dessert after their dinner – the slender females refused and he became mad as hell. Finally the desserts came and everyone in  the room was forced to eat a big piece of cake whether they wanted it or not. The Kazakhs are respectful people, so he never got beaten up, but by the end of the evening everyone was disgusted at  his behavior.

To be fair, both Nadeem and I were interested in having sex, lots of sex. While I was single since I got divorced in 1990, Nadeem had a wife  who lived in Germany for most of the time,  except for six months of 2015 that she was in Almaty. Typically, I refrained from sex with others during the periods when I did have a steady girlfriend, while Nadeem had no such principles. For him,  an evening of massive drug consumption was followed by or accompanied by the company of  one or more women. He will get high, fuck, get high again, fuck again until he passed out. I never joined him during the fuckfest or drugfests, but he talked about it, usually the next day, while complaining of a hangover.  He was pushing sixty, so I always wondered how his body could handle all these drugs. Yes, he was a glutton for both sex and drugs. For me, sexual pleasure  was something I sought, while for Nadeem, happiness came when he passed out in exhaustion after too much drugs and sex.

This sex was procured from the internet where females contacted men. Sometimes one of Nadeem’s students will help him for a fee (I found disgusting that he was using his own students, there were a million other Russian speakers in Almaty that he could have hired)). The students will go to Russian language websites where a lot more females advertised for their services. The young women, for the most part, were very attractive, some actually very beautiful. Most females in Almaty did not have any problems seeking “sponsored relationships” since Kazakh  men did not usually have the means to take care of a beautiful woman, and these women were not looking for love with men that are not affluent.

But wait! Nadeem had this charm, this charisma that made women attracted to him all over Almaty. Employees of the University, other female professors, students, waitresses and even  women he would meet casually at the stores or banks will soon speak of professor Nadeem in glowing terms and go to lunch with him, often followed by acts of intimacy. It was almost like a fairy tale! He would facilitate these “friendships” by offering them free drugs if he realized that they would fall for it.

I know for  a fact he had sex with an Associate Dean, the Dean of English Language programs and a Journalism Professor (this last one was hot AF!). Apart from offering drugs, he also volunteered to write their English presentations (since their native language was not English) or reports or petitions to the university administration which required use of precise legal terms. Friendship had its benefits, indeed!

All these females and drugs would make his life very complicated. Sometimes he would not be able to conduct normal professional activities like teaching his classes. His solution to simplify his life: scream, yell and verbally abuse all his current female companions – most of them will leave him alone in a hurry! He will be left with his wife in Germany and no female companions in Almaty. He will start from scratch again and in a couple of days get his new crop of girls.

This abusive behavior benefitted me a lot!  One of his girlfriends was Tsarina (Gulbanu), an absolute wet dream. Fortunately, around the time he started abusing her verbally, I also broke up with my Kazakh girlfriend. Tsarina became my consort for the next three years-  I was very happy with her.  She was by far the most beautiful girl I ever dated!

Everywhere I went, there was glowing praise for Nadeem’s scholarship and his student evaluations were off the charts. While he was articulate and spoke freely about various topics, his teaching was seriously hindered by his lifestyle.

He usually had no textbooks that he followed! No class notes or study plans were posted on the website for the courses! No sample questions or homework were posted online! Exam dates were either not posted or moved around at will! (in North American Colleges, the professor decides on the number of exams and the dates for the exams for his courses at the beginning of the semester, and these are not changed later).  

Yet, student evaluations were very good! As I was the Department Chair for two years , I did a little detective work on my own. Apparently, given Kazakhstan’s social structure, there will be dominant students in every class, usually children of the powerful people. Nadeem will befriend them and party with them and scratch their backs, and they will return the favor. The dominant group will intimidate others to write good reviews for Professor Naqvi. In return everyone in the dominant group got good grades!

Indeed, Nadeem picked up the trait of a successful official in a post-communist society. He oiled and buttered the powers that be in the University. The Dean, Gerald Pech, was his personal friend. Gerald was a very honest and conscientious German academic, but he had a major soft spot for Nadeem. He pardoned Nadeem’s infractions like absence from classes and meetings. One time Nadeem came to a meeting literally soaked in alcohol, the entire meeting room was reeking . Gerald quietly canceled the meeting. He would have taken disciplinary actions if anyone else did this.

I was the Department chair and I covered for him too. Usually after a short vacation, the classes will begin on Monday morning. Suppose Nadeem’s class begins at 11:00, he will send an email around 9:00 am from Germany, saying he would come back four days later. I will teach his class at 11:00 and arrange for others to teach his other classes. Some of these were advanced courses, faculty members did not want to teach these classes without prior preparation! Yes, I was chicken , I never yelled at him for messing up everyone’s schedule (including mine) on a short notice!

The President of the University, also its founder,  was an old man named Dr. Bang. He befriended the country’s president , Mr. Nazarbayev , in the nineties when he was visiting Kazakhstan from USA where he was a tenured economics professor. With the President’s blessing, he started KIMEP in the mid 1990’s as an American style Business school. By 2015 or so he was in his early eighties and was interested in all kinds of new projects. One of his pet projects was to write a definitive book about the economy of  North Korea, where he was originally from . Unfortunately, after all these years, his economics knowledge was inadequate, and his analytical ability was below par. Yet he set up a “ North Korea research Institute”  with KIMEP’s money,  and wrote a few articles. He asked most of us to review his work and we all refused politely rather than telling him that his research was garbage. Nadeem however, seriously read and commented positively on his papers!!

As a department chair, I had my own secretary, who sat in the adjoining office. I did most of my paperwork myself including writing memos and making copies, so these young females had very little to do. They answered the department landline and redirected students to faculty offices, dozed off, filed their nails and texted their boyfriends. Usually, these females were undergraduates. In the Fall of 2016, Dilobar, a Masters student, started working as my secretary . This itself was significant because we  had a small Masters program where almost all  the students had full time jobs – all classes were held in the evening. Dilobar was an exception. While other students struggled with coursework, jobs, family etc., Dilobar was keen on working on her Masters thesis as early as possible. She asked me for help, I told her to finish her coursework first so she has some knowledge that she can use to do research.

Professor Nadeem noticed this. He started “borrowing” Dilobar from my office. He took her to banks and financial institutions as  his Russian translator as  he was apparently  transferring large sums of money from India to Germany.  Because of the time difference,  Dilobar will leave with Nadeem around 4 pm and come back late around 10 pm after having dinner with him.

Nadeem had a research project ready for Dilobar. This project required her to be at Nadeem’s apartment during the middle of the day where they worked together. Soon I would not see my secretary in my office at all! Her absence did not bother me, because there was not much to  do in the office, but I was concerned that Nadeem was grooming her for sex.

I confronted Nadeem about it, but he cleverly said he has a new young girlfriend and he is busy with her. That’s why he was unable to hang out with me or go to lunch with me as we would  three or four times a week earlier.

By the end of academic year 2016, I knew what was going on. Dilobar and Nadeem were getting it on right under my nose. It was my duty to report him to Gerald, to the Vice-president and to Dr. Bang, but I did none of these things. Instead,  I told Gerald I would step down from my position as a Department Chair and will work part-time only from now on. I regret being a coward and violating workplace rules till this day.

The Dilobar saga played out for a while. The following semester, Nadeem hired Dilobar as his own secretary. I heard that she became very paranoid about other females and will interrupt frequently if Nadeem had female visitors!

During Summer of 2017, I visited Nadeem and his wife and kids in Magdeburg,  Germany. Nadeem will actually spend two months with his family every year. In the evening we gathered in a friend’s  house for dinner. After dinner, Nadeem described Katya’s (his wife) angry outburst  two nights ago. Apparently Katya had found out about Nadeem’s affair with Dilobar, she confronted him, and in her anger stomped on his feet with her shoes, breaking a couple of bones in his toes.  He lay down on the bed  in pain all night. In the morning she took pity on him and drove him to the hospital. Apparently, she was still pretty upset!

Katya’s anger was expected, but what I did not expect was Nadeems’ pride and joy when he was telling me about this. His whole body was swelling with pride. It was like : Look,  I am sixty-two years old, my wife is forty –three, and I have a twenty-two year old girlfriend and my wife is upset about it – how cool is that?

Like I said at the beginning , I do not despise him , but maybe I should!!

পাঁঠারসিক পরশ বাবু – a story in Bengali

পাঁঠারসিক পরশ বাবু

 আমরা বাঙ্গালীরা পাঁঠা ভালবাসি খুব। রবিবারের কলকাতার সকালে অনেক বেচারা পাঁঠা দেহ রাখে যাতে আমাদের  মধ্যবিত্ত  বাঙ্গালীর দুপুরের ভোজটা একটু জমজমাট হয়।

কিন্তু আমেরিকায় সুপারমার্কেটে পাঁঠা পাওয়া যায় না। ওরা  অনেক বিফ খায়, শুওরের মাংসও খায়। যদি খুব বড় শহরে থাকেন, সেখানে অনেক প্রবাসী লোক থাকে , যারা Jamaica, Puerto Rico, এসব দেশ থেকে  এসেছে। ওরাও পাঁঠা ভালবাসে খুব, আমি Jamaica-র লোকেদের  রেস্টুরেন্টে একবার মাটন খেয়েছিলাম , খুব ভাল খেতে।

 ওই সব দেশের লোক  বা বাংলাদেশীদের বিশেষ খাবারের দোকান থাকলে সেখানে মাটন পাবেন। কিন্তু আমেরিকার অন্য   শহরে পাঁঠা পাওয়া দুষ্কর।

 প্রায় তিরিশ বছর আগে আমেরিকার যে খুদে শহরে আমরা থাকতাম সেখানেই পরশ বাবুর সঙ্গে আলাপ হয়ে ছিল। অনেক দিন ইন্ডিয়াতে ভাল চাকরি করতেন, তারপর ছুটি নিয়ে এসেছিলেন  পি এইচ ডি করার জন্যে। আমি যদিও অধ্যাপক, আর উনি ছাত্র,  আমাদের বয়েস মোটামুটি একই , এই ৩৫/৩৬ হবে আর কি।মাঝে মাঝে আড্ডা হত। লোকটা  ভাল, কিন্তু মাথায় সবসময় নানারকম ধান্দা ঘুরছে।

একদিন বলল

“ জানেন তো , আমার বাবা মা বেড়াতে এসেছেন দেশ থেকে। ইলিশ মাছ ত পাওয়া যায়  না, ভাবছি একদিন পাঁঠা কিনে ওদের যদি খাওয়ানো  যায়”।  

আমি তো একদম না করে দিলাম।  “ এখানে মার্কেটে কত রকম  সবজি, চিকেন, ভেড়া সব পাওয়া যায়, বেশি পয়সা  দিলে ভালো চিংড়ী মাছ পাওয়া যায়, খাওয়াদাওয়া ত ভালই হয় নিশ্চয়ই , কেন আর  পাঁঠা খুঁজে সময় নষ্ট করবেন? জানেন ত এখানের দোকানে  ওসব পাওয়া যায় না”।

পরশ বাবুর উৎসাহ কম নয়। উনি বললেন “ এখান থেকে প্রায় ২০ কিমি দূরে একটা কসাইয়ের দোকান আছে গ্রামের মধ্যে, সেখানে অনেক রকমের মাংস বিক্রি করে। চলুন না রবিবার সকালে, যদি পাঁঠা  পাওয়া যায়”।

রবিবার সকালে আমি গাড়ী চালিয়ে ওর সঙ্গে দোকানটাতে চলে গেলাম। পাঁঠা পাওয়া গেল না।

“অনেক হয়েছে, চলুন বাড়ী যাই”, আমি বললাম।

পরশ বাবু ছাড়বার লোক নয়।  দোকানের সব কর্মচারীকে ধরে ধরে প্রশ্ন করতে লাগলেন “এখানে কোথায় গোট মিট পাওয়া যাবে জানেন”?

