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!!

Gypsy Girl PART II

Both Parts I and II were written about ten years ago

 The Kanjus  Chacha and the Gypsy Girl   (Part II)

Synopsis of Part 1: ( Ratan the Kanjus Chacha ,  a real penny-pincher, left his doctor wife in India, who somehow got pregnant when Ratan was not around! He did not divorce her, because Anjoli  the Doc made a lot of money!)

Before I tell you how Ratan met this gypsy girl, let me explain about Ratan’s  automotive exploits.

A brand new standard car in America would cost twelve to twenty thousand dollars, a  luxury car possibly a lot more. A decent used car would cost at least half of that.

 But Ratan found a real gold mine. In  small towns on Satruday mornings, there are live car auctions. No, these are not lovingly restored antique cars, they are junk cars that are sold “as is”.

 Rows  after rows of abandoned automotive hulks  helplessly await truly desperate buyers in need of transportation! The signs, almost comic,  are posted on the windshields:

“BMW 1975 – no engine – $200!”

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

Cadillac 1985 –  no headlights,  no battery, $700!

The seller is not being honest, he merely  determines the opening bids depending on what  he observes. There are, of course,  other  possible pitfalls  associated with these  cars, like one with an engine may not  actually start!

 Ratan got his last car for $300 from here, fixed it up for anther $400 and it’s been running for the last eight months! He kept on going to these auctions though, because he knew he will need a replacement soon!

He bumped into this group at several of these auctions –  James , an older man in his late forties, and his grown up children, Ciara and Brian, both in their  twenties.

Ratan passionately explained to them  how Americans waste thousands of dollars on  new cars, and his general thesis about maximum wealth accumulation. To his surprise, they agreed totally.  They liked saving money too.

They looked darker than the average Americans.

“Are you guys Hispanic?” Ratan asked

“No, our folks came from East Europe” Ciara said. “Many years ago.”

It was James that invited him to dinner. Their apartment was too small and the food really sucked. Gross chicken dumplings that tasted like wet flour, and boiled potatoes! These folks are really cheap, Ratan noticed, somewhat amused. The only   redeeming feature was Ciara, an attractive young woman that continuously flirted with him.

Ratan decided to invite them for dinner. He can cook a mean Chhole  and chicken wings –cheap but much tastier!. To hell with boiled potatoes! Ciara and her family loved his spicy food.

The men were mainly passive, James watched TV and smoked an endless number of cigarettes, while Brian, the younger one,  was  constantly playing video games  on his hand-held console, snacking continuously on any edible items  within his reach.  Ciara was the only  lively one.

While  they were lounging after dinner in Ratan’s living room.  Ciara veered off to the kitchen.  Out of the corner of his eye, Ratan noticed a feminine hand waving to him.

“ I love your balcony!” Ciara said. “We don’t have one.”

Hanging out on the balcony with a young, attractive and flirtatious girl – Ratan is only human –   that’s when things started warming up!

The feminine waves emanating  from the kitchen continued on subsequent visits. Soon,  Ciara was admiring Ratan’s comfy bed upstairs.  As they were romping around, the men remained totally oblivious, James kept on smoking and Brian kept on furiously  pushing his game stick.

The entire family appeared to be serious penny-pinchers.  In fact all his dates with Ciara  were at his home, with her dad and brother in the living room.

“Why do you always bring the whole contingent?” He asked her “We are never  really alone together”

She laughed “Yes we are, in your bedroom upstairs, remember?”

“Hey, this saves a lot of money.” Ciara explained  “ We turn off all the lights in our place in the evening while we are visiting you.  James and Brian can watch cable TV here. We canceled our  own cable at home. And Brian can eat snacks at your house instead of mine”, she winked!

Ratan was impressed.  No, Ratan was hopelessly smitten.

Finally, a  woman with the same goal as himself.  Maximum wealth accumulation is happening now, along with romance! What else does a Kanjus  guy want from life?

This is it, Ratan decided. To hell with the Doc! He will get an ex parte divorce soon.

After a lot of thought, he bought a moderately priced diamond ring (hey,  this would stay in the family, anyways!) and proposed to Ciara.  She  gleefully accepted.

They started making plans.  This was going to be a true partnership, Ciara said.

