Summer of ‘89, ‘99, ‘09… & so on

Author’s Notes:

I have tried a new style of writing here wherein my entire school life progresses with the summer, symbolized as the good part of my childhood (& good times in general) which eventually leads to a winter i.e. a bad time. No offense to anyone who actually likes winter. Kindly ignore the timeline offset in the beginning as I started writing this during the peak of winter.

***

At -24°C served with a side of the wind-chill factor, you can feel your lips parch, you develop a headache and your cheeks lose their “googly-woogly-woosh” factor, all in a matter of a couple of minutes of outdoor exposure. The frigid polar vortex has been the highlight of this year’s harsh and relentless winter in the States. This is the most snowfall I have seen in the last two years. Now, this snow problem has not exactly been the passing out & frost-bite inducing kind, but it has been severe enough to have me go through driving “adventures” [1]. Oh yes! I have a car now and despite having a heated machine, which gets me to places in no time, I still stand by my age old hatred of winter.  Only halfway through, it seems to have been an eternity of pain and suffering. In such a scenario one can only long for all this to end, for the dawn of a heavenly abode by the name of summer.

Aah summer! Let aside all the bright sunny days, in contrast to the string of dull and gloomy days of the “white” season, summer also seems to be the warehouse for more pleasant memories than the contrary. Now when I say summer here, I generically refer to “not winter”, before I get entangled in a war of words against the 45°C July days. Based in Midwest USA at this point of my life, the dawn of summer is usually well into May, after a teasing spring. Back in India however, summer virtually began in March.

***

The day you were allowed to finally get into those shorts

The symbolic first day of summer was usually marked by the completion of the final exams. That would be the day you were allowed to finally get into those half t-shirts and shorts; the ones you were longing for but could only watch being taken out of the dusty old suitcase, stacked in the bins above the cupboards, and spread out on the corded cot on the terrace. They were beyond limits as a precautionary health measure during exams, resulting in some rather sweaty days considering the fact that the mercury had already started reaching the 30°C mark. Nevertheless, the first exposure for a 1^st grader to the tad chilly March sunshine, after shedding off those heavy jackets and itchy sweaters, was an experience worth preserving for the next 365 days.

The first milestone of the season is Holi. Oh, the dreaded festival of colors! So while all the other 3^rd graders ran about outdoors reveled in the colors and wetness, I sat down on the drawing board, meticulously chalking up every possible strategy to dodge the attackers. (I have already published a piece on the horrors and social importance of Holi [2]). The few days leading up to Holi however, was an exciting time for me considering my dad would visit then- which meant a daily dose of either a Cornetto chocolate ice-cream cone or an aesthetically pleasing blue can of Pepsi.

The temperatures would already start to sore by the time the calendar flips to April. This is the time when the next academic year would commence. But only a month away from the haven called summer vacations – it is normal for any 5^th grader to hit the anticipation mode and just try to blow past this phase somehow. The challenge would be to make it through the notorious loo-winds season, unscathed. But most primary school kids like me would invariably end up with a high fever, resulting in a week in bed and a month of banishment from any form of commercial comestibles.

As mature and responsible the 6^th graders appeared, on actually reaching it, you figure that there is not much of a difference, except for the added homework. You still count the number of days till summer break and when that countdown narrows down to single digits, it becomes increasingly hard to keep that rise smile off your face. The D-day, which is a half-D-day for us, was a mere formality. With the class being a quarter of its strength, the four periods would end up becoming gossip sessions with the teachers, who would have already assigned us our holiday homework, much to our frustration. Anyway that is the last thing on your mind when you run out of the school, with the elongated summer break bell still towing in the background and walk back to be a part of the morning rituals of domestic jhaadu-pochha, for a change. The day goes by watching TV and just trying to digest the fact that you have fifty whole days of freedom ahead. The first few days of vacation are those of figuring out what to do. A good portion of my time would be dedicated to watching the technician install a fresh batch of grass to the air-cooler and fix the motor of its pump. With the 1999 world cup on air, my buddy and I decided to play a whole version of the tournament at my driveway. The 40°C temperature at noon is the last thing on a sixth grader’s mind. However we would only manage half of the league when it would be time for me to head out to Bhubaneswar, to spend time with my grandparents.