ওদেরই একজন বলল “ এখান থেকে দশ কিমি দূরে একটা  গ্রামে জীবজন্তু নীলাম হয় প্রতি রবিবার সকালে। সেখানে মাঝে মাঝে পাঁঠাও থাকে”।

“চলুন যাই” পরশ একপায়ে খাড়া।

আমি একটু অবাক হলাম, “ যতদূর শুনেছি ওই  সব জায়গায় চাষিরা গরু বাছুর, শূয়র এইসব নীলাম  করে তো, পাঁঠা আবার কে আনবে” ? তারপর জ্যান্ত পাঁঠা নিয়ে আপনি কি করবেন”?  

“সে আমি ব্যাবস্থা করে নোবো, আপনাকে কিছু ভাবতে হবে না, আগে চলুন না” ওনার উৎসাহের আর শেষ নেই।

সত্যি কথা বলতে কি, ওনার  প্রতিশ্রুতি খুব একটা সুবিধের মনে হোল না । আমি পেশায় অধ্যাপক, জন্তু জানোয়ারের সংগে খুব একটা মেলামেশা হয় না, যদিও ছাত্রদের মধ্যে কিছু পাঁঠা তো  সবসময়েই দেখতাম।

কৌতূহলের বশে চলে  গেলাম আরো দশ কিমি গাড়ী চালিয়ে। বড় একটা মাঠের ওপরে অনেক চাষি  তাদের গাড়ী,  ট্র্যাক্টর, ছোট লরি এই সব পার্ক করে রেখেছে। পাশে বিরাট তাঁবু খাটিয়ে নীলাম হচ্ছে।

গরু বাছুর, শূয়র এই সবই বেশী দেখা  গেল, তাঁবুর বাইরে এক জায়গায় তাদের রাখা হয়েছে, নম্বর ডেকে   ডেকে ভেতরে নিয়ে যাওয়া  হবে নীলামের জন্যে।

মাঠের অন্য দিকটা কিন্তু একদম চিড়িয়াখানা!! আমরা তো দেখে অবাক! বোঝা গেল, চাষিরা বাড়ীতে অনেক জন্ত জানোয়ার পোষে সখ করে, সেইগুলো থেকে আবার মাঝে মাঝে কিছু বিক্রি করে দেয়। দেখলাম Turkey মোরগ, এমু পাখি, লামা, আলপাকা, খরগোস, ময়ূর ,  ইগুয়ানা  আরও কত কি!   কত রকমের পাখিও রয়েছে  নীলামের জন্যে ।

পাঁঠা ? তাও ছিল। দুটো Angora goat, একদম সাদা ! বড় বড় লোম গায়ে, কি সুন্দর দেখতে –ইউরোপের জন্তু।  

পরশ বাবুর জিভে জল আসে আর কি!  “এগুলো খেতে একদম ফার্স্ট ক্লাস হবে দাদা”!

আমি বললাম “ আপনি কি পাগল হয়েছেন! এদের লোম  থেকে খুব দামী পশম হয় , ইউরোপে তার সোয়েটার  বিক্রি হয় প্রচুর দামে। এ কেউ খায় নাকি? একটা  ছাগল প্রায় ১০০০০ টাকা দাম হবে, বা আরও বেশী !”

 এই কথা শুনে পরশ বাবু দমে গেলেন একটু ।

(২০২১ সালে আমি ইন্টারনেটে Angora সোয়েটার বা মহেয়ার সোয়েটারের দাম চেক করলাম, ইউরোপে ফ্যান্সি দোকানে বিক্রি হচ্ছে ২/৩ লক্ষ টাকা  দামে। আবার চীনেরা ওই  একই জিনিস ৬/৭ হাজার টাকায় বিক্রি করছে। জাল Angora গোট না জাল সোয়েটার না ধাপ্পাবাজি কিছু বুঝলাম না!!)

তবে কয়েক মিনিট পরেই একটা লরি এল, তার পেছন থেকে দুটো কচি ছাগল তড়াক করে  এক লাফে নেবে এল। পরশ বাবু কি খুশী !

তাঁবুর মধ্যে  ঢোকা  হোল । একটা বড় গ্যালারীতে সব ক্রেতারা বসে আছে, তলায় একটা  টেবিল, সেখানে কাগজপত্র আর একটা  হাতুড়ী নিয়ে বসেছে নীলামদার আর তার সহকারী।

এক এক করে পশু আসে , আর গালারির ওপরে বসা ক্রেতারা হাত তোলে যদি দাম পছন্দ  হয়। আস্তে আস্তে দাম বাড়তে থাকে, যখন একজনও হাত তুলছে না, তখন সব থেকে বেশি দামের ক্রেতাকে বেচে  দেওয়া হয়। দাম ঠিক  হলে  হাতুড়ী মারা হয় একবার, মানে নীলাম শেষ, পরের আইটেম মিয়ে এস।

তা আমরা গ্যালারীর অনেক ওপরে  বসেছিলাম। প্রথম ছাগলটা  এলো , লোকে দাম বলতে শুরু করলো , কিন্তু পরশের দিকে কেউ নজর দিলো না, চটপট আর একটা লোক ছাগলটা কিনে নিলো  

পরশ বাবু ক্ষেপে খেলেন খুব। ছুটে তলায় গিয়ে নীলামদারকে কি বকুনি “ আমরা মজা করতে আসিনি, আমাদের দিকে একটু নজর রাখবেন স্যার”

আর একটা  ছাগল এলো । কেউ খুব একটা উৎসাহ দেখাল  না। আর আমরা একদম কিনে নিলাম তাকে ২৩ ডলারে ।

আর তারপরেই যতো  গণ্ডগোল !

কিছুক্ষণ পরে, টাকা জমা দিয়ে, আমরা তখন পারকিং এর মাঠে আমার গাড়ীর পাশে দাঁড়িয়ে আছি। আমার পাশে গর্বিত পরশ বাবু পাঁঠার দড়ি ধরে আছেন, আর পাঁঠাটা ব্যা ব্যা করছে।

“হুম, এবারে কি করা হবে?” আমি প্রশ্ন করলাম।

একটু আমতা আমতা করে উনি বললেন “ আচ্ছা বলছি কি, আপনার গাড়ীতে যদি ওকে চাপিয়ে কসাইখানায় নিয়ে যান , তা হলেই হবে”।

আমি এই শুনে  তেলে বেগুনে চটে গেলাম “এই আপনার প্ল্যান ছিল? আমার গাড়ী খুব পরিষ্কার , কোন গন্ধ নেই। ওখানে পাঁঠা ঢুকলে এখুনি হিসি করবে, আরও কি করবে বুঝতেই পারছেন। দু বছর সেই গন্ধ থেকে যাবে । আমার আমেরিকান সহকর্মী কাউকে গাড়ি চড়ালে সে ভাববে আমারি গায় পাঁঠার গন্ধ! ছি ছি !!

“আমি সব পরিষ্কার করে দোবো, কথা দিচ্ছি, প্লিস।“

“ বললেই হোল, পাগল নাকি, কোনও পাঁঠা আমার গাড়ীতে ঢুকবেনা”!

তারপর আমি বললাম, খুব শান্ত গলায় “ দেখুন,  আপনার দুটো অপশন আছে । এখান থেকে পাঁঠাকে নিয়ে হেঁটে যান কসাইখানায় , দশ কিমি দূরত্ব , দেখতে দেখতে পৌঁছে যাবেন !! অথবা আমি এখন ২০ কিমি গাড়ী চালিয়ে বাড়ী যাবো, সেখানে খুঁজে দেখবো কোন প্রতিবেশীর ছোট লরি আছে কিনা। যদি থাকে, তিন ঘণ্টার  মধ্যে ফিরে আসবো একদম।, আপনি এখানে অপেক্ষা করুন, পাঁঠার সঙ্গে গল্প করেই সময়টা  কাটিয়ে  দেবেন ।

এইশুনে পরশ বাবুর মাথা খারাপ হয়ে গেল।

যে গেট দিয়ে লরিগুলো বেরিয়ে যাচ্ছিল, সেখানে দড়ি হাতে  ধরে পরশ বাবু দাঁড়িয়ে গেলেন। একটা করে লরি বেরোয়  আর পরশ বাবু তাকে থামিয়ে কি কাতর অনুরোধ “ দাদা, আমার পাঁঠাকে একটা  লিফট দেবেন আপনার লরিতে” ?

আমি জীবনে খুব কমই অত হেসেছি। মোটাসোটা  এক  বাঙ্গালী বাবু, ঘামতে ঘামতে, পাঁঠার দড়ি  ধরে  এক গাড়ী থেকে আর এক গাড়ীতে যাচ্ছেন ছুটে ছুটে, হাঁপাতে হাঁপাতে, আর পাঁঠাটা সমানে ব্যা ব্যা করে ডেকে  চলেছে। এরকম দৃশ্য আমেরিকায় আমি কোন দিন  দেখিনি।  আমেরিকান চাষিরা কেউ অবাক হল, কেউ মজা পেল , সবাই ওকে  কাটিয়ে গেট দিয়ে বেরিয়ে গেল। পরশ বাবু আস্তে আস্তে মুষড়ে পড়ছেন দেখলাম। হায় ভগবান!

আমার পেটটা হাসতে হাসতে প্রায় ফেটে যায় আর কি! কিন্তু ভগবান আছেন!

একটা  ভাঙা ঝড়ঝড়ে লরি করে ভগবানের উদয় হোল। দেখতে একদম আমেরিকান চাষিদের মতো।খোঁচা খোঁচা দাড়ি, নোংরা ওভারঅল , সামনের দাঁত অর্ধেক নেই।

 ভগবান বললেন “ অবশ্য আপনার পাঁঠা নিয়ে যাব। তবে ট্যাক্সি ভাড়া  লাগবে” !

ছুটে  গিয়ে পরশ বাবু পাঁঠাকে তার লরিতে তুলে দিলেন। মুখে একগাল হাসি ! আমার কাছে এসে  বললেন “ দাদা  আমি ওই  লরিতে  চেপে  যাচ্ছি, আপনি পেছনে পেছনে আসুন”।

আমি বললাম “ওই  ঝড়ঝড়ে গাড়ি চড়া কেন , ওতে এসি পর্যন্ত  নেই, এই গরমে কষ্ট করার  কি  দরকার”?

“যদি আমার পাঁঠা নিয়ে ও  ভেগে পড়ে” ?

আবার আমার হাসি পেলো “ও আপনার ছোট একটা  পাঁঠা চুরি করে জেলে যাবার ঝুঁকি নেবে, আপনি পাগল নাকি”?

‘কাউকে বিশ্বাস নেই দাদা , সাবধানের  মার নেই”! পরশ বাবুর ভগবানের অপর বেশি আস্থা নেই দেখলাম।

পাঁঠার ট্যাক্সি ঠিকই পৌঁছল কসাইখানায়। কিছুক্ষণ পরে আমরা দুজনেই হাতে একটা করে বড়  বাক্স নিয়ে বাড়ির দিকে যাত্রা করলাম। প্রত্যেকের ভাগে সাড়ে সাত কিলো কচি পাঁঠার মাংস। সাংঘাতিক ভাল খেতে। আমরা খেলাম, অন্যদের নেমন্তন্য করে খাওয়ালাম, অনেক সপ্তাহ আর মাংস কেনার দরকার  হয় নি।

খরচা কত হল? তিরিশ বছর আগে, পাঁঠার দাম ২৩ ডলার, ট্যাক্সি ৩ ডলার, কসাই  ৯ ডলার আর ৬০ কিমি গাড়ি চালানোর জন্যে তেল, আর নীলামঘরের দুটো  টিকিট এক ডলার। যদি প্রশ্ন করেন ২০২১ সালের  কলকাতার টাকায় এর মূল্য  কত হবে, সেই প্রশ্নের সঠিক উত্তর দেওয়া শক্ত হবে।কারন দেখতে হবে আমেরিকায় তিরিশ বছরে  কত মূল্যবৃদ্ধি  হয়েছে, ইন্ডিয়াতে কত মূল্যবৃদ্ধি হয়েছে, তারপর ডলার/রুপি বিনিময়ের হার কতটা বদলেছে – একটা ছোট গবেষণা পত্র লিখতে হবে আর কি!