They jointly bought Ratan’s  first new   car. No more jalopies, Ratan  decided, as he happily got rid of his junky drive! Each would drive the new car on alternate days. 

They jointly rented a new apartment .  Ratan moved to the empty apartment first.

On a  beautiful  Thursday evening,  they all met at Ratan’s house .

“This is the plan” Ciara said “we have left our old apartment.  James and Brian will stay at your house,  and will pay you rent.

 We have a lease drawn up for a year already that we will sign right now.  I will move in with you to the new apartment after we buy some new  furniture  over the weekend.”

It was Ciara’s turn to drive the new car. They all came to Ratan’s new apartment and dropped him off there.

“I will get a ride from my friend tomorrow morning   to go to work., Ciara” Ratan said

“And I will pick you up from work tomorrow evening. We will go furniture shopping, and I will move in with you over the weekend “  Ciara said, as she kissed him goodbye.

Ratan happily slept on the floor of the empty apartment Thursday night. He had finally found his soul mate! Everything is perfect, at last!

The next day turned out to be kind of bad for Ratan.

In fact, you could call it probably the worst day of his life.

Ciara’s phone went dead   around Friday afternoon, and she never showed up. Taking a taxi, Ratan showed up at his own house.  He was very surprised.  Total strangers were living at his house.

When the dust settled, Ratan found that In a small window of eighteen  hours, Ciara  and her family had sold all of Ratan’s  furniture,  TV, stereo, computer  and all, sold the new car,  and James subleased  Ratan’s house   for a year ! The new tenants had already moved in, apparently they paid James six months’  rent  in advance for Ratan’s house.

Ciara  had  vanished, she  called  him from Hawaii for one last time.

“We moved to Hawaii, sweetheart! By the way, we charged the tickets  to your credit card. And James and I  just got  engaged. He has already given me  a nice diamond ring! Thanks for all  your help! “ She giggled.

“James is your lover?” an incredulous Ratan asked.

“And Brian is my boyfriend. I am a gypsy girl, baby”, a chirpy Ciara explained “Sometimes we keep several men  around when we are young. When James gets older, I will get rid of him and settle down with Brian!”

The damage was  pretty steep for Ratan. The diamond ring was gone, for sure.   Not only he lost  his  new  car and all his  furniture, but he had to persuade the tenants at his own house to leave by paying them  six months’ rent, and pay a year’s rent for  his new apartment for the duration of the lease.  The total ran into many thousands of dollars. The tickets to Hawaii were bought from his computer, at his house, using   his credit card, by James, while Ratan was blissfully engaged in  his last “wave” episode upstairs . The credit card company would not even hear about canceling the charges.

The gypsy girl   really cleaned him out,  putting a big dent in his heart and his wealth.  Yes, Ratan went to an attorney. He was sympathetic , although it appeared that he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

“Apparently, sir,   no laws were  broken. Forget about criminal prosecution, it would be difficult for you  to even  get a civil judgment against  Ciara.”  The attorney explained

“ The gypsies are well-known for their conniving ways. Instead of stealing, a small number of them have adapted to being vicious con-artists in modern day America. They did research on you, and played you exactly the way you wanted to be played. I am sure the new tenants in your house were part of their network.“

“ Ciara and the gang would soon clean out another middle-aged soul in Hawaii before moving  on to another location. The gypsies don’t’ stay in one place for too long! “ He  informed a dazed Ratan.

We don’t  rib Ratan for his Kanjusi  any  more.  We kind of leave him alone.

 He still gets exuberant mail from Anjoli about “their” son’s  recent antics! She is planning to send  their son to a posh  private school in Kolkata followed by an expensive  college in America. Ratan will need to pay for half of all that. 

Oh dear! He never formally contested his paternity! It is too late now, I guess!

Kanjus Chacha and the Gypsy Girl, Part 1

The Kanjus  Chacha and the Gypsy Girl   (Part I)

This is a continuation of my series  about  NRI chachas that I have met  over the years. This one is somewhat embellished,  more like a “composite”!

Maximum wealth accumulation,  that was Ratan chacha’s motto.