Spending time with Grandpa at Bhubaneswar

                Going to Bhubaneswar was something I longed for throughout the year. You get to meet your relatives, your cousins and most importantly you go to a place where your mom is all chilled out. Other reasons included the fact that this was the only time of the year I got to ride a train. The first few days at Bhubaneswar is characterized by the best of Odia cuisine, lots of cousin time and some nice family outings to temples. The next few days is, well, also the same, just that you reach a saturation point. Then comes the boring phase when you just seem to be meeting random 7^th degree family friends and the monsoon eliminates the outings. Add to that the power cuts. And for some reason, it is at this point when dad decides to impart some Math training because 8^th grade, according to him, is high time for me to start performing academically. The last few days of the vacation is the sobbing phase wherein you can’t sink in the fact that it will be a year before you will meet these people again; unaware of the changes this one year would bring about.

                The journey back to Kanpur used to be the worst, but was made up for by the reunion with school friends the next day. This would also mean the beginning of another cricket season. And this spirit would not be dampened by the fact that we were in the 10^th grade or by the extreme humidity. Aah the humidity. July-August is the time when the sales of nycil and itch-guard see a peak. The drop starts thereafter with the onset of monsoon. The first few days of rains brings along with it a sigh of relief for everyone. But the next few only brings about headaches with floods destroying crops and lives, and rainy days destroying Saturday afternoon cricket games for us.

                Summer thereafter would only go downhill. While the rumor of 6^th grade being tough turned out to be a hoax, the ones for high-school turned out to be more than true. Mid-September was earmarked by chilly weather and stiff syllabi, both of which would only get worse with time. The days would get shorter and the study hours, longer- with a plethora of mock, real and competitive exams lined-up for the course of the impending winter. The first sneeze and the subsequent adornment of a sun-dried and shrunk sweater would pretty much pull the curtains on the blessing called summer.

The winter of my school life was upon me now.

***

                But there is always light at the end of the tunnel. It would only be a matter of months when the sun would shine bright and warm again in the form of college life. This would give rise to a fresh era of summery fun along with a whole new definition of wintry struggle. And the same would be for the stage of life thereafter- which for me was grad studies. I lived to see a whole new level of brightness of the American summer and a dastardly new low of winter in the same country.

A whole new level of brightness of the American summer

So while not everyone hates the season of winter as much as I do, most do hate the winters of their lives. But just like winter is a key element in realizing the importance of summer and enjoying the fun of summer to greater degree, the tough times have the same effect on the good times.

For now, I have my ‘aarti-plate’ ready, to officially and auspiciously welcome this year’s summer. Whether it actually turns out to be a summer for me, is anyone’s guess.

References:

[1] “It’s Snow Problem”

 http://pradeepthought.blogspot.com/2013/12/its-snow-problem.html

[2] “Holi : Red, Green…& BLUES!!! 

http://pradeepthought.blogspot.com/2010/03/holi-red-green.html

Please do leave your comments in the link below :)  (where it shows the number of comments)

It's Snow Problem

                Winter had already announced itself prematurely, at Cincinnati. That meant, regularly monitoring the weather and estimating the level of mental preparedness. The Friday after Thanksgiving week had severe snowfall predictions.

                By Thursday it was known that the ‘cloud with snowflakes’ symbol on the weather app was in fact an imminent snowstorm by the name of Cleon. Alerts had been issued across our county and the training class I was attending for work had also warned us of the inclement weather. We were instructed to use our judgment before leaving for work. As it turned out, on the D-day, all schools were closed, but big businesses? –No! So I used my judgment on whether I should venture out into the icy rains or not. The only issue was that my 2 month good-weather driving experience and my 2-day vacation availability had impaired my judgment skills, and hence the verdict – “I shall go anyway”!

                The onward journey was supposed to be the risky one with icy road conditions, but it turned out to be rather smooth. So it was time to attend some lectures. While I agonizingly waited for the session to end, the weather updates kept creeping up. There was a delay in the conception of the storm but it arrived nonetheless. I caught a peek of some hefty accumulation outside, but was also told by an instructor that the interstates were running just fine. Weather.com however, begged to differ and had already changed the alert into an emergency. I was going to find out why, in a few minutes.

All for this? 

                I packed my bag, collected the goodies & foodstuff “earned” from the 5-day session and headed out – only to find accumulation in plural multiple of an inch, throughout the parking lot and also on my car. So I had some brushing off to do before I could start. With only 2 months of driving behind me, I thought the main roads would be salted down a priori and ploughed off posteriori. But I would soon find out that the parking lot was probably the easiest stretch of this journey. The intensity of the precipitation was quite heavy, reducing the visibility to a significant degree, and the winds and motion of the car only aggravated the problem. I was further visually impaired thanks to my wiper which had some ice on it, making it only 20% effective and thereby leaving only a parabolic slot of clarity on my windshield. It was impossible to see the lane demarcations. The fear factor had started to creep in and I contemplated the prospect of staying back in a nearby hotel. Within minutes this prospect had paved its way into retrospect as I just drove along. Anyway, I wanted to get back to the warmth of my home and company of my friends on this Friday evening.

