Run Out - II

I had to reach there well in advance to book a spot for myself. A lot of folks had already gathered at the Boylston St. I wanted to be there for my mom.

Boston – This is the city I grew up in and having lived here all the 16 years of my life, the city had become one of my good friends. I am a second-generation American-Indian and I have been brought up being lectured about the Indian family values and how I should be well knit with the family. This would mean I wouldn’t get to move out once I reached college too. Both my dad and mom hail from Calcutta. Well, my mom is from Calcutta, but my dad is from somewhere around there. Both are true blood Bengalis. I can barely speak a few words of Bengali, but I do understand it quite a bit. My mom says I used to be fluent, but then I was too lazy to continue learning the language. They had decided way earlier that our lives will be lived here in the states and did not force me to learn my mother tongue. Someday I would like to though. I like the Bengali songs that mom keeps playing.

I remember my mom being this sad soul. That’s one of my first impressions of her. We were never a great mother-daughter combo. I somehow feel I have all her traits. At least I have inherited the writing genes from her. She would be home all the time doing pretty much nothing but taking care of me. I seldom got to spend time with my father, except for when we were travelling. He would buy me whatever I wanted though. I guess that’s the trade one gets. Things changed when I was 12. I was in my 7^th Grade when I accidently pounced upon my mom’s journals. I was searching for something in the dresser and came across an old notebook. I couldn’t keep bounds on my curiosity and ended up reading it. I was sure that it was going to be a sad love story which had turned her into this melancholic robot. But what I read in those few pages was a woman’s tale. Many a woman’s tale, may be…

1999

I had made up my mind with much difficulty that this is a good thing. It’s every other Indian girl’s dream. To make it to a land far away from the choking land of idols and devils. To America – where dreams become reality. Where liberation found it’s true meaning. It wasn’t that my Bachelor of Arts in History was going to make me a high-flying journalist. But that’s one of the trains that I did not take, so I wouldn’t know if I would have reached anywhere. I was forced into another train where I was married off to a software engineer working in IBM. I got married between my semester holidays during my masters. It was supposedly too good a ‘Samparka’ to let go. And my ageing dad wanted to hold his head high in the society. The same society which would have looked down upon him if he remarried after my mom passed away young. He used the single dad blackmail pretty well.

Sujoy was a good guy. But we had nothing great going. Even before I finished my masters, Sujoy got an opportunity to travel to Seattle. He decided to take it up even though he knew I wanted to take up journalism once I finished my masters. He said he will not force me to join him, but he said he can’t let go of the opportunity. He said he will “allow” me to complete my masters and join him later. Once I finished my masters I had two choices – Be the family woman and go make a home in the United States or aspire to have my articles published on The telegraph.

I liked the rains in Seattle. They reminded me of my home, the poetries about rain, the songs of rain. I kept telling myself that I should start writing seriously. But I ended up puking out all my frustrations into my journals and used them for my fire place. This one has survived so far. Maybe, I even asked Sujoy to steal one of the computers from his office. Why do they need so many anyways? All I did during the day was to stare out of the balcony into the woods. Luckily the balcony was facing the woods and not the other apartments. I could see the other apartments though from my living room window. The ladies gang used to get together exactly at 11, on a bench. Two of them carried the children and the other one was young. Maybe she was pulled out of her Master degree too. Sujoy would come back from work, have his tea, change to shorts and get out again to play volleyball. Most of the crowd were South Indians. Sujoy used to take me to house parties where the women cooked and the men would drink. There would be a meet up to plan the dishes the men would like to have while they booze. Sadly, there was no fish cooked any time.

Every week the women used to get together for potluck. I went to a couple of them, but I couldn’t relate to any of the ladies. Most of the conversations surrounded their husbands and more importantly their in-laws. Nothing too wrong about them, but there was this one time I referred to Rabindrananth da and a lady asked me if that’s the guy who wrote Janaganamana. I don’t get offended very easily, but when someone poked around my Tagorism, I flipped. He is my faith. I decided that day that I wouldn’t go to another potluck. That lasted for 2 days. Sujoy couldn’t leave his reputation for my discomfort.