 In grad school in America, we  were all exceedingly poor owing to our measly stipends. Most of us desi students lived in one big apartment complex. Most of us will cook dinner after coming home from school  around  five pm and try to make one satisfying meal with our non-existent cooking skills. Hey, in India, we were raised as bright budding engineers, scientists, mathematicians and such, our mothers and bhabis taking care of all our fastidious  culinary demands.  Here, we could not afford to eat out even at the cafeteria!

We started by staring at frozen mounds of raw chicken that we bought at the grocery store! What the hell do you do with this stuff?

Some of us  were natural –born cooks though. Their  apartments would soon smell of chicken curry and such around six-thirty in the evening.  That’s when Ratan would arrive, make small talk,  admire the food about to be eaten and finally, casually,  grab a small portion for tasting!

 “Chamatkar Murgee Hoyeche! Khub bhalo! Kotha  theke shikhlee?”

(“Excellent Chicken! Very good! Where did you learn all this?”)

Ratan would visit about four or five different apartments  in the evening and  make an entire meal out of small tastes  of chicken curry,  keema curry,   even  sambar and idli and occasionally maaacher jhol.

 Hey, we were not dumb, he was soon nicknamed the “scavenger” and ultimately banished from all apartments during dinnertime.  We heard that he hit the middle-eastern circle later but was soon declared persona non grata.

After he made some moolah as an established academic in America,  he asked his parents for a hook up marriage. The gods  got him  married to a lady doctor in India. Usually,  in this case, the doc migrates to USA, goes for additional schooling to get her US medical license. The transition takes a few years.  But your Ratan  chacha  was not going for  this.

“We are making good money in two different countries. Why spoil that? You stay in Kolkata, I will stay here – I will see you every summer during my summer break”

Hmmm…., less conjugal  bliss but a loadful  of  cash- happiness – Kanjus or what?

(“Loadful” is not a word, I just made that up )

He never allowed his wife to visit  America.

“ You don’t even know anyone here,  sweetheart.  What’s there to see in America anyway! Just some tall buildings! I will go every summer for three months and visit you and our  families  and friends – kill many birds with one stone hahahaha!

Anjoli,  the lady doc, had a great private practice, saving up a pretty stack  for the couple.  Three years into their marriage, she got pregnant. Ratan was joyously making plans to raise the child in India,  saving even more money, when a bombshell hit him.

It was late March. The baby was due in October,  Anjoli’s  ob-gyn doctor said.

Ratan  gasped.  “Are you sure?” he asked the doctor.

Ratan left India in August the previous year.

Ooops! Let’s do some simple math here.

 You know how babies grow, right?

A baby conceived in June, July,  or August this year will not be due in October the following year!

Lots  of screaming ensued over long distance phone calls. Ratan was not going to India any more. But divorcing Anjoli will mean separating from all the doctor’s money !

Give up half of a loadful of cash or live the life of  a jilted mate – for ordinary men, the decision would be easy.

 But our  Kanjus  chacha had to think about this .  For about five years!! That’s when he met the gypsy girl!

.              

Yes, there are gypsies in America! They migrated from Europe many years ago, many got assimilated, some  not so much. Among the ones that remained  separated from the mainstream,  some  ran  circuses and carnivals, some were in the music business, but there was  a small core that continued their somewhat unusual ways.

Ciara’s mom,  a white girl, eloped to California  with a dashing man she met at a carnival. It turned out to be a  pretty bad deal. The handsome gypsy  man turned out to be a professional hustler and a wife-beater. Ten years and four children later, she escaped  back to her parents in her hometown . Ciara grew up floating between her working class grandparents and her struggling single mom. But she remembered her dad well, she was  a true gypsy at heart.  But  Ratan didn’t know any of this.

(The gypsy girl would change Ratan’s life for  ever. But you have read  the second part to find out!)

Old Stories

These stories are at least ten years old. But I still find them interesting. Like most of my other stories, these are about NRI’s, and their families.

Family Feud  – The  Headmaster and   the  Coffeemaker

This story was written during prehistoric times- like 2010!-there were no smartphones in India, fast internet connections were available on Cable only, wireless routers were very expensive and people were worried about others stealing their bandwidth. The story is still funny, but things have certainly changed a lot!

 I don’t generally like  people  working  in computer-related fields.   I mean  – look,   a nerd who stares at endless pages of meaningless codes all day long, or tries to develop a flashier version of a stupid  handheld  gadget –  and makes  more money than the rest  of  us!