তা না করে সোজা উত্তর দিচ্ছি, যা মোট খরচা হয়েছিল ১৫ কিলো মাংসের জন্যে, আমেরিকায়  ১৫ কিলো চিকেন কিনতে ওই সময় অন্তত আড়াই গুন বেশি পয়সা লাগত। সুতরাং পরশ বাবু সত্যিই আমাদের অনেক পয়সা বাঁচিয়ে  দিয়েছেন সেদিন।

মাস দুয়েক পরে  পরশ বাবু ফোন  করলেনঃ

“জানেন আমার ছোট গাড়িটা বেচে একটা ছোট লরি কিনব ভাবছি। সবজি পাইকারি কেনা যাবে, আসবাবপত্র যন্ত্রপাতি এই সব আনতে কোন ঝামেলা হবে না”।

আমি হাঁসতে হাঁসতে বললাম, “আর মাঝে মাঝে পাঁঠাও কেনা যাবে! তবে ছেলে মেয়ে, বউ ওদের নিয়ে চলাফেরা করবেন  কি করে? এ তো  ইন্ডিয়া নয়, লরির পেছনে বাচ্ছাদের চাপালে পুলিশ বিরাট ফাইন করবে”।

“ওই আমি লরি চালাব, আর পাশের সিটটায় তিনজন গাদাগাদি করে বসে যাবে আর কি”। এটা  বলার পরে পরশ বাবু আবার    নিজেকেই  শুধরে  নিলেন ।

“না দাদা, ও সব  হবে না, বউ এসব  শুনলে চটে  বোম হয়ে যাবে”  

পরশ বাবু পাঁঠা রসিক হতে পারেন, কিন্তু বুদ্ধিমান লোক।

বউকে চটিয়ে পৃথিবীতে কোন  কাজই হয় না !!

The American Dream: A cliche? Part 6

American Dream: A Cliché? Part 6

Nature, Nurture,  Culture, Future !

No Dear Reader, I am not planning to write some  terrible  poetry.  I am just writing some words that rhyme and are also relevant for raising children.  There are other words that are also relevant that don’t rhyme with the above. Like luck, genes, resources, talent ,  discipline  and so on.

You may have noticed that the children arrive in this world  as little munchkins completely helpless and unable to survive by themselves. At that stage, parental responsibilities mainly involve primary care, like feeding ,  diapering,  cleaning up, wiping off spittle and barf,  and making sure that various  self-destructive activities are prevented successfully.  The babies  also need lots of cuddling and loving, but they are so cute anyways that most parents  voluntarily exceed  this requirement.  

While primary care  involves a lot of time and energy, what comes later is much more challenging.

You need to guide the child patiently so he can bloom into a successful and happy adult. Human beings have been trying to find a formula for this for thousands of years.  Religious manuscripts, ancient texts,  modern books , tons of psychologists’ opinions  and other assorted gobbledygook are all available to you in case you want some help with this as a parent.  I will tell you what.  Nothing works  as it is supposed to when you are raising children. A kid that behaves like a horny monkey in his teenage years suddenly settles down and becomes a scientist. Then again, a goal-oriented stable kid gets into drugs in his twenties and messes up his life. The pitfalls are numerous. There are major surprises, massive failures, and sometimes totally unexpected successes!

I present you  two cases,  a son with a tough father, and a daughter with a devoted  mother.

Ryan Clifford

Norman  Clifford was talking to his wife. They were both in their late forties.  It was a beautiful day in late spring in Lawrence, Kansas.  About five rose bushes in their garden were in full bloom.  Magnolias did not freeze their buds this year, so there were two small magnolia trees in bloom. Summer flowers have been planted and have started blooming slowly. The air is fresh, the temperature a cool 65 degrees Fahrenheit .  Their grown son,  Ryan, is going to college in Seattle, Washington, far away. His classes just ended and he just came back home to spend the summer with mom and dad. 

“One more year”, Norman said . “By this time next year, he is going to graduate and it will be all worth it”.

“You better believe it” Susan , his wife, said “our savings are seriously diminished, for sending him to a private college. If we sent him to University of Kansas, it would have cost about a quarter of this. “

But he was getting a high quality education in Washington, which would lead to better jobs and perhaps a scholarship  if he wanted to get a law degree or even a Ph.D.

The problem, right now, though is that nice young man hasn’t been too friendly for the last two days. In fact, he has spent most of his time in his bedroom. He is writing.  Science fiction.  He is obsessed with Sci-fi.

Susan said to her husband, “ Did you read Ryan’s recent piece? You know, specially,  Ryan  brings in all those Greek mythological characters and puts avatars of them in the future worlds. That’s some crazy sci-fi. Maybe we are looking at a future Bradbury or Ursula Le Guin”

Norman laughed   “I am proud of him too. He is a good kid”.

They were happy parents, waiting for the month of May next year, when their son will graduate from college and start a new life on his own. Maybe he will try to go for his Ph.D. if he gets a scholarship. Maybe he will find a job in a bank or the government. Either way, they are happy with the outcome. So far.

Ryan kept on writing that  summer. He sent stories to friends and other writers who loved them. Finally, he decided to do something drastic, that will change his life.  And his parents’ lives.

Sometime around July, a month before college started, Ryan told his parents that he only wanted to write. No college, no more distractions, he just wanted to be a full-time writer.

His parents were devastated. Specially Norm,  who was very much a pragmatist. He tried to explain to his son the idea of a sunk cost. Three years of college tuition and other expenses have already been paid. Now Ryan wants to give it all up. If he grits his teeth and finishes just  one more year of college, he will have a Bachelor’s degree from a well-known  private college, and he will never be unemployed. All options will remain open for him, even if he prefers to write fiction for a while.

But Ryan would not budge.  Sci-fi was his destiny and it was calling him. It was now or never.  

Norman Clifford  was a portly man, short and stout. We played squash once  a week for a while. Squash is a game that requires quick movement and flexibility of limbs. Norman didn’t have that. But  He had masterful control over his shots.  At that time, I was crazy fit physically, buff and flexible and all, but I could not control my shots that well. So, we were pretty even on the squash court. But he often hurt himself playing – sprain an ankle, or  have a muscle spasm and we needed to take a long pause in the middle of our game.  But after a few minutes, he will return to our game, push through the pain and most of the time kicked my butt with his beautiful ball control.  I admired his tenacity. 

He brought in Ryan to the gym that summer. Ryan was short too like his dad, but he lifted heavy weights regularly, and looked like it too. We tried to play cutthroat squash , but it was a hilarious disaster. Three bodies running forward, backward and sideways  in the small squash court, chasing  a ball that bounces from wall to wall, and we all were swinging  our long rackets! Many accidents were bound to happen!  I hit Ryan on his buttocks  with the squash ball, Ryan hit his dad on his elbow with his racket,  and Norman ran backwards and bumped into me sending me sprawling on the floor. We all had bruises and welts after that game. Never again, we decided!! Three was indeed a crowd!

I did not hang out with Ryan much. I saw him on the university campus a few times and assumed he was a college student in our college.  He had an easy smile, and sparkling eyes. He told me a little bit about  his obsession with sci-fi  and gave me a printout of one his short stories. I found his story very  intriguing , but  the whole plot was about a novel universe many years in the future and a little story could not really do justice to  the grand scale of his imagination. I felt he needed to write novels if he wanted to succeed.  Later on I heard he is doing exactly that.

You know, kids can cause a lot of pain – they can get into drugs, crime and all that. But this kid, Ryan,  did not do any of that. He just wanted to write, and be famous. He was a good kid.

His parents gave him a chance.  Well, kind of. They did not kick him out, he was allowed to stay in the house and  work as their unpaid servant, housekeeper and cook.  There was  always a seething resentment in  his dad’s mind  about Ryan spending all his money and  not getting his degree.

Ryan kept on writing, he was tenacious too, like his dad.  And he cooked breakfast and dinner for his parents everyday, cleaned the house from top to bottom and mowed the lawn and took care of the flowers. Every day,  he would usually walk about two kilometers to the university library to do his research and write on the library’s computer.

Every one of his friends and relatives and all the amateur writers he knew mostly loved his fiction.  About two years later his manuscript was finally finished and he sent his novel to several publishers,

This did not go well!

No one showed much interest!

 I lost touch with Ryan right around this point

As often happens with budding writers, Ryan put in a lot of effort on his manuscript. I saw him walking to the library often (he only chauffeured the family car, could not use it for himself). He would read mostly mythology and physics and astronomy in the library and use the library computer to write. He was young , good-looking, cultured and well-read. But let’s face it, not having any cash whatsoever is not  conducive to having a nice girlfriend or future wife.

 Imagine that you say to an American girl    “ Would you pick me up in your car and take me to dinner at your expense and  then take me to a movie later? And kind of repeat this for the next fifteen times, because I am broke ?”

He did not get many dates. I guess he did not meet a special professional woman who would fall  in love with his good looks, his toned physique  and his love of Sci-fi ,  and bear his children and support him in his writing career. 

 When I met him last about fifteen years ago, he was  forty plus  years old, still single , graying a little bit, but still in very good shape. He told me he was not writing much any more.  A total of three novels he had written over the years could not be published. He did publish a few short stories in Sci-fi mags, but the spotlight that he wanted with a book from a reputable publishing house is unlikely to come about any time soon.

But he had  found a new purpose in life.  He told me all four of his grandparents are still alive, but very old and ailing. Since he is the only person with free time, he lives with them during most of the year. His own parents are also getting old as well, so he helps out at the house for the rest of the time. Old age living in USA is hard. Apart from medical problems, everyday living, driving, cleaning, cooking, and  everything else  needs assistance which is usually too expensive if  done by hired help. So Ryan will serve this important family need  as a caretaker for old relatives for years to come.  As far as Sci-fi is concerned, it is pretty much over at this point.

I don’t feel bad for Ryan, he chose his own destiny – a lifetime of penury and forced celibacy which could all be avoided if he so wished – all to follow his dreams.  Even at forty-plus years of age, he could go back and finish college and then get a decent job. But now  he was a beaten man. His failure hung heavy on his mind.

Well, what else could the parents have done? When Ryan started writing first, his parents could have acted a little different.  What about setting up a little studio for Ryan and giving him an old car and a secondhand computer  and asking him to do only a part of the housework?  So that he could write in peace for days instead of driving his mom to the supermarket, mowing the lawn and cooking and getting dinner ready , and then walking two kilometers to the library to write? Yes,  Norm had enough money to provide  all this, and  both parents were healthy for at least fifteen years after Ryan started writing. So   they did not need   to drive him so hard.

  I realize that a lot of people have survived and succeeded in very adverse conditions.   Did Professor Clifford do the right thing? Maybe he could have spoiled Ryan a little bit. He was their only child.  

Ruby Basu

In the early nineties, I went to India after my divorce, a free spirit at last. On the way back, I met a Parsi family, the man worked in Columbia , Missouri  as a physician. He had three beautiful daughters , the oldest was about thirty. I was barely forty years old.  A few weekends later, I went to visit my good friend  Raju  in Columbia, about three hours drive from Lawrence, Kansas.  Of course the goal was to visit the Parsi doc and his family. Well, it turned out that two of the older daughters were in serious relationships, and while the  third one was  flirty , she was barely nineteen years old.  So that was that.

Raju took me to a Bengali party and that’s where I met Munmun Basu, Ruby’s mom.  She was a professor at the University of Missouri, and I was at University of Kansas. We drove to each other’s place several times during the following three months

Given my reputation, the rumor in the Indian circle was that Munmun and I were fornicating like rabbits!

To the rumor mongers I say “Bite me”!