My days would stretch so long that I could fit years into them. I would be up by 6 to make breakfast and lunch so that Sujoy could carry it. I hated it when the clock struck 8. There would be so much silence in the house that I could hear the trucks running on the highway. I tried listening to the CDs I had, but getting new ones was difficult. I resorted to the radio and eventually started liking it quite a bit. There were so many talk shows where they discussed their miseries. Felt good,, actually. My fear of roads didn’t help me either. I was so adamant that I wouldn’t learn driving. I found a library a few miles away and brought in some courage to walk to it. I had to return half way through since the pedestrian walkway ended. I stood in an island which had a no pedestrian crossing sign. I wish I had wings. Maybe they got chopped off when I boarded the plane from Calcutta. I so badly wanted to go back to India and live there for a while. But the flight tickets were too expensive and moreover my going away would mean that Sujoy would struggle for food. All he has cooked in his life was Maggie. This one time, I almost tore apart the dependent visa page from my passport. The “H4 housewife” tag was weighing heavily on me.

I tried the shopkeeper jobs too! But the negativity around there made me feel more depressed and that didn’t last too long. By the time I had spent 2 months in the job, there were 4 different ladies who worked alongside me at the counter. There was one thing that connected them - the complaining! I should’ve taken them to the slums of Calcutta. I finally told Sujoy that I will do another Masters degree in the US. But it wasn’t to be..

2000

Dia came as a great relief. I must be a horrible mom to say this, but her arrival gave me good ‘timepass’. I now had her to attend to. Since Sujoy’s parents were sick, I was left to figure out how to take care of a baby by myself. It was fun though. She would make me laugh and cry at the same time. I used to sing Rabindra geet for her. It at least put her to sleep. I would wake up and sleep with her. I could see a lot of changes in Sujoy once Dia was born. He would never let me get up in the night, if dia started crying. He used to pamper her like crazy. Once Papa came home, Dia wouldn’t bother even looking at me. But outside the house, it was a different story. Once we were in public, it was understood that Dia is my responsibility. Of course, I am not going to write here about all the maddening fights we have had on why he couldn’t attend to her more. I sometimes wished that I was like one of those girls on the bench. Everytime I hear them speak, they spoke as if it’s understood that the mother is responsible for the upbringing of the kid. I guess it was difficult for human beings with mustaches & beards to bring up a baby and to do the other household chores.

2005

I was disappointed the day Dia was starting school. We moved to a bigger house, but the damn trucks were there too. The silence was back. By now, I had made acquaintance with silence. I used to sit and cry for no reason for hours together when I had started living in Seattle. But now, I just smile. My mission in life had become giving Dia whatever she needed. I had made up my mind to fight Sujoy to not bring up Dia with "Indian traditions". Sujoy also had started adapting himself to the American way of life after having lived there for over 5 years. He knew that Dia wouldn’t grow up like an Indian Nari. Infact I had great pleasure in poking him, when I tell him that Dia is going to have a boyfriend by 16 and probably will lose her virginity by then too. It was too much for him take, with his Indian Protha.

When I was 12 years old, I had confessed to my mom that I had read her pages. But she was chill about it. And from that day, she opened up much more to me and I saw another side of hers. I even offered her that she could be the co-author of the novel I planned to write. I stole a look at her online diary few months back to see if she had updated anything.

2014

I have read about those interview questions asking where you see yourself in 5 years from now. Make that 10 years and I am damn sure I wouldn’t have answered that I would (still) be a housewife weighing 170 pounds. The fact that I spoke in pounds made me less of who I used to be in my past life. Even the rains stopped reminding me of Calcutta. I guess time is the best healer, but it’s the best killer too. But I was so glad that I developed the habit of sitting at the park observing people. It was an active atmosphere with people running/walking/playing with their dogs/kids. I did my stroll and that was about it. Until one day when I saw God. He was running in the form of an autistic child. He ran all over the place, but run he did. I ended up chatting with her mother and she said the running helped him keep his outbursts in control. Everyone needs a spark in their lives. I had misplaced my matchbox a long time back. But out of nowhere there it was - The spark – I started walking.

Soon enough, I started walking at a good speed. I started with making a couple of rounds of the park and then it slowly increased to 4 rounds. But I wasn’t happy just walking. I wanted to run. Run like Forest Gump. I would wake up at 4 for preparing the parcel service and would be done by 6. Many a day I wouldn’t be there when Sujoy woke up. I left him to prepare Dia for school too. And slowly I could jog. The first day I tried to jog, I could see stars after 3-4 minutes. But as with anything, with practice things start looking easy. I could run 3-4 minutes on one leg. And before I knew I could run around the whole park in 15-20 minutes. I could see that I was slowly fitting into some of my old clothes again. I made a few good companions at the park too. One of them suggested that I should try to run a 5K marathon. I got kicked about it and started targeting the marathon. When I first told Sujoy, he was quite surprised. He couldn’t believe that I could run. But he knew he couldn’t say no. Not when I have threatened to walk out of the marriage a few many times and he knew if he restricted me more, I would end up doing it. I was an American Citizen by then, you know. I found the dead me wake up from my twenties.