Challenge Accepted

                After 15 minutes of slow moving traffic on the suburb, I approached the Interstate no. 75, the prominence of which made me believe that it should be in normal state. But I was proven wrong again. It was slushy and icy all over. I kept recalling all the advice I had received about driving slowly, not ramming on the breaks and steering into the skid. I decided to keep to the rightmost lane in order to drive merrily at my tortoise-pace. It didn’t seem bad – a much rougher drive than usual, but my Mazda was supposed to have an anti-skid feature which gave me some reassurance. So I started counting down the 15 odd miles I had on the freeway while following the tire marks of the vehicles preceding me. But as I cruised along, something did not seem right. Traffic seemed lighter and the lights seemed dimmer too. The next thing I saw was a board stating that I was on the exit lane to the I-74. Now a subtraction by one should not be an issue technically, except that this interstate was heading towards Indianapolis. My eyes had widened and I let out a shout – “What have I done!” I had taken a ‘Wrong Turn’. The movie series by that name had spooky cannibals in the woods. The haunt factor here was in the form of car wreckages lying in the roadside woods. I saw at least 5 of them within a mile. The eerie sight of abandoned city buses and shuttles lying on the curb with the words – “Out of Order” flashing across their route-boards, almost felt like losing a near and dear one, considering I used to be a frequent rider not too long ago.

                To summarize, I had veered onto a path filled with fresh vehicle carcasses and was ever so gently headed towards Indiana. I turned off the radio first. The notion of Rihanna being friends with a monster would least help me calm down in this scenario. It was time to whip out a piece of technology, I always take pride in not utilizing – The GPS. As per instructions, I took the next exit and was told that I will be back on track, through an entrance ramp, within 2 minutes. But despite being neighbors on my phone, the weather.com app refused to communicate to Mr. G. Maps, that the exit ramps would basically be reduced to a white sheet. But Mr. Maps wasn’t going to abandon me. It asked me to take a U-turn and take another ramp on the other side. After struggling with the snail-paced traffic, most of whom seemed lost like me, I saw the board for the ramp. But hello! A flashing police car parked across the entrance was not supposed to be a regular feature.

                So, this one had been shut down too. I took another U-turn with no luck. I was stuck in an infinite loop and Mr. Maps’ intelligence was proving to be seriously artificial. Whatever calmness I had garnered, began to reshape into panic. I steered my car along with one hand while I gnawed into the index finger of the other, pondering what in the world I was supposed to do next. I had gained a reputation for being skillful when it came to geographical navigation. But to activate those abilities, I needed to switch off the anxiety mode. And this is when I reverted back to my first love- a mention of which is inevitable. I recalled Dhoni’s cool headedness and tried to induce a level of nonchalance. I managed to chalk out a path which should have technically led me back to the interstate. I decided to follow my instincts. I could clearly see that the accumulations had increased in the last few minutes and I did see a couple of cars ahead of me on the verge of skidding. I tried my best to emulate a train and stick to the tracks of the Honda Accord I was tailgating and drove into a residential area which led into a pitch dark forest area. Finally, I saw some trucks flying across, on a bridge ahead. It had to be the I-75, and it was.

                Wiping off the subtle smile of relief off my face was proving to be as difficult as driving with trucks racing past me on the fast lane. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. These mighty beasts, which are forced to stick to the rightmost lane on normal days, took it all out on me by derisively splashing off blasts of sleet on my windscreen. I tried to keep my composure by reminding myself about this journey being far from complete.

On the verge of a tempo-maneuver

After reaching my exit, I was rather apprehensive about the next stretch of road leading to the Clifton area, where I lived. Cincinnati is known as the city of seven hills and Clifton happens to be one of them. So the prospect of enjoying my comforter was literally an ‘uphill’ task – whatever route I chose. I still made it through to within a mile of my apartment and the smile starting to transition into a grin. But that is not how life works right? It was probably the last upslope of the route and there was a jam. I figured the traffic must be slow and hence there must be a back-up at the subsequent lights. But Hang on!  There was no oncoming traffic. The vehicles ahead of me took advantage of this chance and treaded across lanes to move ahead. It was hard for me to believe this. The last time I saw such blatant overtaking on prohibited lanes was back home in Kanpur where tempos would convert the 2-laned GT road into an 8-lane ‘un-freeway’. The reason for the jam was to be clear soon. Three cars with their flashers on were just parked on the middle of the road, pointing at random directions. I had only heard of such a situation during the only storm last year. Very soon, I would also become one of those randomly oriented stagnant 4-wheeled box of iron. The only outcome of the fuel injection caused by my desperate pumping of the gas pedal was energy in the form of noise, instead of motion. The number of solutions popping up in my head for this precipice I had got myself into was equal to the coefficient of friction available to my wheels. I saw people get out of their cars and push. But I did not have the luxury of human assistance and boy, did I miss India at that moment. All you had to say was – “Bhaiya thoda dhakka de denge?”, and you would have 5-10 Bhaiyas selflessly helping you out. That vivid vision of my homeland faded off; as I saw the snowflakes continue their relentless attack on me.