 Can you detect a little envy on my part?  Hehehe!

But I loved Ashok the geek. A very neat young man, very  hard-working I Still single, but family oriented, he  often talked about his big brother, Bhimdeb  Mukherjee, recently promoted to be the  Headmaster of a local school and his lovely  niece Pinky.

Ashok loves Coffee . He spends hours   stooped in front of his computer with  a steaming hot cup of gourmet brew from his very own pricey machine he bought at Chicago. Hey, the kid don’t have any vices and makes a lot of dough.

After a gap of five years, he went back to Kolkata for his life-changing trip in 2008, much delighted  by  the coffeemaker he ordered from an Indian website, to be delivered to his ancestral home in Behala, just before he arrived.

 Things have certainly changed in India, he noticed , especially  in his own house. Bhim, since getting his promotion, rules his school and his house both with an iron fist. The Head Sir, as students call him, has grown a formidable moustache and a  paunch.

The shiny coffeemaker has been unpacked, sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Boudi will make coffee for you tomorrow” Bhim told him as Ashok  went to bed.

Eager for caffeine, he joined the family bright and early in the living room.

“Dada likes tea in the morning”  Bhabi informed him.

Tea came, with toast and jam.

Ashok was pining for his first cup of Java. His throat felt dry, his eyelids twitched  even as he drank the muddy and sweet concoction.

The Head Sir gave him  a short lecture  on the sad state of the Marxist government in Bengal.

A second round of tea followed by  Samosas arrived. Still no coffee.

“I am making pinky’s breakfast, she will go to school soon.”Bhabi announced

Pinky ate for about forty-five minutes, with continuous coaxing from her parents.  Even at nine years old, she is a fussy eater.

Around  9 am , Ashok peeked in the kitchen.

“Can I make some coffee myself, Boudi?

Bhabi  was not amused.

“What’s the big rush? I will make it for you when I get some free time. Please sit down and enjoy yourself. Dada wants to chat with you”

Soon after, Boudi went to take a shower. Ashok peeked in the kitchen again.

OMG, the coffeemaker, the spice blender and all other kitchen equipment were securely locked in the kitchen cabinet. (Later on his mom told him that this is done  whenever bhabi  leaves the kitchen, fearing the housemaid would run away with the kitchen appliances- Head Sir’s orders, obviously!).

Around 10-30 am Ashok gave up on  coffee.

He enquired about using the internet.

“The computer is in our bedroom” The Head sir said. “ You  can   not  use it during the daytime, Bhabi needs her privacy.  Eight pm in the evening is the scheduled computer time.”

At eight pm in the evening, the whole family  marched to the bedroom. First Bhim checked his e-mail. Pinky played with the computer for fifteen minutes. Bhabi read some blogs.  Ashok got his turn around 8:45. By 9:15, Bhim came back to the bedroom.

“We will be getting ready for bed now,” he said politely.

Pretty much the same routine repeated itself the next morning. Hungry for Java and the internet, Ashok picked up his laptop and headed for the local internet  thek.

A paranoid old spinster was running the internet joint  in the late morning hours. There were mostly teens hanging around, playing video games or chatting   passionately with their internet  “boyfriends” or “girlfriends” that they have never seen in their lives. 

She  frowned as he entered and asked for his ID.

Ashok showed her his US passport, he became an American citizen five years ago.

The spinster looked at him and said “This is your American passport. I need your Indian passport or PAN card.”

“I don’t have an Indian passport, Miss, sorry!” Ashok said

She insisted that since Ashok is speaking Bangla, he must show his Indian passport.

“US passports are acceptable only from real Americans, not from you” She wryly informed Ashok.

The teenagers snickered in  the background.

Ashok stepped out, muttering some very bad words  under his breath.

A desperate  Ashok then  took a taxi to  Park Street  and found a nice coffee shop with WI-Fi and got some work done finally, with  some excellent Java to go with it.  It took three hours roundtrip to go to Park Street, even in a taxi, and the taxifare, three cups of gourmet coffee ,  snacks and internet charges ran to a hefty  2000 rupees. Even with American dollars, this is pretty steep for one day, Ashok thought. Damn it, why does he need to spend so much money?

Three days later, the gleaming coffeemaker, still a virgin, sat quietly in the kitchen cabinet.