Before any intimacy occurs (including the activity mentioned above),  mature adults usually talk to each other about the possibility of a relationship. Over the course of a few visits, Munmun revealed her long list of requirements to be satisfied before she gets involved with anyone. She did not actually give me a list, but I am putting together a list for your convenience.  Although she liked me, she demanded that I must

  1. Be totally committed to her from now on
  2. Keep the relationship an absolute secret, in fact deny in front of everyone that we have a relationship until she gets divorced from her husband in  India. We can  not  even go out and be seen together in restaurants or movies or parks.
  3. Wait for me for at least eight years ! She will wait for six years until she gets tenure  at her job, which will give her job security. Then she will take a leave of absence , go to India for two years, file for divorce and get her share of the couple’s ancestral property in India
  4. Get my rewards at the end!! Soon after she gets divorced , she  will get married , about eight years from now.  Ruby will then join either Princeton, or Yale or Harvard as an undergrad. This will cost  Munmun  most of   her retirement funds as well as the aforementioned funds from her share of their  ancestral property. Thus she will essentially be left with zero savings in her mid-forties!

I was freaking shocked at this.   I tried to explain to her that America has a lot of excellent educational institutions besides the  top ten. It is not worthwhile to go to  any of  the top ten schools as an undergrad with your own money unless your family is loaded . If you search carefully , you will find a good college not in the top ten that will cost about a fifth of Yale or Princeton and provide a great undergrad education in your daughter’s field of choice.

 Only Post-graduate degrees from top ten schools are highly valued , but they are mostly financed by scholarships.  And with a good academic record from a good college not in the top ten, it is perfectly possible to get a scholarship in one of the top ten schools for a Ph.D.  In fact, several  of my ex-students have done just that .

“My baby comes first.  She is going to Princeton University”. She kept on saying softly.

“You realize you are severely restricting your chances  of  finding a partner now or in the future”? I wanted to know.

She nodded and wiped her eyes.

We did remain friends, talking over the phone occasionally for many years.

How was Ruby when she was eleven  years old? Well, she was bright, but ignorant about the real world, precocious and highly opinionated.  A budding feminist, she thought all men are pigs, trying to grab women’s    body parts, and all older middle aged men and women are stupid, period.

Since she was not my child, I could not yell at her, which is exactly what I wanted to do.  I let her dream about how she and her nubile  friends would change the world in the next ten years or ten minutes with their infinite wisdom,   and kept our conversations at a minimum.

Years later,  Ruby did get admitted to Princeton and by the time she graduated, Munmun was left with virtually no money besides her monthly salary.  Ruby  majored in Environmental Studies. Seriously, I mean, when you are draining your mom’s lifetime savings, you should be studying a mainstream subject like Geology, Chemistry, Political Science or Economics so that there are ample employment opportunities for you after you graduate. You can specialize in environmental studies at a later stage! But as  I said, she is not my daughter!

There were three budding internet magazines, all high quality, that just started when she graduated – Wired, Slate and Chalkboard. She started working for Chalkboard.com as a junior reporter.  The salary was low, and she had to live in the New York City area, where rents are sky-high.

After she started working at chalkboard.com, she started vigorously pursuing her environmental agenda. I do not know much about what happened  for about ten years. About three years ago, she published a book on the big river in India.

The book is fun to read. It is based on her personal  and family experience, some legends about the river, some discussion about the religious role of the river in people’s lives, and her travel experiences at many selected points of this huge river that stretches from the Himalayas to all the way through Bangladesh and the Bay of Bengal. There are  many interesting facts about environmental impacts on the river, about the government’s recent cleanup and other anti-pollution programs. But the book is not literary fiction, nor is it  a product of original scholastic research.  It is a wonderful  piece of  environmental journalism with a fascinating personal narrative. 

The book sells on Amazon for about six dollars (450 RS.). It took her more than ten years to write the book, requiring a lot of trips to India and a lot of trips inside India.  She stayed with relatives and friends and some contacts from her environmental groups. But  it still cost a lot of money  that she could not afford on her own. Her mother generously helped out whenever she needed it. I will let you do the math about how much royalty she would get from the book over her lifetime. I would guess her lifetime royalty from the book will cover about half of the cost of all of her numerous trips to India and Bangladesh. Ultimately, therefore,  it is a fantastic labor of love that will get her major recognition in the environmental circles.  

Ruby is past forty now, a well-known environmentalist and a preacher of sustainable approaches to resource utilization. People in her circle love her work.  If I told you her real name you probably would have heard of it, if you are familiar with this field.  But you may not know one interesting thing about social activists. They don’t earn enough money!  Which would not be a problem if they  lived in a small town in America and lived a simple life. But “activists” are active! –they go to places, they  organize rallies, they visit big cities in USA and sometimes abroad, they try to visit remote places in the world to develop their agenda!  If they are scions of a wealthy family, then  that’s not a problem. Father’s stocks and bonds are cashed in every year to meet  any shortfall in expenses.

But our Ruby, she is still a reporter for Chalkboard.com. Because of her activities, she prefers to live in New York City area. After paying her rent in NYC, there is barely enough left over for  her other regular expenses. But  If she goes  to a conference in California 4000 km away, she will need to pay for airfare, hotel and her meals. Most of the time, she does not have that. There are huge charity events hosted by the environmental groups in posh hotels.  Even if you are an invited speaker, you have to  own a stash of high-fashion clothes  – each of these outfits with accessories and shoes cost about  at least five hundred dollars.  Even if an environmental group pays for your airfare to a rally in Europe, you will still need money for your expenses once you are there. And if you take a trip to the Amazon Rain Forest to organize  some new initiative, its going to cost many thousands of dollars. Even if your non-profit organization covers part of the  expenses , you will still need to come up with a chunk of cash from your own pocket.

 Ruby does not have this money. She is honest as  a rock, so she will  not sell herself to a multi-national corporation, those that  are always standing in the wings to help you out if you put in a good word for their activities that are allegedly harmful

So who pays for all these? You guessed it. Her mom , now approaching seventy, still teaching in Missouri,  keeps on helping her out every month with a part of  her monthly salary. She is a single mom with a good job whose only daughter  graduated from college fifteen years ago. She should now be very,  very comfortable, thinking about retirement and some  major travel . But apart from occasional trips back to India, she can’t do much of anything else. And she does  not even think of retirement. I guess she will work until she can’t any more. But she is very proud of Ruby, and rightly so.

Lifelong nurturing? Heck yeah! Does Ruby acknowledge her mom’s lifelong sacrifices? I don’t have firsthand knowledge about this, but from what I heard is that she remains the same opinionated, egocentric person that she was when she was eleven years old.  She  thinks her mom’s academic and professional achievements are trivial. In her book, in the page for Acknowledgements, her mother’s name is mentioned along with a hundred other people’s names – nothing special!

Years ago, when Ruby had just started working, I had a phone conversation with her mom.

“You know, Ruby started working, but she still needs help. I  have to help her strategically, otherwise she would be offended. She is a very proud person. ” She told me.

“Huh? Strategic help? How is that?”  I was confused.

“Like, if she mentions a rally in Europe coming up in a couple of months, I give her a big birthday gift or Christmas gift of $3000 or so in cash.  I buy her tickets to India every year.  If she travels inside India , I sometimes pitch in with a hotel room or first class train fare. Sometimes I send money to my relatives and then they give her gifts with that money to meet her other travel  expenses”.  And she has been doing this every year for ever.

I also do not think that her mom’s professional   accomplishments are extraordinary. Nevertheless, her mom  remains an extraordinary person in my eye.

A Bad Girl Grows Up

A Bad Girl Grows Up (revised)

This is written in a different style, kind of rapidfire, without much heed to character development or background. There is only one point, revealed at the end. Yes, it involves sexuality and drug use. And it  is more or less a true story.

This  girl I met in America  is so bad that I could not possibly tell you her true life story – you will think I made it all up. So I will tell you just a little bit, because truth, in this case, will definitely  be less credible than fiction.

Misty was, and still is, a very pretty girl. Dark brown curly hair, piercing eyes, a classic Durga face and a million dollar smile. Wait, she has many laughs, one for seduction that will blow you away, another one is a joyous laughter that will make you fall in love with her in a second.

She ran away from home when she was fourteen.  A pimp hooked up with her and she sold her body to old men in a far away city for a while.

Her mom could not handle her after she came back. She lived with foster parents.

During her first year in the foster home, she fell in love for the first time. With an older man.  She always liked older men, the bad girl!

She had a daughter. Named her Summer Love.  She was fifteen when Summer was born. Misty loved her more than anything else.

When Summer was two years old, Misty left her foster home with   another female friend. Went to a big city with a fake ID to dance as a stripper. The cops came and arrested her, and took Summer away. She was seventeen. That’s the last time she saw Summer.

Let’s fast forward fifteen years. Misty has lived a fast life, indeed. Burglar, thief, hustler, con-artist, stripper, part-time hooker – she has done it all, with an off and on drug-addiction.  And lots of men, mostly older men – her boyfriends, sex buddies, men she conned, men she robbed, men she blackmailed, men who gave her money and men who gave her drugs.

She had three more children from three different men.  Miraculously, as the children grew older, she came to her senses. The hard drugs stopped. She started working regular jobs.

I got involved a few years ago, one of the older men in her life. I didn’t know about her past, I just succumbed to her beauty as a lonely middle-aged  Desi fool.

Sometimes, after our wild sexual encounters, there were tender moments when she would tell me bits and pieces of her life. That’s when I found out how much she loved Summer.

“I would do anything to hold my baby girl just one time” Misty  told me many times.

During late night, when she is alone, her children asleep, she lays awake, thinking about her beautiful Summer Love, now a big girl. Does she think about her mom?  What does she look like?

Misty would never know.

Or so she thought.

Right after New Year, Angela and David, her younger children, found Summer Love on the web. Misty and the kids looked at her picture for a long time. There she was, on Facebook, her profile reeking of solid middle-class ambience. Her adoptive parents must be very well-off. And, she is as beautiful as her mom was as a teenager, with the same dazzling smile!

Tears welled up in Misty’s piercing eyes. She never thought she would see her again.

Her children contacted Summer, and now she wants to talk to her mom, meet her mom.

But wait! This is complicated!

If Misty meets Summer, Summer will ask questions. A lot of them. She will meet her rainbow siblings – a black boy, a white boy and a Hispanic girl. It would be hard to hide a lifetime of debauchery, promiscuity and drug addiction from a seventeen year old and very curious teenage girl.

If Misty tries to lie through her teeth, Summer will know in a minute.

In any case, she will likely bolt from her trashy mom and go back to her middle class cocoon.

If Misty does not want to meet Summer, she will be so hurt that she probably will never contact her mom again.

Misty texts me. Yesterday.

“What should I do? I am crying. A lot!”

 I am in India now, where   twenty-five year old virgins swoon at their first kiss.  In a few weeks, I will be back with her. A different  world, indeed.

“Welcome to life, girl” I text back to her.

She will get to hug her daughter, finally.  And she probably will lose her again. Forever.

The bad girl will grow up now. It’s about time.

Mastan in El Dorado

Mastan in   El Dorado

This story is a little bit about child abuse, but it is more about an ordinary human being living his useless life.

It’s not that people have to get over childhood traumas with hard work, or by becoming famous, or by finding a meaningful relationship or by going to the right therapist. Sometimes stuff happens unexpectedly and randomly and works as a panacea. The apparently sleazy stuff is thus an integral part of the story.

Is it autobiographical? Well, I was never a student of pharmacy or chemistry!!

(“Mastan” is a pejorative term that means a bully or a ruffian, but with a bit of sarcasm, it may also refer to an alpha-male )

A while ago, in the fifties or the sixties, life was different in Kolkata suburbs. Sure, glamorous Park Street was only about thirty-five minutes away, if you could  hop on to one of those smoke-belching buses. But  right in your neighborhood,  you would find grazing water buffaloes beside dirt roads,  huge ponds,  fruit orchards and many empty fields for kids to play. There were also swarms of emaciated  beggars, specially in early autumn, tons of garbage  around open sewers,  and hordes of mangy hungry dogs that would chase  children after nightfall.  

