Cincinnati Masters

Me: I wonder where the Campus Services Building is. It says 2900 Reading Road, so we should be close.

He: Look out for a number dude, coz they obviously won’t have it etched in Golden Letters just for you.

Me: Oh wait, there you go! ‘Campus Services Building’. Fairly blatant, eh? You were saying something?

Simplicity induced by Complexity, I guess, should pretty much summarize life here, in the States. It’s somewhat like one of those video games played at a Beginners’ level, where you get instructions and hints after every step- “Turn Left” , “Aim and shoot at enemy’s head”, “collect as many gold coins as you can” and more of the like. That, of course, comes to me as a large degree of change when compared to the place where I was just a few of months ago.

26^th of April 2011 was the date when my fate for the next couple of years was pretty much sealed after finally receiving an email which started with a Congratulatory note; unlike the umpteen sweet-venom rejections prior to that. The subsequent few days marked the end of a few eras, which included the ‘future uncertainty days’, ‘project guide torment days’ and unfortunately the least hated of the list- ‘College days’. The end of this era featured some of the best ever hangouts marred by the worst feelings of termination.

This was followed by probably the most relaxing three month break I would ever get until retirement; but yet again adulterated with an emotional turmoil caused by past life withdrawal symptoms, future life anxiety and of course the present boredom. It would be wrong to deny the fact that I did have loads of fun too. It included a wonderful trip to Amritsar and a couple of fun-filled Delhi trips. The anxiety component also constituted a part of the fun throughout the summer. “Apuuuu… You’ll have to cook yourself!”, “Will he get the accent?”and “Cincinnati? Oh, do you remember there was a song called Cincinnati Bublaboo!” were probably the statements which stood out among others.

Another featured activity in this period was shopping. It encompassed almost every possible aspect of life- starting from multiple pairs of jeans to a traditional kurta, T-shirts to socks, a watch, specs, medicines, books, a couple of utensils etc. The utensils section laid foundation to a major controversy in my family. Before I come to that, I should probably explain the family architecture of an Indian graduate student in the US. While the parents are settled in India, there exists that one relative (more often than not, an uncle) in the US, who more often than not is the driving force behind this second generation migration. During the years in India, this relative introduces you to terms like Hershey’s chocolates and University of ‘X’ sweatshirts, and during the migratory phase he or she becomes the reason for the parents to breathe easy. I too had my dear mamu in Detroit. His share of driving force though, was cut short to an extent, considering the fact that my parents and my grandfather had been worthy of this state of the art education system in the past, and were loyal ambassadors too.

So the controversy was whether or not to carry along a pressure cooker. This closed system capable of giving form to raw roots, grains and flesh, is a must have with all Indian families. Of course, Indian grad students are famous for carrying tonnes of supplies of Maggi, spices and trust me, I read it in the papers, even Mangoes. So the cooker shouldn’t have been such an issue. Nevertheless, this mini-Mahabharata was brought to an end by my prospective roommate, who agreed to bring one. That’s right folks, I already had my roommate fixed and was also a part of the Indian Community of the University of Cincinnati before actually setting in there- ‘Thanx 2 gud old FB of crs, LOL!’.

“Important things- check; trifles - double check; money and travellers’ checks- Triple check; Passport & Ticket- Multiple check”.So it was time to bid a farewell to home sweet home. Of course, technically I had actually left home 4 years ago but mom’s justification for the emotionally heavy atmosphere was that- through Allahabad, I had not surpassed the minimum threshold distance to be deemed as “far from home”. Well, this time the threshold was going to be badly humiliated.

I was kept in isolated captivity on the eve of my flight in order to be 100% fit for my marathons in the stratosphere. I put in some good hours of sleep behind me as I never manage to sleep in moving objects, leave alone flying tubes. I concluded my series of farewell phone calls and was soon on my way to the airport. Approaching the airport felt like a dream with the road bathed in a sea of orange halogen lamps.

Finally the moment to say the toughest goodbye had arrived. In between the hugs and tears, instructions regarding check-in, security and immigrations, were snuck in. I was told to take good care of my passport and guess what, first thing after check-in- “My passport?”. “I haibereetarnedeet”, the unexpectedly crass official said. I puked out my heart on her and then gulped it back when I spotted it sandwiched in the heap of documents I was carrying. The slack hawaldar-like airport police made the security-check stage, a Bangladesh match. The immigration though, was like finals against Australia. After gaining knowledge about my life to a degree more than some close friends, the official finally gave in, as I emerged out victorious into the ‘Delhi Duty Free’ shopping gallery. After a long walk, I reached my gate, where the blue KoninklijkeLuchtvaartMaatschappij stood in all its glory, awaiting me. That’s KLM by the way.

I made a final phone call from the cabin and off we were. The aircraft taxied about, amidst the swarm of glittering lights laid across the arena, following several other international flights. And finally, it was that anxious moment when those cylindrical turbines were roaring at full-monty while the g-force pushed us well into our seats. After enjoying a shimmering view of Gurgaon, we were soon engulfed by the darkness of the night. My venture to touch new heights in the journey of life had begun, at a height of 35,000 feet.