I gathered some audacity and stepped out of my car. I quickly learnt that the ice-scraper was useless on asphalt roads. Back inside, the only other gear on my car was the reverse and I figured, what the hell, let’s give it a shot! Interestingly the car went back but not forward. Electronic devices have this funny property wherein slapping a radio box tunes it out of the blue. I slapped on the accelerator and well, my car skid! It skid bad. I froze, not in the outdoor subzero temperature, but with fear. Luckily enough though, I skid back on track and within moments I was rolling, and rolling the way the engineers had designed this vehicle to roll. Thankfully, this one did turn out to be the final bottleneck of this expedition. I performed the most painstakingly cautious parking of my life. As I walked back, I made the mistake of prematurely smiling again, when I forgot about my boot needing traction as well, and just dodged a bad slip. Anyway I made it to my doorstep, in one piece. That’s what mattered.

Challenge Accomplished

While there are breathing souls on this planet who have lived to narrate their tales of a near death experience while climbing Mt. Everest, I have to settle for this one. At least for the time being! But winter has just begun and this “adventure” could well become a recurring event on my calendar. Gee! I do hope not.

Phases of the States

Author’s Note

I apologize for the date- conflicts in this story. That’s an indicator of the degree of writer’s block I encountered and the mental load of grad-studies. I did start penning this down on the 8^th of September 2012, but resumed only recently to continue what was almost discarded material. It could be considered as a sort-of sequel to my previous piece- Cincinnati Masters, with slight chronological (& hence content) redundancies in the first phase of this story.

Prologue

         “So, Pphra-ddheep-ttha! Well done. It was a pleasure working with you and best of luck for the year ahead! Hope you had a great time at P&G.” My manager’s congratulatory words were followed by many more handshakes, compliments and wishes for my future. I personally had another reason to celebrate on (delete this?) that day, 7^th of September 2012- a complete year at Cincinnati & if I may add, a crazy one.

          A year ago to the date, I landed in Cincinnati amidst dense clouds, heavy rain and a pounding nervousness. Little did I know, what lay in store for me in the year ahead. I certainly wasn't expecting to come across such varied facets of the same country- a country known for its uniformity, as opposed to the country where I hail from. Ironically though, this statement gets rendered controversial because my documented passport and genetic passport contradict each other. So my emotional adieu became a technical homecoming, at least according to the officials. Nevertheless, this transition might have been one small step for mankind, but it was one giant leap for me and one lengthy flight for the airline.

      ‘Cincinnati Bublaboo’ was the only TV reference to Cincinnati I had ever come across and indeed the experience in was that one year was rather ‘bubbly’, assorted with some ‘hullabaloo’.

***

Phase One

                 The first few months was a time when I was generously helped by the Indian seniors, a time when the professionalism of property managers and admission authorities seemed amazing and a time when I accepted the challenge of lifting with both my arms, shopping  bags equivalent to the load capacity of four pairs of arms. Automatic slide-down projection screens impressed and stooping buses, charmed. Professors with good human skills topped with good communication and the audacity to show YouTube videos in a classroom were captivating. I call it audacity because the only voice I had ever heard in a classroom before was that of the teacher, a unit pulse signal with no frequencies- colloquially referred to by today’s urban youth as monotonous. I quote Sheldon Cooper; I also strove towards his academic regimen. Although I managed only a fraction of his prowess, this was the first time in years when I felt motivated to study, maybe to match up to all the grandeur. Either that or there was no choice, with assignments flooding my inbox- Yes that’s correct, assignments were emailed and had to be, A) done, B) individually and C)within a time frame. In any case, the results were there to show, eventually.

                If the intellectual faculty was prospering, another one was growing, literally. Mayo filled spicy Italian subs were as tempting as mud to toddlers, free pizzas had the ability to draw grad students from miles and bacon cheeseburgers would give me something I call gustatory-orgasms. Add to that, a wide range of beverages hitherto only heard of like Dr. Pepper and ginger ale; and confections like chunky chips ahoy cookies and lavish ice-cream cakes. I cannot explain the amount of gastronomical satisfaction I have attained in this nation.  