Every few hours, radios would start blaring from the local Paan shops,  forcing you to listen to samachar (news) from Vividh  Bharti  followed by shrill Bollywood songs from their  tortured  speakers.  Apart from the radio, entertainment options were limited for kids. On the high end,  one could fight tooth and nail with the big boys for a cheap ticket in the brimming movie theaters.  On the low end,  one  could listen to “jatra” – a unique Bengali open air melodramatic performance attended by the  unwashed  and  the incredibly flatulent masses.

Overall though, it was not a bad place for kids. They played a lot everyday, sneaked  into the orchards , bribed the caretakers  to explore empty vacation homes, climbed trees and ate tropical fruits , swam in the ponds,  terrorized birds with their  slingshots  and  did not miss video games and  internet  chats even a single bit.

The Gods bullied Bishu right from the beginning.  Among a group of  lean, mean and swarthy Bengali boys,  Bishu stood out like a sore  thumb with his  chubby cheeks and  big fat lips.  

Soon nicknamed  Bhonda  (which basically translates into a “fat retarded slob”),  he was subject to friendly ribbing that soon escalated to vicious tormenting.

Gaadon, the chiseled athletic boy with a precocious  moustache,  was the local mastan. He   arranged various fun  activities for Bhonda –bashing. Under his supervision,  five or six boys pelted him with rotten mangoes that littered the grounds in the orchards – this game was called target-practice.  Bhonda had matching  black and blue bruises  after every trip to the mango garden.

Another more complicated  game,  called tagging,  was developed  by trial and error by Gaadon.  Bishu liked to take a shortcut across the big field  with the banyan tree in the middle.  Two boys, from two sides of the field,  would start running towards Bishu and smack him hard from the back, usually knocking him to the ground breathless. The winner was the first boy to get to him.

Bishu did not like tagging  much.

 Around the fifth time he was tagged, he got up and slapped Gaadon in the face.  A cool Gaadon  gripped  Bishu’s  testicles and kept on squeezing.

 Bishu could feel his unkempt sharp nails ripping through his pants and cutting into his flesh.  The exquisite pain froze him, speechless and motionless.

“Look!” Gaadon giggled as he released his grip and pointed Bishu’s condition to the other boy  “the gundoo is frozen.  Can’t even move!”

In a magnanimous gesture of forgiveness, Gaadon slapped Bishu lightly on the cheek,

“Don’t ever touch me again”, he smiled and walked away.

Later on, on the cricket field,  Bishu was booed off as some of his privates were hanging through the hole in his shorts.

At night, his mom chided him for ripping his pants.

Gaadon later boasted about his “ freezing” game and wanted to demonstrate in front of his friends.  Fortunately, Bishu was quick to retreat from his approach and Gaadon caught up with him only one other  time. No one else was around then, so Bishu suffered in shame alone.

An old bicycle that his uncle gave him on his fourteenth birthday was Bishu’s ticket to freedom. He became a loner, stopped playing all sports (he sucked anyways) and left his friends alone. He rode miles after miles, first in his neighborhood, then all over Kolkata and all the way to the nearby villages.  He didn’t build any social skills, but developed some formidable calf muscles over time.

Things became blurry in his late teenage years. The Naxalites  terrorized everyone first, then the police terrorized the Naxals and the youth in all Kolkata suburbs.  At the very end, the cops were rounding up young men at random and shooting them.  Every young man in Kolkata suburbs kept a very low profile, trying to be invisible.

It was  tough for educated young men back then. Bishu studied very hard and got a bachelor’s degree and an  M.Sc.  in chemistry, but missed getting a first class both times.  That shut him off from all competitive exams for civil service  and bank jobs. He taught High School and got paid six hundred  fifty measly  rupees every  month.

His big break came when Arjunkaka, a distant relative, called from America.

“You have a degree in chemistry?” He asked Bishu

“Why, yes, an M.Sc.  Are you offering me a job in America?” Bishu asked jokingly.

“Hell yeah” Arjunkaka was  very interested. “Get a diploma in Pharmaceutical Science.  As  soon as possible.  America  is going through a serious shortage of pharmacists and nurses. You can get a work permit right from Kolkata if you can qualify. This  window will close in a couple of years, so hurry up, OK?

For once  in his life, things went smoothly. For a chemistry graduate,  getting the pharmacy  diploma was a piece of cake.  He got his visa fast and Arjun uncle  graciously gave him a loan for his one-way ticket to America.

  On his maiden Pan Am flight to America, Bishu imbibed a substantial amount of alcohol, as opposed to the little Chhota pegs  that he had a few times before. He was hoping to get a nice buzz and some  nice dreams to tide him over the long journey.  A flurry of Bollywood maidens appeared,  soon to be replaced by a sneering Gaadon  and his jeering friends.

“Let’s freeze the idiot!” Gaadon screamed!

“Dear Gods!” Bishu said to himself “Get him out of my dreams, please!”

“Bon Voyage,”  giggled the Gods, as the plane soared through the skies.

El Dorado is a mythical place awash with gold and jewels  and   all  a man can ask for.

Bishu, our tormented soul, is  now  alone in a foreign land.

What does he have to do with El Dorado?

Let’s find out!

Bishu, our spineless hero,  escaped  the  post-Naxal slum of Calcutta and landed with a thud in USA in the early 1970’s.  The United States of America and Bishu shocked each other repeatedly during  their initial encounter.

After stunning  several prospective employers with his utterly unintelligible Indian accent, Bishu realized  that he cannot get a job as a pharmacist which involves active interaction with the customers, even though he  had a valid license. Nobody in America appeared to understand his English,  The best offer he received, and accepted, was that of a Pharmacy Assistant. It paid a little bit more than minimum wage and involved mainly stuffing pills in bottles and writing patients’ info on labels.

But this was still far better  than the 650 rupees he made as a schoolteacher. He lived in his very own small apartment, ate very good food once  he learned how to cook and even had an old car after a year.

His colleagues  were mainly  college students. His bosses, the pharmacists,  were all  younger than Bishu. 

Bishu was  too  shy  to socialize  with his mostly  young and female American colleagues, he would start shaking and stammering  in their close proximity.

But he would talk to Neeta Patel, one of the Gujju pharmacy assistants who had grown up in in a very conservative, religious and strictly  vegetarian family in America. Bishu was her boy toy and her secret rebellion.    

On Saturday mornings, Neeta would show up  in Bishu’s apartment, get rid of her oversize sweatshirt and loose jeans  and change into one of Bishu’s  T-shirts. They would lunch on some Barbeque  pork ribs or     hamburgers.  Afterwards, putting up her naked hairy legs on the coffee  table (her mom won’t let her shave!), she would open up a bottle of vodka or Jack Daniels. While sensuous Bollywood music played on the stereo, they would smoke Marlboros and get drunk together. After  a while, Neeta would take her shirt off and unzip Bishu’s pants. They would finally fall asleep together on the couch.

Around eight in the evening, Neeta would wake up, shower, put on her street clothes, chew a lot of elaichi and head home like a good little girl to join the family supper of poori  and saabji.

Yes, Bishu  lost his virginity  to a chubby and  plain  classic Gujju girl . She  told him she has been spending weekends like this with different boys since she was sixteen!

“ At some point of time, my dad  would give me away as a virgin to a fresh engineer from Gujarat” She once told Bishu,  still locked in his  embrace..

“How would you handle it?” He asked.

“With this, my dear.” She lifted up a  packet of tomato Ketchup that came with their take-out ribs.

Bishu frowned, then his eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

“You don’t say!”  He said, and they both burst out  in laughter, Neeta cradling his head on her  flabby and droopy  oversize breasts.

Gaadon would come back like an express train in his dreams after every  episode with Neeta.

“Even in America, you are riding a buffalo, you idiot!” He would taunt Bishu with his ever-present sneer!

After a few years, Bishu’s  horrible Kolkata accent improved enough so he finally snagged a real pharmacist’s job. He continued staying in his small place, but started sending some money home, and saving a lot of it, dreaming for the first time  about a wife and family.

Then he saw her. And her friend. Two young women, all dressed up, in a  beat up battered car, and a very loud sound system. Right in his parking lot. They moved in to an apartment on the other end of the complex. One of them had a small child.

In the drugstore where Bishu worked, the prescription drugs and the pharmacists worked behind the counters. But the rest of the store had a lot of beauty and health products, baby stuff and some soft drinks and snacks and all , and people would shop there just like in a supermarket.

He saw the pretty one shopping there. She was always dressed up and made up to the hilt, every part of her body was driving Bishu crazy. Apparently she saw him too.

A few days later, she spoke to him in the parking lot. She was not shy, at all.

“Hi, I am Misty. Who are you? Are you a pharmacist? “ She asked him

Bishu told her his name and he said he was a pharmacist and he saw her shopping at the drugstore several times

“Yes I go there often, Hey,  can you get me some Valium?” She had a seductive smile on her face. She did not waste time.

“No” Bishu laughed, “I will lose my job”

“How about those pain-pills?” Misty moved closer to Bishu, her  taut  breasts almost touching him.

“I will party with you if you get me some” she moved  one leg closer to touch his thigh.

“Nope” Bishu was persistent

“You  are no fun” she pouted, and smiled again “may be I can make you change your mind later”.

A few days later, he talked to both Laura and Misty. While Misty was slender and overbearingly cute, Laura had a very pretty face, big boobs and absolute thighs – Bishu  used to call them babymakers! Still stammering, he managed to invite them for a drink. They came, made some small talk, and had iced tea. He found out that Misty is only nineteen, but her daughter is four years old. In America, if you are an underage mother, which she was , having the baby at fifteen, the State keeps the baby under supervision until a Judge rules that the mother can have unconditional custody.  Laura was twenty years old. They both asked him for prescription drugs again.

He explained to them carefully that since he is a foreigner, if he gets caught stealing drugs, he will lose his job and his visa and then will get deported back to India. He was not sure the girls understood this  or they even cared. They kept on being friendly , teased him several times when he met them later, flashing cleavage, showing legs, the usual stuff – but Bishu was not going to give them Valium or anything else!

Then one day, Bishu noticed that the beat up car is gone, and so were the chicks. He heard that they went to live with Laura’s mom in Topeka.

About six weeks later, Bishu’s phone rang during early afternoon.

“Bishu, come and get us!  We are stuck in this goddamn town” It was Laura’s voice, frantic.

When the shrieks died  down, Bishu finally figured out  what the girls were  up to. Apparently, they had run away from Topeka to Wichita, a bigger city about one hundred miles south of  Topeka, because they were tired of working minimum wage jobs. In Wichita, they were both working in a bar, one as a cocktail waitress and another as a dancer.

They were doing good until yesterday, making and saving a lot of money, I guess doing a lot of cocaine too. Yesterday  morning the police appeared and accused misty of child endangerment and took her daughter away. In the evening Laura found that all their  savings that she hid in their luggage was stolen by another girl in the bar.

They started driving this morning to Topeka, but their car broke down half an hour out of Wichita. Their world had collapsed in three strokes of bad luck.  They came back to Wichita and now needed  a ride to go home. They were desperate, indeed.

Apparently, they called all their other friends, no one was gonna help them. Bishu left after work around 4 pm. Wichita was two and a half hours away. He found the girls  crying and swearing and smoking cigarettes continuously. Their whole lifestyle had  collapsed within the last two days. Bishu started with the girls towards Topeka around 10 pm at night.

As the highway turned sharply to the left, there was the sign “El Dorado, Kansas, 1 Mile. Population 4300”

“Take that exit, Bishu,” Laura said, “That’s where my car broke down yesterday. My car is in the impound garage there”.

Bishu was reluctant. “ your car is broken anyways. Why do we need to stop here in this town in the middle of nowhere”?

“No, please, all  of our clothes and shoes are in the car, a lot of them. We will pick them up tomorrow morning” Laura insisted.

It was 10:30 at night. They checked into the only Super 8 Motel in town. Strung out and high on cocaine, the girls wanted more of it. But the coke was gone. And  all their money was stolen, Misty also lost her daughter to the cops. The girls smoked marijuana joints and had access to the only other  thing available  that would please them. They wanted Bishu’s naked body.  All night long. In fact, they told him again and again that  Bishu was bigger and harder than many other men they had been with.  Bishu did  not know that! Now he did!