Ashok called a family meeting in the evening. The Head Sir was annoyed.  Supposedly, he was   the only one who can call a meeting.

“Dada, why can’t I use the internet during the day/” Ashok asked.

The Head Sir was even more annoyed “I already told you, that’s in Boudi’s room. Our computer time is 8 pm.”

“Why can’t you  install a wireless router, so I can hook up my laptop anywhere? I can go get one right now.”

Ekdom noi”  The Head Sir was getting mad “ our neighbors would hack in and steal our bandwidth”

“Can  we all have some coffee now? I am getting tired of waiting for coffee” Ashok asked.

“Chee chee,  you can’t have coffee in the evening!! Matha Ghure jaabe! (You will get dizzy!)

“This is my Coffeemaker.” Ashok   exploded in rage, finally. “I bought it with my own money, I will make coffee whenever I want, wherever I want, as many times as I need.  Don’t tell me about your stupid family rules. I don’t depend on your money or your father’s money, you idiot!

Invoking one’s father in the conversation (Baap tola  in Bangla) and calling one’s dada an idiot – all in one sentence –  the Head Sir’s mouth  fell open at the enormity of this insult.

He remained quiet for a moment, his face getting beet red. Slowly,  the respectable head sir’s nostrils flared up, and a little vein on his forehead started throbbing.  His eyes popping up, the head sir finally exclaimed, with uncharacteristic profanity

““Eto boro Katha!  Get out from my house right now, you baanchot!”

(I am not translating this!)

Ashok retaliated, in English, hoping his mom would not understand,  “I have  had it with you, fatso! This is not your freaking house, it is my father’s. You just live here with your fat ass and small prick.   Next time you  ask me for money for house repair, or a  new cell phone from America, I will shove it right  through  like an express train.”

At this, mom and Bhabi gasped and  started crying quietly. Bhim sat there speechless, shaking with anger, the little vein throbbing on his forehead.  Not waiting for a response, Ashok  stormed out of his ancestral house.

This was the beginning of a deep and long-lasting rift in the illustrious  Mukherjee family. Three  years later , Ashok is still banished from the Behala House.

The siblings are on a mission . To get a little flavor of their  incendiary interaction, please browse through their recent e-mail exchanges:

To Bhim@gmail.com

Re:  My new car

Dear Big Brother:

 I was saving  a lot of money so that Pinky, your semi-retarded daughter,   can go to a decent college in America. Guess what, I changed my mind, and used the money to buy a nice car.  I am sending a pic of my brand  new BMW. Enjoy!

I  am having fun visualizing  Pinky  swinging her ponytail on her way to our  famous Behala College in a few short  years.

Best wishes

Ashok

To: AshokM@yahoo.com

Re Shaadi  enquiry

 Dear Ashok:

Remember our neighbor’s daughter Kalpana? She has recently finished law school and joined the Bar at Kolkata High Court. I must say she has turned out to be a  lovely young woman. Her parents were asking about you. It appears that Kalpana had a crush on you when she was a little girl.

I told them you  prefer to be constantly surrounded by  immoral American women (hooker  is the right word for them , I believe)   and you are not interested in getting married right now. If you change your mind, let me know.

Best wishes

Bhim

To : Bhim@gmail.com

Re: FYI

Dear Big brother:

I am planning to bring mother over here for a visit , from April to June next year.

Ashok

To: AshokM@yahoo.com

RE: FYI – problem

Dear little brother:

I am glad that you are planning to bring ma to America. There is one problem – how is she going to get from Behala  to Kolkata  airport? She has no money of her own. We give her everything she needs. But we are certainly not going to provide taxi fare for her trip to America.

Best Wishes

Bhim

To:  Bhim@gmail.com

Re: Taxi fare – no problem

Dear Dada:

 I will send you a check for  the taxi fare.

Ashok

To AshokM@yahoo.com

Re :  Yes Problem

Dear Ashok:

Sorry we do not accept your dirty American money.

Best wishes

Bhim

Are they ever going to reconcile and immerse themselves in brotherly love?

I wonder!!

As we all know, Java-addiction  is a grave  danger  to your mental  health!

  ABCD – a Vanishing Breed!