I ran the 5K marathon quite easily. Even though I was amongst the ones who came last, after long I felt content. I came back home and checked my weight. It had gone down to 140 pounds. I was on a roll. After a few months, the only reason I woke up was to run. Dia could take care of herself now and Sujoy finally decided to eat healthy – the cereals, salads and stuff – which meant I didn’t have to do too much cooking. One of the days, the weather was good. I wanted to try my new shoes that I had bought and ventured out running. I do not remember the roads I took and after a while I didn’t care. I think I was racing a car at some point, luckily the driver hit the gas and I was left behind. But I noticed that I was fast. I initially thought it’s the shoes, but then when in a few days’ time, I could do that again, I knew it was me. Wings started growing in my leg. I wanted keep running. I should prepare for longer runs.

Prepare for longer runs, she did. As I stood near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, I just hoped that she would finish it. I knew she had practiced enough. But I was fearing that she would be intimidated by the other runners. I knew that Marathon was a big deal and runners from around the world would participate. I was only hoping to see her come running towards us. The contestants started crossing the line one by one. I knew I had to wait for few more minutes before I see her. I readied my ‘Proud of you, Mom’ placard. My dad was holding a ‘Proud of you’ sign too with my mom’s name on it!

Dharani Bhattacharjee finished 20^th in that year’s Marathon. She was the 4^th woman to finish the race. From being a boring soul, my mom became my idol. I saw this Bollywood movie, the other day, in which the hero wins a Gold for India. I am sure no one is going to make a movie on Dharani. Or the thousand other Dharanis living out there. But all of them are heroes, nevertheless. 

Square Drive

'How come you haven't got a car yet?' Pete asked me on our way to the cafeteria.

'I do have one', I replied, 'but a pretty old one'

'So you don't drive it to work?' He inquired

'I prefer taking the bus', I said. And Pete replied with a "Oh. Ok. That's cool".

I knew he meant to say, "Oh that's weird", but the American politeness came in his way. Even when it snowed, I liked to walk the mile and board the bus from Frederick transit center and board my Route M. There were a few regular co-passengers too - not many who could afford a car. Some of them eventually became good friends with me. The driver of the bus had become a special friend. He didn’t know me by my name. He knew me as Maha's son. My dad and he had a special bond.

My Dad was with me last summer. He had come to visit me. More than wanting to see me, he wanted to see America. The great things he had heard about the country from his nephews and nieces. I think one of his brother still lives somewhere here in the U.S. He was one of those uncles whose name we often heard, but never got an opportunity to see. He was always 'Siddha from America'. I asked him once about him and my dad told me never to ask about him again. I never did. From the day he landed in Washington Dulles airport, he was in awe of the country. He loved the roads, the cars, the downtown and almost everything about the country. He wasn't impressed by the bus service in the city though. I had warned him about it before, but then he came and saw that spotting a bus is in suburbs is like spotting a shooting star.

Within a few days of being under house arrest, I could see that he was becoming highly frustrated. His evening walks couldn't keep him happy. I decided to take him with me, twice a week, when I went to work. He would ride the bus with me, and sit at the library reading his books. I would meet him for lunch and then he would take the bus back. I was reluctant at first to let him get back by himself, but then I trusted the man's sense of direction. It was like a GPS fitted in his head. It took some time for him to get used to the exits in the freeways, but otherwise, he could've gone around driving my car all by himself. Just that he never drove a car in his life. And I imagined that cars were not his thing.

The first day I took him on the bus ride, he was a child all over again. He was excited, to say the least. As we boarded the bus he went straight in to take a seat. "Woah, where do you think you are going?" Shouted the driver. 'He is with me', I said and put the coins in the slot. I took the seat next to my dad and his first question was - "There is no conductor?". I explained to him that the bus driver doubles up as a conductors out here and lets you in only if you pay or have a pass. He was surprised. 'Wouldn't that slow the bus down?'. I just nodded and let him enjoy the ride. The next ride of the week, as soon as he got into the bus, he looked at the driver and said, "Good Morning". 'Mornin' replied back the driver. And as we took our ride, he told me that he had seen the other day that everyone getting into the bus were wishing the driver. He was getting used to the American way of life.