They went to the car impound next morning. Laura’s car was not drivable and was abandoned. Bishu transferred a carful of sexy outfits and high-heeled shoes to his car, loaded the bimbos up and dropped them at Laura’s mother’s home – she was not particularly pleased to see them.

After that night, the girls got kind of attached to Bishu. So was Bishu.  He bought them another old beat-up car. Every week, each of them will show up at separate times in that old car in his apartment. Sometimes both would show up with a fat marijuana   joint, and Bishu will get a lot of beer.

Bishu did not stammer any more in front of these girls. In fact he did not stammer in the proximity of any woman any more.

Bishu  ended up  buying a lot of  clothes and jewelry. And spent lots of money on them for the next couple of years.

In their own banal way, the girls gave Bishu a lifetime of carnal memories.

When I met Bishu, about  twelve   years later, he had pretty much recovered from his “chick-damage”.

His savings were back on track, he was the head pharmacist in a large  drugstore, and he  just  got married  to a desi girl who grew up in America.

For  some  reason, he wanted to talk to me about his past. Over a period  of two months, we met for dinner and a little booze several  times.  He told me his life story, starting from his childhood bullying.

His new  wife did not know any  of  this.

“Well..” I said, “El Dorado appears to  play  a significant  role  in your life.”

“No Kidding”   He  laughed “ I grew spikes in El Dorado”

“ Gaadon went away after I came back from El Dorado , never  to return.” He informed me

“Well, there are many ways to kill a cat, or a Gaadon,  so to speak.” I said

Bishu  giggled. He liked my remark.

“By the way, the girls have been gone for a while now, right, both of them?” I said.

He nodded

“But if  any of them’d  come back today,  you would leave your wife, in a minute, right?”

Bishu did not answer that. I did not want him to, anyways.

American Dream: A Cliche: Part 7

The American Dream: A Cliché: – Part 7

It’s not only  about Money and Fame!

Ajay Kulkarni is a fighter. He doesn’t give up. He fought for and achieved a lot of  fame and money. But there was something else. This one was hard. But he was adamant. And  strategic,  devious  and obstinate.  So he managed that too after  struggling for about twenty years. For this one, there was a lot of collateral damage.  I guess he is happy now.  But I am not.

Ajay is an aristocratic Marathi Brahmin from a small village, a star student  –  did his Ph.D. in theoretical Physics from a top school in USA.  Physics is a field which is totally saturated by some seriously talented people. These people are brilliant (how else could they understand such obscure concepts like parallel universe and  particle accelerator?), and they are devoted to this stuff. After a Ph.D. in economics, you usually get a job as an Assistant Professor right after your Ph.D.  Not so for Physics.  Most fresh Ph.D’s work as post-docs where salaries are just enough to bring you barely to the lower end of American middle-class. Many physicists stay like that for four to ten years. Finally, having done a considerable amount of post-dissertation research,  some get a job as an Assistant professor around the time they are about forty years old!  Tenure,  that comes with job security, comes six years after that and is often denied if your research is not impressive enough.  Without tenure, you go back to being a post-doc or work as a temporary lecturer or teach remedial math and science to morons in two year colleges for the rest of your working life.

Dr. Kulkarni was a post –doc for two years before he decided he was having none of this crap.  He was going to  go back to college and get a second Ph.D. in Finance. His Physicist colleagues shrieked, his family in his Marathi village worried about his sanity, but that didn’t stop him! Ten years after getting his Ph. D. in physics, he got his second Ph.D. in finance and started his first job at my university as an Assistant Professor in the Business school  with a very comfortable salary.

That was only the beginning! With some outstanding research, outstanding collaboration with connected co-authors, and some outstanding  Business School politics, he became a Distinguished Chair Professor after sometime -you know one of  those that get paid a lot more than us mere professors and get a lot more respect to go with it. His accomplishments were well-deserved.

His beloved daughter , Asha, was born during his physicist days, Anand was born a few years later.  He doted on Asha, who grew up in their  very conservative Brahmin household in USA. Anand was a rogue, always trying to sneak out  of the strict norms of his family.

Wealth accumulation took some time.  As it is, he lived frugally relative to other faculty members of his stature. A lifelong vegetarian, they never splurged on steaks and lobsters! They had a modest house as opposed to 3000/4000 square feet  behemoths with two acre of lawns that other distinguished professors liked to buy.  Kulkarni did stocks and bonds for a while then he started buying cheap real estates and rented them out.  This strategy had its own pitfalls, but ultimately he prevailed and became an owner of about ten apartments and his own house, and a nice nest egg that he could not possibly spend during his own life. He continued working until a couple of years ago when he was approaching eighty.  I will skip the details here as they are not relevant to the main narrative.

The next thing to manage was the kids – the purity of their aristocratic Brahmin family was to be maintained.  As soon as the kids reached their early teens, they were controlled like crazy. No dating, no overnight trips from school, no un-chaperoned day trips, repeated monitoring of computer usage (this was before cell phones, thank God!), and of course no alcohol and no tobacco.

Asha was a piece of cake.  Anand was highly manipulative.  He was like, “ you want me to grow up like this weird Indian boy?  Ok, its’ going to cost you a lot, Mom and Dad”. The best clothes, the best electronics, the best computers, the best video games – he got it all from his parents as rewards for  being a good Indian boy. The cars were a grand coup. In high school, when most of his classmates were given old jalopies by their parents, he had a brand new car that he demanded as a payment for “no dating”! In college, he had a brand new Lexus with a massive sound system, the only 22 year old virgin in his class, again as a quid pro quo for  not having a girlfriend! Guess what profession he got into later?  A lawyer, specializing in human resources hahaha!

Asha, on the other hand, followed all the rules. She actually loved being a Hindu Brahmin girl in America.  When she was fifteen, and her female friends were trying on mini-skirts and heavy make up, she will have her waist length hair washed by her mom with henna and then worship the deity in her house for an hour!  She could speak decent Marathi, whereas Anand  could only muster  some basic conversation. Right on track, Asha finished her MBA and started working on a prosperous career path as an executive in a fortune 500 company in Kansas City. Professor and Mrs. Kulkarni went to work to find a suitable boy for Asha. In absence of the internet , they relied on classifieds, matchmakers, and direct search in their hometown in Maharashtra. Ideally they would have liked a young man , who is educated like Asha,born in USA  and financially established in USA and his parents  hailing  from the same Marathi region, and religious, and vegetarian…. bla bla bla.  Mrs. went back to her village every year, twice , for the next five years.

Well, they came up with nothing.  Zilch. It turned out that the high-caste Marathi Brahmans in India that were willing to relocate to USA don’t have much of an education or job prospect, they were basically opportunists trying to get a free ride with the Kulkarni clan. On the other hand,  most of the young men named  Hegde or   Garg etc. born in USA were too westernized to agree to an arranged marriage. The Kulkarnis  probably would have better luck today with the internet and social media and a lot larger Indian immigrant  population. But the search failed totally in early nineties.

Around the same time Asha started working, we  had a saga of  heartbreak  unfolding on campus. His name was Arun Deshmukh, also a high caste Brahmin from Pune. This man got his Master’s in Physics from Benaras Hindu University and joined our Ph.D.   Program in Physics.  Umm.. there was a second generation Indian grad student in mathematics, who was nice to him. Arun, the virgin Brahmin,  fell for her hook, line, and sinker.  The femme fatale played him big time. When all was said and done, she transferred to another university far away, leaving Deshmukh hopelessly broken hearted.  Then the bozo failed all his exams and was kicked out of the Ph.D. program in physics.  After sulking for a while, he enrolled as a Master’s student in Computer Science, but lo and behold, dropped out of that too after one year. His downward spiral had begun. He moved to the girl’s city to win her over and came back after a few months when  she took  a restraining order against him. Ultimately, his visa ran out and he became an illegal alien.  He would work as an illegal employee  for the next twenty years, dodging immigration.  Fortunately for him, after a while, he started working  as a carpenter’s assistant and  learned how to make decent furniture on his own. Ultimately,  he started making  a moderate living as a custom furniture maker and doing other odd jobs – still an illegal alien.

There are a people in America that are affluent,   and some of them  have a discerning taste for custom furnishings for their home or  office. Furniture stores only provide bland, conventional stuff. What if you, a lawyer,  want a 100% mahogany conference  table for twelve in your lawyer’s office?   If you are a young financial analyst (or a dealer of cocaine) rolling in money, you may want to build a large heart-shaped bed with mirrors all around to romp with ladies in your spare time. In America, people that can build stuff like this are hard to find, so Deshmukh would generally get some custom jobs like this  every year.

As we said before,  Kulkarni toned down his national and international search for a suitable groom for Asha after a few  years. Needless to say, he looked locally, in Kansas, for a suitable boy, but the pickings were slim. There was Shailesh Upadhaya, a high class Brahmin indeed, but from Jamalpur,  not a very  nice place for Brahmin purity. Nevertheless, he was the right age, had  finished his education three years ago and worked in IT in Kansas City. Although he was about fifteen years younger than me , I hung out with him since his student days.  This boy was stingier  than my brother-in law! When all his American classmates who got similar jobs were buying houses with their partners, getting new cars and furniture for their houses, this fellow  was sharing a two bedroom apartment in a questionable neighborhood with a roommate. Furniture? He slept on the floor on a mattress and  had a card table for his computer.  He drove a noisy, battered car from his student days.  I was embarrassed to ride with him, for real! And although he was not a vegetarian, he would feed me curried chhole and rice every time I would visit him or sometimes splurge into a one dollar taco from a Mexican place.

Kulkarni liked this boy,-  a miser, a nerd and a Brahmin with Khandan! The word Khandan is actually an Urdu word, which has multiple meanings, including pedigree or purity or prestige of the clan. In Muslim countries like Pakistan, fathers have been known to torture or even kill their daughters who had brought shame to their Khandan.  Kulkarni was not like that at all !!

 He invited  Upadhaya  to his house where he had chaperoned conversations with Asha. Hell,  Asha, who also worked in Kansas City, met up with him with two other friends and had a group date at the famous Country Club Plaza! But  Upadhaya had some revolutionary ideas. After about six months of hanging out occasionally with Asha, he announced that he would quit his high-paying job.  It’s time, he said, to try to be super-rich. He would use all of his considerable savings  and get a MBA in management from MIT with his own money, no scholarships. This program is very expensive,  currently  about 150K dollars per year for two years ( a total of about  2.3  crores of rupees)! In the mid-nineties, it was less expensive in monetary terms, but about the same in real cost. I tried to dissuade him.” Start a business if you have this much cash saved up. It is too risky to use up every penny of your hard-earned savings for a single purpose”, I said. But this kid was banking on being rich and famous, and he was not giving up on his dreams. He left for MIT soon afterwards , out of Kulkarni’s pool for a suitable boy.  Did he succeed? Yes, he actually overachieved, but this story is not about him!!

Hmm, regarding the remaining pool,  he took a cursory glance at me, a fallen Brahmin, divorced, with a penchant for beef and young females, and twenty plus years older than Asha – no good! Then, of course, he also looked  at Deshmukh who had become illegal at this time and working odd jobs to support himself – a penniless, illegal, albeit pure Brahmin from Pune who was  about eighteen years older than Asha –also rejected.

I guess  a  groom was not forthcoming anytime soon. Asha depended on her parents all her life to find a match for her, she refused all temptations to deviate so far, now she was turning into a thirty year old lonely virgin in America.  A note to my conservative Indian friends:  yes  Indian women are human, they get frustrated with loneliness (and lack of intimacy) just like anyone else! To her parents’ surprise,  Asha actually quit her job as a an executive at a Fortune 500 company and stayed at home and moped for a while. She eventually came up with a long-term plan. In her early thirties, she planned to go to college again  to get an undergraduate degree in pre-med and then go to medical school for four additional  years!! Recall that she already had a Bachelor’s degree and an MBA in Business!  The whole thing will take her about seven years of very hard work , but it will totally take all her attention and she will be able to forget about finding a partner, possibly for life.  A solid, brutal plan  for regeneration – self-laceration for her parents’ failure! Damn!