               Ah!  And a doubt raised earlier was also clarified. I did learn to cook and at times when the tongue wanted the financially unviable, I resorted to self-satiation. My age old resentment of ‘homemade/restaurant-shahi-paneer-non-equivalency’ had been put to an end. The coffee, with all its roast-gradations, room for cream and variants like lattes, mochas and au-laits, took some getting used to. The initial few ‘tall’ glasses that I bought could have been used to exterminate rodents, but I eventually did manage to find my formula. A daily dose did come at a cost and a rather steep one. In fact it took a while to get accustomed to the dollar values and not convert into our much loved and thrifty currency.

This phase was like a child in a toy store. Every aspect seemed attractive. Things were going good too. I was hitting the jackpot in stuff I had never had luck with in the past. I won posters and T-shirts in raffles and was also selected for a much desired internship at P&G.  And as if I wasn't excited enough by the ultramodern amenities and food, the pleasant weather added to the thrill. The oblique and bright sunshine which lasted till a baby’s bedtime, augmented by certain “sights” caused by that climate, was certainly a mood enhancer. But as pleasing as the sun was, the lack of it was highly depressing. And the American climate had no shortage in supply of gloomy days. I was about to learn about this in detail in the forthcoming winter. With its onset, began my transition into the next phase of the year.

***

Phase Two

              Posing in front of the pretty fall colored leaves was customary for newbies like me, without realizing that nature’s interpretation was pretty different. Beauty for some was death for the subject. Most of the leaves perished within days leaving behind barren branches which resembled fractals during the day and felt ghastly against the moon in the backdrop. The birds promptly followed their flight itinerary leaving us behind to face the hardship. Not that I am a big fan of birds, but it’s not bad to have company. With blustering winds and only sparse spells of sunshine, the mercury had dropped drastically. The wrath was exacerbated by interspersed rainy days when the already reduced daylight was plagued by a greyish-blue tint. Like most civilians in this nation and globally, I also failed to understand the daylight saving to standard time switch; as though the winter-summer contrast wasn’t big enough. 

The streets already had far lesser people than I was accustomed to and the effect of the weather forced most to vacate, leaving the streets marooned. The few that came out would invariably be clad in black winter apparels and be yards apart on the sidewalk. They were probably unemployed and poor or grad students, not being able to take advantage of Detroit’s gift to the nation. So many cars plied the roads that the only noise heard while walking would be their whooshes, sans the honking mind you! Being on the sidewalk itself isn’t a walk on the beach.  The icy winds lick their mouths at the sight of inclined straight roads and charge in at full tempo, teaching the literal meaning of bone-chilling. Cartilaginous parts turn stiff and red. The eyes get teary and nose runny; even if you’re as nonchalant as Dhoni. In case you forget your gloves back home, you sir can bid your fingers a farewell. For instance, a usually tempting and fulfilling round of shopping is followed by the task of getting those bags to the bus stop. In between lay a colossal challenge in the form of an expansive and deserted parking lot, a common feature in the U.S. Now, heavy loads like Idaho potatoes have this uncanny knack of reducing the bag’s handle to one-dimension, thereby increasing the pressure. Add to it the wind-chill and distance factors and you can actually change your destiny, with new palm lines. The bus ride is an eye-opener too. It dispels the myth about the absence of economic disparity in this nation.

                The winter was long and bad enough; it was worsened by a stressfully loaded quarter. Getting some time for myself was near impossible with those tedious MATLAB programs beeping away unfathomable error messages, in that horrifying red font. A walk outside for some fresh air was out of contention. So the only choice was to sit tight in the comfortably heated but suffocating indoors. And in pursuit of warmth, a vital sacrifice made was that of Oxygen and hence entered the scene a new player- Insomnia! It was a trap, a vicious circle and even Facebook had become boring after being denied the opportunity to post our first snow photographs and earn some Indian likes. The delight of Pringles and MnM’s too, had reached saturation. Although, there was no love lost for burgers, the flabs acquired on my belly and cheeks mandated a separation.

                The end of this tunnel was in sight though. Tinges of green had started emerging on the tree tips, as an assurance of returning to their heyday form. While they were proceeding towards being covered again, the sun had also reappeared from the skirt of clouds; and the attractive skins from the cover of winter wear. Spring was here and the spirits were on the rise. The quarter was much lighter as well and included a dream course for me- Computer Graphics, which gave me a chance to use one of my hobbies (Google Sketchup) to score an ‘A’.The session passed in a jiffy, getting up late, watching IPL matches during classes and playing real ones after them. That’s right! 8000 miles away from its major hub, against all odds, I still had access to cricket.