The ABCD phenomenon started in the 70’s and kind of petered out by the early  years of 2000.

ABCD: American born Confused Desi

We don’t see True ABCD’s anymore. While someone could apply for a research grant to delve into the  causes of their apparent disappearance, I will refrain from speculation in this regard.

In the 80’s and 90’s, America was teeming with ABCD’s.  Indeed, that was the golden age of ABCD’s

Some Desi’s loved them.

“See,  they are the true descendants of Mother India”, they would point to a nerdy 25-year old accountant touching the feet of some old geezer in a Hindu temple. “What cultural awareness! What spontaneous show of respect! And he was born and brought up right here  in America. Bravo betha, bravo!

Most of us that hardly go  to the temples and such   would hear about this young man and wonder about his true status.

 Skeptics like me would follow him around for days, finding him on a Saturday morning in a Bhagwat-Gita reading class, trying to hit on the priest’s toothy teenage daughter.

 The same Saturday evening, he  would furtively drive  fifty miles to a topless bar in another town,  drinking coke there,   not beer, because mom would smell alcohol on his breath and disapprove. He would ogle at the strippers but decline any lap dances because that  would cost too much money.

 Now the skeptic would smile broadly – that’s an aasli ABCD – a true specimen right there!

Alright, alright, I just made that one up.  I never actually met such an accountant,  he  was merely   the prototype. But some others that I did meet definitely qualified for a true ABCD status. 

ABCDs in love

Imran is the first one that comes to mind. He went to the college where I teach, had a serious American girlfriend, but broke up with her because his  parents would not approve of her.   

Next, he went  on a nationwide mate search through classified ads, matchmaking agencies  and such. (hey, there was no  TINDER in mid nineties!)

As luck would have it, he hooked up with Asha, a Bengali girl in Dallas. The lovebirds  cooed over long distance phone calls for a while.  His parents grudgingly agreed to a match with a hindu girl, while her parents viciously objected to a muslim boy, so Imran went to Dallas where they eloped and started living together.

Pretty normal stuff up to here, but it gets weird after this.

Imran called me  two weeks  after he eloped.

“Things are very weird,  Pronto”

“Really?”

“We found a nice apartment, and I wanted to get married right away. But Asha says we should get married only after both of us find good jobs, so that we are financially secure”

“Have you found a job yet?”

“I found a job as a bank teller, pays the bills for now, but it will take a while before I  get a real job. Asha is still looking, but not very seriously.”

“A little strange, yes.” I said

“But listen, meanwhile, our relationship is purely platonic, Asha wants to wait until we actually get married. She said she loves me more than anything else, though! Tell me, what should I do?”

“Hmmmm.. .., run away, scram!” I said “This is not gonna work”.

Obviously, Imran could not abandon the love of his life. Two weeks later, Asha’s parents found out where she lived. They came to visit, and Asha’s mom started sobbing

“Come back home, little girl!” she kept on crying.

A teary Asha went back home.

Incredibly, the fiasco continued for the next six months.

 Asha continued writing long passionate letters to Imran about how  much she loves him and how she is gonna leave her parents soon to be with him.

Imran kind of went crazy. His parents finally sent him home to  Hyderabad , their home town, for recuperation and a forced negotiated marriage. I have no idea what happened to Asha.

  ABCD N

Sita’s parents came from Medinpur, a rural district in West Bengal, way  back  late 1950’s and settled in Chicago. Sita lived   in Chicago since she was born.   An old-fashioned negotiated marriage hooked her up with my friend’s brother, Chhote, who migrated from India in late seventies.  I first went to visit them in the late eighties, five years after they were married. An hour after I arrived, I took Chhote aside

“Hey, why is Sita speaking like that? She was born here, wasn’t she?”

“You mean the thick Bengali Accent? Her parents taught her to speak with all Indians like that. It’s a sign of respect, apparently.”

“You are kidding me, right? Heck, she’s  got  this perfect. She even said deenar taybool  back there. Wow! Did you ever tell her that some people may actually be offended?

Chhote smiled, “like a hundred times.”

When we went back inside, she was talking to her colleague on the phone, a school teacher, in impeccable American English.

It was early evening. Soon, she showered, put on a clean sari and sequestered herself in the puja room for the next three hours

Chhote shrugged. “She does puja every evening for three hours, very religious you know”.