After 20 odd hours which included, breathtaking views of European-electronic-circuit-like-cities, roaming around a virtual-mall-called-Amsterdam-Airport, a boring flight devoid of a window seat and heaps of mixed emotions as I swept across time-zones, we had begun our descent. It was a rough landing but nevertheless I was in one piece, apparently at least. It was still not over though. Customs and baggage collection still awaited me as I started getting goose bumps on hearing –“Welcome to the United States of America” on the PA system. The long queue made me restless; actually I also had to go! You know, for my initials.

Finally it was time to take the exit which was the entrance to ‘the America’.

I stepped out and without wasting any time took a cab to see the real America. Empire State building within the first 24 hours of setting foot that too after coming from a village in a developing nation.This in fact, was my Grandfather’s courageous venture when he came here 60 odd years ago for the same purpose. My mom, dad and uncle also followed his footsteps and established themselves independently.Of course they had the comfort of having some Oriya friends. The 30 year generation gap ought to have some benefits after all. I, after a 2^nd generation gap, had the comfort of my uncle waiting for me at the airport doors. My first steps outside the airport were at the parking lot, into my uncle’s Mazda.

This was it! I was actually on the right side of the road and cruising at 80mph, beating my previous fastest ever, that too on a Shatabdi. They were all there; The Chevys, the Chryslers, the mustangs; the Burger Kings, the Costcos’, the Starbucks and of course, the people who were responsible for those. I may have shrunk a little during the near-Mach speed because the ice-creams, the fruits and even the god damn squirrels were king size. It felt like being inside a Hollywood movie. Well and truly, ‘the eagle had landed!’

That, in fact, was my uncle’s status message on Facebook.Both of us logged on as soon as we reached his place, giving a second-by-second verbal and pictorial update of this much awaited event. The next 5 days involved a crash course orientation courtesy my uncle on the hows, whats and wheres of living in the States, of course this was enveloped by loads of fun, roaming and food. Aah! The cuisine! If grandpa wasted no time in exploring US, I wasted no time in giving my gluttonous tummy some exposure. First day first show and the guests included lambs, ducks, pigs and cows- Noah’s ark floating on gastric juices! Chicken seemed boring now, but its children, walking on the streets, satiated my eyes well.

Five days went by in a flash and it was time to head for Cincy. In the next few days, I was about to start experiencing the endodermal aspects of life in this superpower. And, it was not easy. Yet, it was easy! I had a nightmare of time in finding a roof for myself but boy was the process easy. 10 days later, after getting hold of a pair of keys, the next task was to fill up the void with stuff. “But what the hell? We have to shift all that ourselves?” As I mentioned earlier-‘simplicity induced by complexity’. It’s like the country saying to you that, “We shall provide you with a truck at a reasonable price (at least the dollar figure, no comments on the Rupee figure) and you move your stuff. Ain’t that simple?” Well, yeah! But that rendered my shoulder stiff and the complexity lies also in managing the fleet of trucks. “We shall give you a hell of refrigerator, gas, microwave, cut vegetable, part boiled if you please, downy,blablabla gewgaws and you simply have to cook. Ain’t that…?” Well, err…!

As far as the main reason for me being here was concerned, that too was no different. Master of Science at the University of Cincinnati! Beautiful campus, state-of-the-art infrastructure, luxurious conditions; but, dude! “You need to turn-in your Homeworks tomorrow and next week and the week after…!” Back home in India, I was always told to keep my basics strong to succeed in the competitive exams. US of A had implemented that in all aspects. Honestly work hard and earn money, pay taxes and have trash cans, enjoy a clean environment and stay healthy, stay healthy and earn even more. I could see how this country was 20 years ahead of my country. But I could also see my country cover that time-gap, with its own set of evolving ways which enables tens of thousands of ‘me’s to not only experience this paradigm model, but in fact go well up its hierarchical ladder as well.

So all in all, life was going to be interesting in this country. It was not going to be difficult of course, being America after all. But it was not going to be easy too. While one has to do every work on his own, the work itself is designed such that external support is not required. The delta stewards or the Walmart employees may not show courtesy, but the buses will kneel down and will be more than happy to layout their arms (actually their ramps) to embrace the differently abled.

The questions raised earlier were eventually going to be answered. The accent may creep into a few words (Awrh, phee, Baeta,Thaeta, Exc-hyause Mayee and mm-hmm), but rest is a question of choice. The choice of whether you are willing to erase all of what you have accumulated so far in the name of identity (Indian), in order to redefine it. Or do you want to simply plug out the (American) cords after recharging up to full battery. It’s a fuzzy question and its answer shall always be fuzzy. There will always be enough contenders on either side with adequate theories to justify their stance.

“Oh, me?...Hmm… The leg of journey has just begun. Let’s wait and watch!”

P.S.- Cincinnati Masters is the former name of the ATP tennis tournament held in Cincinnati annually.