***

Phase Three

I managed to get a much needed break before the big internship, with a visit to my uncle in Detroit, from where we also squeezed in a trip to the Canadian side of the Niagara Falls. Although Canada matched most of its description in the sitcom ‘How I met your mother’, I found some nice Indian style coffee courtesy Tim Horton’s. After that outing, it was time to earn a new designation, after a long time. The night prior to the big day was a sleepless one. This was something I had been waiting for seven odd months. I had learnt through emails that my boss, coincidentally, had the same name as Mohan Bhargav’s (SRK) boss in the movie Swades. It was turmoil inside my mind with anxieties about my task, the people at P&G, my fit in the new environment and outside work, my lack of a regular ride to the office. Nonetheless, I was there the next morning and called up my boss. A stern and grumpy looking man came down the stairs and walked past me, he wasn’t my boss. Just behind him was an elderly and distinguished gentleman, who walked straight towards me and said- “Pphra-ddheep-ttha? Welcome to P&G! I am your manager.”

                I was told about my tasks over the next three months. It seemed herculean, but manageable. The company jargon went right over my head though. I was swarmed by acronyms and terms like ergonomics and leverage. Having my cubicle right next to senior managers and vice-presidents was humbling and almost everyone was really helpful. Considering all the evils I had heard about the corporate world that was something unexpected. But maybe I was like a new born baby in the family at that point. Yes, it did take them some time to digest the fact that I was the only employee who did not have a car and used a ride from a helpful colleague.

The next three months of my life was something different altogether. It was stressful no doubt, with presentations, poster sessions, early morning wake-ups and probably my first real interaction with people outside the comfort of the Indian-grads circle. However for the first time in my life I felt I was working at a tangible application level. The amount of responsibility I was entrusted with and the motivation provided by those above me was one hell of a confidence-booster. Then of course, there was that factor which one could say was the sole purpose – The big bucks! My first ever income and boy did I use it. Funnily, as more checks paved their way in, the country felt more attractive than ever before. The gates to Macy’s and Cheesecake-factories had opened, bringing a paradigm shift from Wal-Marts and Burger Kings. 

The food also saw a rise in level, with the introduction of some classy cuisine encountered during posh intern events, spread across the hotspots of Cincinnati. Blending into those business class round-table dinner parties was a novel challenge. Forgetting to place that ‘oversized handkerchief/miniature bed-sheet’ on my lap was embarrassing, but I don’t blame myself for drinking my beverage right out of the can instead of pouring it into a wine-glass with exactly three ice-cubes. Besides the class upgrade the vocational upgrade was special too. I got an opportunity to visit their plant and the only time I had seen something this amazing was in the famous NatGeo Coke factory documentary.

Three months went by in a flash. Amidst the meetings, simulations and off-the-job cricket tournaments at neighboring states, my internship was approaching its culmination. On the eve of my final presentation, I lacked the time to even accommodate butterflies in my stomach. I was yet to complete my simulation, or rather emulation; a terminology conflict springing from the need of corporate correctness. While I can arguably point fingers at my Indian upbringing for the procrastination, I can credit the same for my overnight haul and eventual completion, bang on time. That wasn't the first Indian element I had delivered to P&G. I was probably solely responsible for some American senior managers learning about cricket. 

   

           I ended it on a high with a powerful final presentation and just like that it was over. I remembered the admin lady telling me about how the intern would end in no time and become a fragment of my memory, one of the best ones.

***

Epilogue

          After signing my final documents, I walked down those stairs of the P&G office one last time and stepped out of the revolving doors, back to the designation of a student.  That was a wrap of a whole year in the new chapter of my life. Yes, broadly divided into three phases, but probably swarmed with numerous local minima and maxima. In cricketing terms (Sorry!), it could be compared to a typical one-day match with a good start in the ‘powerplays’, forgettable middle overs and a strong finish in the death. Have to rate it as a match winning total!

           The internship gave me a glimpse of that aspect of the United States which was the major factor responsible for the existing migrant settlement rate. I had already gotten a teaser during my pre-interview classy dinner and this was the trailer; a good one.

     The movie is yet to begin.  How gripping does it turns out to be? Only time will tell…

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.

The Old Man and the Baby

It was the final leg of a rather monotonous journey aboard India’s fastest train, the Shatabdi Express. At 130kph (4 times less than the fastest, TGV), India’s pride can be categorized as the West’s humor rather than envy. But the four extra hours of transit provides ample time for on-board stories to materialize.