Well, it worked: seven years later she was a first year resident, and two years after that she joined  a hospital  in far away in Connecticut . But there was a price to pay.  Asha had a very nice figure in her twenties, now she started gaining weight.  First she was chubby, but by the time she received her medical license, she was obese – 100 kgs on a small frame. This weight gain was partly self-inflicted, and I will not speculate any further about whether it was revenge against her parents or frustration out of loneliness. 

In America, doctors that come in contact with patients regularly are supposed to  be slender or at least not fat, so Asha chose her specialty as a Hematologist where she will spend most of her time in the labs or consulting other doctors.

Once she stabilized herself in her medical practice and bought her own house in Connecticut, Dad Kulkarni came back to her life again. Gosh, this guy does not let go!

I guess it started with a seemingly innocent query from her mother about setting up a life partner for Asha.  Asha wondered how and why  her parents are still  matchmaking for her. When she was young and attractive, they could not find a Marathi Brahmin of the same stature for her. Now she is more than forty-five years old, and more than full-figured, so how are they finding a match for her ?

Dad Kulkarni slowly revealed his candidate. No, it was not a fifty-year old business executive who somehow never married and hails from a top Brahmin clan in Mumbai.  Remember Deshmukh, the college dropout that  I talked about earlier?  He was about sixty-five years old, but now a stable,  albeit  illegal manufacturer of custom furniture . Obviously, he had problems getting married because of his status, and his low income.

Evidently, Dad Kilkarni at this point only cared about his Khandan , even a bald, semi-employed illegal alien will do if he was a Brahmin from Pune.  I don’t know how he managed to convince Asha, but eventually she got married to Deshmukh, he moved to her house in Connecticut and they adopted a small boy! Now they are a family with a 50 year old-physician and a 70 year old illegal immigrant who has never been back in India during the last forty  years. Dad Kulkarni, you are the man! Khandan rules!

The weakness of the main characters in this story saddens me.  Asha remained a tortured soul for most of her life, and possibly is so even now! Over about thirty years, she never had the guts to defy her parents and get a partner on her own and settle down!  Deshmukh was even weaker. One girl jilted him and he never finished college!.  Damn, all he had to do was to grit his teeth and finish that  master’s in computer science – this was the early nineties- most people that had this degree went on to become millionaires or better!! Or, at least when he became an illegal alien, he could have gone back to Pune and started a new life as a physics teacher!

In the eighties and nineties, there were a lot of  second generation kids with strict Indian parents who did not tolerate any “deviant” behavior . How did these  young men and women manage? Did most of them rebel at some point or did most of them remain subservient  during their teenage years?

I will hereby make a rather sordid confession which will probably provide part of an answer.  In the mid-nineties I hooked up for a short period of time with a Gujju hotel girl, about 22 years old. She grew up in her dad’s hotel, where the entire family lived in one room of the hotel  they  owned. The family was super-conservative. Our relationship was very strange.  This cute but chubby chick  would call me (I was not allowed to  call her), and show up around 9:30 am usually on a Saturday morning. Right away, she would take her clothes off,- so her clothes will not smell of tobacco and alcohol !  I will give her one of my t-shirts to wear. She would put up her feet on my coffee table (hairy legs – mom prohibited shaving!), light up a Marlboro that I had ready for her, and imbibe some scotch whiskey on the rocks! A few minutes later, she would ask me to put on a  porn VCR. After she had smoked and drank for a while, she will take  her  t-shirt off and we will start kissing. After our encounter, she will pass out on the couch.  Late in the afternoon, she will wake up, shower, chew a lot of elaichi and gum, put on her oversize Sweatshirt and baggy jeans that her family allowed her to wear. And go home like Daddy’s little girl! She told me she had done this since she turned eighteen with several  men. How is this for a mini-rebellion?

With her, there was going to be no social interaction.  When I met her socially (which happened occasionally), I was only allowed to make the briefest amount small talk. We could not take a trip or do anything else that resembled  dating. I was not going for it after a few months – when  I decided to break up, she was surprisingly nonchalant about it, thank God!

 BTW, I have wondered many times if Asha also had encounters of this kind. Nah!!

The only winner in this story is  Dad Kulkarni, who achieved all his dreams at the end.  Congratulations, Bud!

Kulkarni has old fogey friends who are all close to his age (70-85) with outlandish views about Asha’s life.  Conversations with them will go like this:

Me: “Hey, why did Asha leave a perfectly good career in her mid -thirties and decided to  start from scratch  to become a doctor?”

OF (Old Fogey, Kulkarni’s  friend): She always wanted to help people,  do something good for the world!

Me:  “Then why didn’t she go to pre-med as an undergraduate , when she was 19 years old?”

OF: “ Children!! Sometimes they grow up slowly, it takes them time to find a direction in life!

Me: “ Do you think her decision to go to med school in her thirties has anything to do with being lonely, without a partner?”

OF: “SHHH. Don’t even say that. Indian women are too pure –  sweet and innocent. They would never do anything drastic just because they are lonely”!!

Me: “ You know, Asha married Deshmukh  when she was about forty-five years old. Why not twenty years ago when her parents started looking for a groom for her?”

OF: “ Yaar, this is a sweet love story, They were secretly in love with each other. Asha was waiting for her father’s blessing only. “

No comments from me except WTH!!

China – The Leaping Giant Chameleon – Impressions 2017 – Nibedon Version

I am rewrting my blogs on China a little differently for Nibedon magazine. Many thanks to Mr. Samar Mandal and Mr. Apurba Karmakar for suggestions and comments.

China has changed a lot. Like a giant that moves at a lightning speed. And changes its own self. Like a chameleon! It was always a giant. The chameleon thing started only about thirty years ago.

China is an ancient society. The common man has been oppressed here for the last two thousand years. The Chinese Royalty and the Aristocracy controlled the wealth, the means of production and tried very hard to convince the hungry  masses that the only way to avoid death from starvation was to work hard to create more wealth for their masters.  The elegant Chinese architecture, the culture, the arts  and  the literature were unknown and inaccessible to the  poor.

This history is not much different from what happened  in the West and in South Asia, but the Chinese  did it with style. They had an elaborate system of government administrators and educators that went hand in hand to stifle the poor.  The tax collectors were all over the country, the law enforcement ready to send people to jail for minor infractions. The educators made sure that education was not accessible to the poor – heck, the Chinese alphabet has 5000 characters and it takes about five years to be literate in Mandarin.  After five years, you are in the first grade (class 1) in school! A farmer’s child will hardly have time to learn the alphabet, he would be better off to start work at the age of ten! Even basic literacy was a privilege for the rich! Shame!

Granted, the abovementioned history of China is naïve representation of a very complex  set of events in a vast country, but  the relentless poverty of the poor has been a self-sustaining fact for a millennium.

The First Big change – not very good for the people!:

The communist government that came into power in 1949 had some good intentions initially,  but soon found that socialist policies do not work in a stodgy bureaucratic society.  The government started lying about its achievements  and torturing the populace  as well, just as it happened in other communist countries.

A few important contributions of the Communist regimes came in very handy in the subsequent era of state capitalism. The socialist state of Mao could not figure out how to run a factory or a small store efficiently  because of the all-pervasive bureaucracy, but it built schools and hospitals everywhere even in remote areas of China. From zero literacy of the poor till 1950, China achieved a high overall literacy rate as early as the 1970’s.

The government also forcefully liberated women. Women went to the same schools and worked the same jobs as men, and even wore the same clothes in Mao’s  China! In fact sometimes everyone wore the same clothes, even the same color!

The Take-off

Liberalization and reforms happened in the late eighties –the history of that is complicated as well. By early nineties, the Chinese government, in association with the budding capitalists, had a brilliant business idea.

If you build factories in remote hinterlands of china, you will get unemployed laborers who barely survive in agriculture – they will be willing to work for about $5 a day (400 rupees). Then you can make simple consumer goods – pens, coffee cups, toys,  spoons and forks, cheap clothes and shoes – for about half the cost of anywhere else in the world. The  trick is to control quality, build infrastructure to support large manufacturing facilities, and raise productivity of workers.

The bulldozers and the heavy construction equipment of the government went to work . Massive factories were built in hitherto unknown  cities  which were close to supply sources of minerals, fuel and water. Train tracks  and  highways were built fast, blazing all the land and small villages that were in the way, blasting through mountains and building bridges over rivers. Thanks to Mao’s regime, even the abject poor in villages were literate, so they can be gainfully employed in factories.  In a few short years, the Chinese were selling everything for consumers in every country of the world, from hairpin for your hair to the  belt for your waist and shoelaces for your shoes!

This was so darn successful that it led to other huge projects as the capitalists became bolder and a solid middle class was created in a few short years with a  much more sophisticated labor force.  The economy took off, major projects were undertaken to transform old cities and build new ones, all with the brute force of an all  powerful government. The Chinese  economy , single handed,  caused  factories to shut down all over USA  and Western Europe and elsewhere!

Fast forward to 2017 when I visited China. By now, the factories have exhausted the excess supply of labor from the remote  villages. Minimum wage for factory jobs is more like $4 (300 rupees) an hour, still low by Western standards but a major improvement for the standard of living for the common laborers (from 500 rupees a day to 2400 rupees per day!). China now outsources many products to Cambodia, Bangladesh, Indonesia etc. where wages are lower. The Chinese are now into the production of more sophisticated products like electronics, cars, phones and computers. The higher  educational sector has expanded  many times over, with spanking new universities and joint ventures with famous American and European institutions.  The average salary for a young college professor was about $500 a month in the early nineties, now about  $5000 per month ( $3500 after taxes- about 2.6 lakhs- –taxes are high in China!).  You can live lavishly with a family in China with that salary – no bribes need to be taken, no secondhand payments have to be negotiated!

More Change: Social engineering

The Changes did not stop there!The last thirty years have been a scenario of one drastic change after another, affecting every part of China’s society. The Juggernaut of a government , in cahoots with the capitalists, decides what new policies need to be implemented. A whole new set of policies are then forced upon the citizenry, violating their human and civil rights. Any dissent is summarily disposed of.

The goal in China is to enrich the government coffers and bloat the capitalists’ profits. There is also probably a futuristic goal of attaining global hegemony and becoming the world’s leading superpower. The people are shoved under the bus if they object to any of this massive social engineering, but their standard of living has improved drastically over the last twenty years as a consequence of this.

Communist China was a land of bicycles and and narrow streets in cities. Now it is a land where most people own cars.

On the morning of my second day in China, my colleague from Kansas, Dr. Jin , decided we will meet with about six people , families of Economics and finance professors, and we will do exciting things outside of Beijing. There was some confusion in the morning about the meeting, we drove around for a while trying to locate each other. I was looking for traditional Chinese neighborhoods in Beijing but did not see any, Then it hit me: the Chinese neighborhoods that we saw in books and pictures 30 years ago , are all gone. Jin confirmed this, Take a look below at a typical Chinese boulevard:

The following is a sideways view of one street. The top side is the right side. Please note that in China, driving is on the right side of the street. The bottom part is the left side .

Please read the following like this: At the extreme right, there are multi-storied skyscrapers. On the left of the skyscrapers , there is a pedestrian walkway. To its left there is a divider with grass and flowers. To its left, there is a bicycle path , and so on! – you get the idea!!

Multi-storied skyscrapers

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_________________________________________________________________________________

Pedestrian walkway (footpath)

Median ( grass and flowers)

Bicycle path

Median (divider )

Feeder road for cars that exit the main road

Median –this one has large trees usually

    ←     Main road  for traffic going one way  ←

Median

_____________________________________________________________________________     

            →  Main road for traffic going the other way  →

Median

Feeder road

Median

Bicycle path

Median

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Pedestrian Walkway

Multi-storied skyscrapers

All the shops are at the bottom floors of the sky scrapers, sometimes there is a strip mall next to the feeder road.