We had a late dinner, and she excused herself immediately. She was a very conscientious teacher in the Chicago public schools, worked till late at night preparing lesson plans and such.

“What about weekends? Do you get to spend any  time with her?

Chhote shrugged again. He was shrugging a lot.

“Yes,  every Saturday,  we drive out of town, to find a new temple, or a new Hare Krishna group, or some other religious gathering.  The whole day is spent on prayers, bhajans and such. The praasad  that I eat is usually pretty good though. And Sundays, she has special puja followed by lesson plans, homework-grading and all that.

“And she is only thirty years old!  Well, at least you are eating well every Saturday. ” I said

Chhote laughed. He had a lot of patience.

For two days I listened to Sita speaking  to me in the most comical Bengali accent . I left very baffled, to say the least.

Now, apart from professional and religious pursuits, young married  couples  also engage in some other pleasant  activities! I never dared  ask  Chhote and Sita about this part of  their married life.

Their childless marriage ended in a divorce after ten years. Like I said, Chhote had a lot of patience.

Well, these are the true ABCD’s. I met many others over the years as well.

Nowadays, grown up children of immigrants rib each other about being ABCD’s , but they all appear to be surprisingly well-adjusted. The real ABCd’s are in their late forties to mid fifties. However, should your profile fit the prototype of the  accountant above, shoot me an e-mail.

I will first post a retraction of this blog, and then meet you in a  bar where you prefer to drink coke.

I will buy you a coke and will gladly pay for a dance or two as well!

How to save like a true NRI !

How to save like a true NRI!

Get a calculator. You are in the eighties (1980’s). A dollar is like 40 rupees! If you make $40,000 after taxes every year and spend the bare minimum on your living expenses,  say about $8000 a year,   then in ten years, you save up a tidy sum of about 350,000 + (including interest on the savings). In rupees, you make about  1.5 crores , which was a heck of a lot of money in the eighties (in real terms , about five/six  crores of rupees in 2020). Then you can go back to India and live like a king!

However, a miser makes others miserable!

I was a houseguest in Swapan’s  uncle’s house in New Jersey.  All I was asking was how to get back in the house after I return from a trip to nearby NYC. The conversation with Swapan went like This:

Swapan:  “After you ring the doorbell, jump !”

Me: “What?  Why jump?”

Swapan: “Then  Chachi can see the top of your head, or even your face if you jump high enough. Try to jump vertically as high as possible, so that she can recognize you. Then she will ring the buzzer to the outside door. Run, because the buzzer keeps the door open for a few seconds only.”

Me: “Then…?”

Swapan : “After you open the outside door, ring the buzzer next to Apt. 1A. Oh, that switch is kind of broken, so make sure you don’t get a shock.  Chachi then would ring the buzzer for the inside door.  After you open the inside door,  come to Apt 1A and there is a final doorbell on our front door. Ring that and you are in my friend!”

Me : “Just saying, can’t Govinda chacha  install a security system with a camera and such? Other houses have those!

Swapan  laughed heartily at this.  He knew his uncle inside out.

Chacha didn’t have any extra beds so we put down blankets and bed sheets on the living room carpet.

Me, my friend  Swapan and his wife, and their baby slept on the floor.

We woke up at the noise of scurrying insects.

We turned the light on. About fifteen rats scattered away in fright! These were no squirming bugs,

Swapan’s wife sat on  the couch, wide awake,  holding the baby all night. The rest of us slept off and on, wary of the rodents’ return.

In the morning, Swapan was furious. “Why doesn’t he get rid of the rats, Chachi? This is America, after all, you don’t have to live like this.”

Well, any improvement in Chacha’s lifestyle would have exceeded his annual maintenance budget of $8000 (for a family of three), so the answer was a no!

We could have gone to a cheap motel, but we didn’t. We suffered for two nights.

Govinda  chacha attained his savings target . Quit his permanent job in USA and returned to India with the money.

Did he live like a king?

Did his American born daughter rebel in her teen years?

Did he invest  his crores in the Indian stock market and lose most of it?

Did his wife finally become crazy after living with the miser for twenty-five years?

Well, all of the above!!!!

Is this a true story? Yes, actually the truth is even more bizarre, so I am not sharing it with you. Cheers