An elderly man was fast asleep on his wasted window seat, after peering through his Times of India, my Hindustan Times and running his business ex-situ. The seat ahead was home, today, to a little 2-3 year old kid under the vigilance of his mother and young uncle. Analogous to the journey of life, the young one stayed put on his mom’s lap till soon after the departure. His uncle was as far as he went one hour down the line. Three hours later at Aligarh, he had broken the shackles of parental guidance and was on his feet, which were firmly placed on the hand-rest. Blessed by his mother, the sky was the limit for him as he reached out to touch new heights. Of course, he only managed to touch the button to the reading light and resolved to make it a routine. After being reprimanded he resorted to his next energy-dissipation method- Crying. No sooner than the young rapscallion had blown the bogie’s roof off, he was taken for a mini-walk up and down the aisle (of the train). Midway through the journey, he went back on to his mother’s lap only to realize that it was time he needed his space; he needed independence.

So, his uncle volunteered out of the window seat making him the owner of that estate. While enjoying and exploring his newly acquired property he popped up from the backrest to face the old man next to me. He carefully observed him sleep but learned nothing about the art of peace and sanity. The old man woke up soon and seemed pleased to see the kid gawking at him and stalking every move he made. Apparently touched, he retracted his arm and inserted it into his pocket, longing to reach for something. And out came the toffee, leftover from the classy IRCTC breakfast. His arm, with the unwrapped toffee clenched in his fingers moved up against gravity. But it took a negative trajectory thereafter, curving towards his mouth rather than the kid’s. Within seconds, the little brown spheroid had already been sucked in, masticated and gulped upon. The little ‘un was visibly shaken but did well to keep his emotions within. He hung in there, ensuring no eye contact whatsoever with the old ‘un. After a quarter of an hour, the man’s arms were in action again, with what seemed to be heading towards a repeated sequence. And it was! The second and last toffee also defied the kids yearning mouth and was assimilated right before his eyes. He was well within his rights to consume the fruits of his expenditure, but was against morality to literally mock the little star on the earth.

The kid may have been restless and may have shed a few tears earlier, but he subsequently presented a rather stoic demeanor. He put his head down and went about his research, by touching, feeling, twisting and even licking the unhygienic sample space. He soon discovered the knob which opened the foldable tray. ‘Twist’ was the action which reaped success for him after a failed touch and push- and down went the plastic tray, in conformation with gravity. Nature is indeed full of random processes, but it has to be sheer bad luck if all the unfavorable odds conspire against you. Well, the old man was bestowed with a dysfunctional tray which descended lower than normal and to top it up, also had a higher than usual lap-level, with the extra few centimeters being added by adipose. So the tray landed right where it shouldn’t have. This time it was the old man who was visibly shaken and had no choice but to contain his emotions within. He could not shed his tears but soon had some other shedding to do. Backed by randomness, the kid had inadvertently gotten his vengeance; Newton’s third law was hence satisfied.