You may have seen 50 to 100 meter wide roads like this in a few planned cities in India or in the West. In Beijing,  almost ALL the roads are like this! There are no side streets, no poor neighborhoods, no  narrow streets, no small old houses, no congested areas, no slums! Over the last twenty years, bulldozers came into old Chinese neighborhoods with their  lanes and by-lanes, congested main roads, small older houses and random shopping corners. They razed and destroyed  them all and the streets like in  the previous page  were built, along with large city parks, playgrounds,  canals and small lakes in EVERY neighborhood!! Only a  few old neighborhoods are preserved as “old Beijing” for people to visit and reminisce.

What about the people that were evicted? They were allocated apartments in the newly built skyscrapers , sometimes with an additional monetary compensation.  Did they agree to be moved?  Were they happy with the relocation? The Big Government  did not care! The new city of Beijing has a lot less old time charm than the old one. To compensate for this, the government built fountains , statues  and gardens and impressive light displays on the new roads and on the skyscrapers. The old factory worker who would look at dirty laundry hanging from the neighbor’s balcony in front of his old dilapidated home , can now look at this massive illumination over a park in front of his apartment on the 20th floor. Is he happier there? You tell me!

From Beijing, we drove to the other side of Heibei province to a really mountainous place and stayed in a resort there for our last two nights. We drove for many hours on what appeared to be brand new super highways. Jin told me that a lot of these highways have been built during the last two or three years, thousands of kilometres of highways all over China. The quality is absolute top-notch, actually better than many US highways some of whom are currently crumbling. I could see new ones being built as we drove along. The word “massive”, that I have been using frequently here, is actually appropriate for the Chinese construction machinery. The cranes, the bridge-building machines and the bulldozers are all multiple times bigger than what I have seen in USA. Even the rest areas are just like in the Western countries, the old style stores and restaurants are not allowed on these new highways.

And of course, the tunnels! Building tunnels is expensive, so in most countries , tunnels are built for strategic reasons like going through a mountain when going around it will involve dangerous driving or when going around is not possible because of gorges and lakes around the mountains. The Chinese government has built tunnels like crazy on these modern highways, apparently without any regard to the high costs. Jin and I counted nineteen tunnels on a roadway stretching about 300 km. Some were small (200 m), some not so small, and there was a monster tunnel stretching for six kilometres under the rocks. Obviously, they had spent a massive amount of money doing this, but this road connected Beijing to a mountainous area of Hebei province which is sparsely populated.

As a result, nice resorts have been built in the mountains. We stayed in one of them for two nights. Now that people from Beijing can drive to here in about three to four hours (as opposed to twelve hours on treacherous roads before), this has become a popular weekend destination. Since we were there in the middle of the week, it was not crowded at all.

We drove around and enjoyed the scenery. Even now,this place is sparsely populated.

Lifestyle Changes over the last Fifty years

I went to America way back in 1975. There were lots of Chinese people then and Chinese restaurants were common. I had Chinese students when I started to teach, and Chinese colleagues and other Chinese friends and acquaintances. But, until early nineties, practically none of them were from mainland China. Sure, there were children and grand children of migrants who came to USA before 1939, but the rest of the Chinese were migrants from Taiwan, Hong Kong , Singapore or somewhere else.

The Red Chinese were mostly locked in their own country for about thirty-five years, apart from a small number of occasional defectors.

Apart from a small number of members at the top echelon of the Communist Party, most people lived about the same life. Some had more power, some had more responsibility, but no one was even remotely close to being well-off in the western sense. My friend, Dr. Jin, left mainland china in the mid 1980’s and finished his Ph.D. in economics from a prestigious American University. He started working in the University of Kansas as my colleague in the early nineties. He grew up in a village close to Beijing, right around the time of Cultural Revolution and the Red Guards. He told me that everyone in the village worked in the same factory (actually a collective farm), both men and women wore the same clothes and shoes, and ate the same food in the village cafeteria, every freaking day!! Women never dressed up, never styled their hair, never put on any make-up – all these cosmetic products were not available to the public. The Red Guards had confiscated all cooking utensils from all houses. They were melted into steel ingots, and Mao’s government proudly showed the ingots to the outside world as proof of rural industrialization!! While Marxists in India and elsewhere admired this (fake) rural steel mills, Jin’s mother had hidden away just one frying pan from the communist party members. On special occasions, she will light a fire and cook. Her children stood sentry outside the house in case the Red guards see the smoke from the fire and suspect furtive cooking activities in the farmhouse. Mostly, jin’s family stopped growing most vegetables in their garden because they had to be eaten raw.

Ballet, theater, and dancing were immensely popular classes with the schoolgirls because on the day of the performance, they will get to dress up and wear make-up!!

Let’s do a digression on the status of women and family in China. The Communist regime adopted a one child policy, it has been in place for about 50 years now. Even before that the communist government sent women to work, same as men. They were even asked to wear the same clothes as men, the infamous Mao tunic. As a result, several generations of women became educated and independent ,erasing the earlier stereotype of women as homemakers. Today, every woman child of a one-child household competes evenly with men for jobs, prestige, and power. Family and husband are low priorities in their lives.

The communists forced out gender discrimination but bought forth a somewhat androgynous society for a couple of generations. These women, growing up, had no access to make up, hair care products or nice clothes or shoes or beauty parlors. I mean, not poor women, but ALL women, about 500 million of them! Being feminine was deemed as sexualization and it reeked of Western debauchery! Dr. Jin dated his would be wife from high school, they got married after six years of dating. He would tell his daughters , who were born in USA, about the only time he saw his wife in a nice dress with make up and styled hair and high heels was on his wedding day. Even after coming to USA, Ms. Yang, his wife, never dressed up, she really had no fashion sense. She would come to all our faculty parties wearing jeans and an over-sized shirt just like her husband.

Continuing on this theme, my new economist friends, two young women professors of Economics that I met in China, turned out to be well-educated, articulate and friendly. They were in the prime of their lives, with a Ph.D. in hand and very good jobs. Yet, they both complained, half-jokingly, about how difficult it is to get a nice Chinese husband. They both appeared to have no regard for fashionable or feminine clothing.

However, I am happy to report that this androgenic behavior is also changing fast. The last batch of Chinese Ph.D. students in Kansas around 2014 when I left ( those women would be about ten years younger than the women above) were more”American” in appearance, and more confident and better-dressed. And by 2011 or so, a new generation of rich Chinese kids had started infiltrating USA campuses, not as Ph.D. students on scholarship, but as undergraduates paying big money from their dads. These kids have fantastic knowledge of English and most of the young women are absolute eye candies, and dressed like it too!

Lifestyles during the last five years

Now, there is a strong middle class in China, apart from the rich and the super-rich. They live an affluent life style compared to the Indian middle class with cars, nice housing, free education (for one child, now two are allowed), free medical care and decent pensions. New things are always becoming stylish.

On my second day in Beijing, we met two families of economics and finance professors – four professors and two teenage kids. We traveled with Jin , myself and two teenagers in one car, and the four parents traveled in a separate SUV. These people were going to experience something brand new.

Like what? They said they are going to Barbecue on the Chinese prairie and then go to a rock concert! All this seemed like a novelty item for them! We drove through some flat grassland out of Beijing and parked our car in a very large field with about two hundred cars. They were all Barbecuing, American style (with Chinese spices and condiments). The professors, all of whom spoke decent English, told me that for the Chinese who hardly owned cars fifteen years ago, just to see a couple hundred parked cars and the middle class families doing barbecue like they have seen on TV in the USA, is like a freaking fantasy come true. China is changing fast, they told me. Compared to what their fathers lived like, their standard of living has gone through the roof! The two teenager boys spoke excellent English, better than their parents. Parents, specially moms, really doted on their single children. One of the teenagers had his own drone – a real one! He flew it while we were there, drawing some serious envious looks from the spectators.

The rock concert happened in a field right next to this place. The music scene in China is totally different from other Asian countries. Because of censorship of Western media and restrictions on social media, the Chinese youth did not have much access to Hard Rock, Techno, Hiphop or Rap Music. Only pop music was allowed by the government. So it was like an underground scene where people downloaded music secretly and clandestine clubs that played them behind closed doors. On the other hand, Chinese rock has always been tightly controlled by the government – any lyrics related to social injustice or social reform or drug use or explicit sexuality are not allowed since 1990’s – so it is pretty bland.

None of the four professors I met were personally interested in Rock or Hiphop – not at all! In any case we all walked over to the concert in the evening. There were several security checks, I heard people calling me “Laowai” – a slang for foreigner! I have been to only a few rock concerts in USA- there is a lot of energy among the audience as well as blatant sexuality and rampant drug use over there. Here, there was none of that, the women were wearing regular shorts and t-shirts, nothing remotely provocative by Western standards. The stage was impressive though as well as the sound system! The lyrics were in Mandarin.

Villages

Chinese villages are also changing fast. Since China is a vast country, with all kinds of topography and weather, different strategies have been adopted for different places. For some villages, I heard that the government built roads blasting several tunnels through mountains so now it takes two hours to commute to a city rather than one whole day through steep mountain roads, For some , new irrigation projects and new crops that the farmers never heard of before. The government even has a project to transform part of the Gobi desert into a green valley. I am not well informed on exactly what is happening in villages in this huge country, but around Beijing and nearby Hebei province, villages appear to be deserted. The old farmhouses, built with handmade bricks, are still around, but most of them are empty. My guess is that most of the residents have been relocated to towns with large manufacturing facilities, and only a few people are left in the villages to actually farm the land with modern equipment. There was a feeling of abandonment when we drove through the empty villages with crumbling red brick houses.

The Government

The government still belongs to one party and is immensely powerful. In India, only some government offices are grandiose, many are just ordinary buildings. Same in USA. In China, most government offices look like mansions, even in smaller cities. I heard that there is an unwritten code that no private citizen can build his residence which is taller than the largest government office in town – I am unable to verify this.

The government shows off its power and affluence.

On my arrival in Beijing, Dr J picked me up at the airport and took me to a hotel that was part of the Olympic village (during the Beijing Olympics). The hotel was OK, but the location was next to a beautiful lake next to a mountain. I had my first of many delicious meals in China in a standard roadside restaurant. It was Chinese hot pot, with beef pork and veggies, to be cooked by the customers at the table. They put a simmering fire pot in the middle of the table and a pot of spiced broth on fire, we put thinly sliced meat and veggies in the broth, they get cooked in a few minutes, and we eat them with noodles or rice. I had this before in America in Deluxe Chinese places, but in China, it is very common.

Came back to our hotel, relaxed by the lake for a while and in the evening I got my first taste of Chinese affluence. The entire mountain across from the lake, about one kilometer wide, was lit up with beautiful illumination.

I asked Jin if there is a festival going on.

No, he said the lighting is provided by the government for the hotel guests to enjoy.!

There is absolutely nothing on the mountains except trees, it is not a town that is being lit up, just some empty space! All for the enjoyment for a few hotel guests!

This being my first day in China, I was a little confused about what to make of this. Later I saw many other examples of conspicuous extravagance by the government and understood the implications – it is BIG government showing off to the puny citizens its affluence and its power! – The message is somewhat sinister, indeed!

There is hardly any direct criticism of any government policy- the internet is restricted, music and culture are monitored carefully by the government. Serious religious activities are persecuted both directly and indirectly, as the Uighurs, the Tibetans and other minorities have experienced time and again.

The society is based on merit. Children successful at school are forced to study hard for many years and then forced to work hard for many years, before they become independently wealthy. The bottom twenty percent of the high school graduating classes are summarily cut off from further academic pursuit – they can never go to college. They are sent to vocational schools or asked to work as unskilled labor.

The noveau rich have their own ways to bypass the government, They send their kids abroad for study , they buy mansions abroad, they send pregnant women to give birth in USA so the babies become US citizens. The majority of the rest of the people live in a seriously oppressed society, albeit with a high standard of living that was unheard of even thirty years ago. Only time will tell if this system will endure for long!