Platform # Wait

The couple of days leading up to the date of journey are those filled with excitement and anxiety about the upcoming trip. While the mind is completely fixed on what to pack and what not to, the body has to dispassionately complete all the pending work/study formalities just to have a feel good factor before setting out. And then, when it comes to packing up, the time in hand invariably falls short of what would have been required for the ideal packing scheme conceptualized earlier. When it is quarter to eight in the night, the question of what not to pack is rendered void and it is now just a case of dumping all essentials in the bags, charging the I-pod without adding the recent hits in the playlist and ensuring that the ticket is in custody.
So, at 8 pm it’s time to leave for the station, two hours prior to the train’s boarding time. That becomes inevitable for in case one gets caught up in traffic snarls. Nevertheless the converse of Murphy’s Law could easily be applied here as the smoothest of taxi rides transpires and it’s barely half past eight when the sea of orange sodium lights in the railway station driveway basks upon. Early or not, there’s not much of a choice but to grab the bags and head for the waiting room for an hour and a half long wait. But hold on, the scenario changes after walking through that neglected beeping metal-detector and peering straight up at the electronic train-log display.
It’s an hour’s delay, which means an additional non-sedentary wait in the overcrowded waiting room. Time and tide may not have waited for the train, but this congregation had no choice but to wait in order to reap the benefits of the exorbitant sums charged. So as the waiting period was under way, in a clichéd expression- seconds appeared to be like hours, also evident in MATLAB Simulations. Sending dozens of text messages, clearing all the levels of the mobile phone games in addition to gazing at each and every person to observe their respective activities (and appearance) manage only to consume a fraction of the delay.
At 11pm, it should be the actual time of arrival for the train as per the original delay predicted and hence also time to part from the waiting room and face the heat/cold of the action at platform number eight- reaching which is a journey in itself. But the lack of any relevant announcements raises the anxiety levels and forces another check at the electronic display. And Bingo- 23:45 is the new 22:00, in perfect agreement with the ‘GMT+5+n’ time zone, popularly known as the ‘Indian Standard Time’, pun intended.
23:40 IST and the passenger train on platform eight which had arrived around twenty minutes ago, simply refused to budge. Meanwhile it was a pandemonium out there with the Tea and Dinner vendors attempting to take full advantage of this uncharacteristic stoppage. The ear-damaging high pitch voice utilized for shouting out ‘chaaye’ was hard to comprehend. Anyway, at midnight the passenger train finally received its starter signal but departed only after six whistles and ten more minutes. The station complex hit a nerve-racking silence thereafter. There wasn’t a single train anywhere around and the myriads of waiting passengers had been drained out by the preceding trains. Nevertheless, the station is one of the rare centers in India which never sleeps. Although numerous indigent families were fast asleep on the freezing and germ-infested concrete of the platforms, the buzz was still there.
It was not before 1pm when the first announcement regarding the train which mattered, was made- with an unbeatable timing, when a person least wants to hear anything. Luckily another announcement was made after the short spell at the second only place (after worship-centers), where people contribute generously. Well, the bad news was that the same venue would receive a few more visits from my side as 2:30 am was the latest entrant. The lady was rather kind as she at least claimed to have deeply regretted the inconvenience caused to the passengers. While the flesh and blood constituted authorities are apathetically asleep, the computers, through their although-artificial-nevertheless-intelligence are learning how to be patronizing. Wonder if they could be taught how to refund the sufferers. But alas the generosity, as mentioned earlier, is shown at limited places.
Trains came and went by. People with different destinies were under the scanner. With trains originating from and terminating at different regions of Incredible India, a cultural kaleidoscope was on offer. While the Bihar-bound trains were like the bars of the wild-west, the South Indian trains flit past with utmost discipline and the ones from Rajasthan were home to a plethora of colors underneath the blue steel shell. Some trains also had celebrities of the likes of Deepika Padukone and Abhishek Bacchan staring at me from each and every window. Like short term relationships, people came into my life, entertained me, and then moved on with their lives leaving me forlorn and solemn yet again. Of course solemn was now turning into resentment and frustration.
The 22:00 kept transmuting on a +1 hourly basis. The lady was still as regretful as earlier. An alternate train which could take me to my destination behold me in an expression of- “:mm what are you thinking? Just hop on dude!” But in this journey the ticket is like a birth certificate- the passenger is void without one, despite palpable symptoms of existence. All the same the power of money has the ability to falsify the truth, let aside an unauthorized journey. The authority of the journey of life however, had not quite bequeathed upon me the courage to go through with such a task and hence was ruled out.
Talking of money, at 6am the train which blatantly flaunted its supremacy slowly pulled into one of the platforms. This train had distanced off from the names of states and ethnicities and only smelt of cosmopolitanism. When the German manufactured rake of the Shatabdi Express stood tall and proud, the whole scenario of the platform changed. An air of affluence and arrogance was on display. Out went the heavy plastic attaches and in came the roller bags. While the ladies exhibited the latest vogue, inside, the primly suited businessmen hastily unleashed their laptops in order to fully utilize the short trip ahead. The stewards clad in red and white checked uniforms were loading victuals enough for the next two days, but to be fed within the next four hours.
As the Shatabdi Express slowly pulled out in style, another announcement for the one and only was made. But what the hell, the lady had subtly changed the eight to five with respect to the platform number. This time she requested the passengers to go to the platform through the bridge and yet again my good old friend was apologetic about this inconvenience as well. For those with a good sense of humor even under extreme situations, it was rather amusing that it finally took a desperate run across two platforms to just meet the train pulling into the platform, in spite of arriving ten hours premature.
After a brief melee between the disembarking passengers and those frantic to enter, at last it was time to move on in life. Better late than never was the motto here and of course who can forget the great Indian explanation- ‘at least it’s working, what more do you need?’ As stated in the Hollywood flick Outsourced, “India works”- and the same India has slowly and steadily worked its way to be an emerging powerful economy. As far as the twenty year delay in achieving the same is concerned, “the inconvenience caused is deeply regretted”. Anyway, can’t expect overnight transformations but yeah, certainly hope overnight train delays will be an event of the past, very soon.