It was fun watching him explore the small things by himself. I got the jolt when I started working here in America. There was this guy who would pass by me a hundred times on a given day and ask me, "Hey, How’re you doing" a hundred times. He never stopped to hear how I was doing though. Back in my home, the last time I had asked the question "how are you doing" was when one of my colleague returned after having met with an accident.

The second week was fun. My dad decided to sit in the front seat to take a look at how the driver was operating. "No clutch" was his first observation. I just nodded.

After the bus took the freeway, he stood up and went closer to the driver.

'You ain't gonna get down here man', the driver told him without taking his eyes off the road.

 'Just looking', my father said in his broken English.

He turned back to me and said '60 km/hr'.

'Miles', the driver said.'60 miles/hr'

'Oh. Ok Ok. Super-fast', my dad said nodding.

'I too drive', he said. 'You know SLTB bus?'

'The what?' The driver exclaimed.

'SLTB bus. I drive . Not so modern buses. Very old buses. With gears', my dad said

'You mean you are a driver too?' Asked the driver.

'Yes. Yes. I drive in Colombo’.

'Columbus?'

'No. No. Colombo'

'Colombia?'

'Noo. Colombo – Sri Lanka'

'Where the heck is that' the driver was confused. 'Is that a city?'

'You don't know Sri Lanka? It is my country'

'Oh. Never heard of that man'.

'You know India?', my dad wouldn't let go.

'Oh ya. I know India. There are a lot of people from India around here. I know India alright'. I smiled.

You don't get to hear pure cynicism very often.

'Yes. Sri Lanka – Near India'

'I see. What brings you here? Don't tell me you are gonna take my job away man' exclaimed the driver and he laughed out loud. Someone from the backside of the bus shouted back, 'mmmHmmm he's gonna take your job away alright. As long as the democrats are in there'.

'I don't know about that' the driver shouted back 'The republicans are assholes too'.

'All of them are', shouted another guy and the whole bus was buzzing.

My dad kept staring at the bus' dashboard. 'I drive old bus. Very old bus. This one like volvo bus'

The driver just nodded. I am sure he didn't catch much of that.

After a bit, it was getting slightly weird and I wanted my dad to come back and take a seat. When he got back to the seat, I told him not to keep asking questions. That the driver may not like it too much. And when he pretended not to listen, I shouted at him. He didn't talk much after that. I hate to see my dad go quiet. He is usually this live wire and I, quite the opposite. I wished my mom was around. My dad usually behaved better when she is around. She wasn't game to come to a different country and "struggle". The actual reason was that she was afraid of flying. And my dad happily took the chance to get away from her. Something about old couples - they take the first opportunity to take a break from each other.

The routine continued for a few days. My dad kept hopping on to the bus rides with me and he returned by himself. He said Dominick had become a good friend of his. Dominick was of course the bus driver. I couldn’t even understand how they could converse. My dad actually knew quite a bit about him in a short while. He knew his children’s name, his dog’s breed, where his ex-wife stayed amongst a thousand other things. It made me realize how different both of them were from each other, but yet so similar. My dad had spent all his life driving the bus in the busy streets of Colombo. Not the most enjoyable job by any imagination, but then the kind of passion he showed towards it and the content he had, made me think about the thanklessness people like me had for our jobs. I am sure Dominick was no different.  

Before even he knew, it was almost time for dad to go back. He was visibly sad about it. A night before he were to leave, I returned home to find that he wasn’t around. At first I thought he had gone out for a stroll. He does that sometimes when he gets bored. When he did not return for an hour, I started to become a bit worried. It was getting dark and his phone was not reachable too. It was the worst feeling ever. I was contesting calling 911, but then I was not sure if I should. I called up a couple of friends of mine who came over to my place. We decided to split up and look around the community. I kept driving around looking for him. The community was a pretty safe one. But then, it’s an old man with limited linguistic abilities roaming around the streets. I started missing my dad. I regretted getting him over to live alone in a new country.

I drove around and finally was about to give up. I was really close to the bus bay and I thought I should check in there once. I went to the bus stand and stared around. But it seemed to be empty apart from a bunch of homeless people trying to hang around. As I was about to leave, I saw a bus entering the bay. It was odd to see a bus in that hour. As much as I knew, the last bus operated only till 8 PM. I waited to see if my dad is in it. As it stopped, the door opened and I had the shock of my life. There sat my dad in the driver’s seat! Dominick stood behind him and waved to me. My dad got down from the bus and shook Dominick’s hand before he got out. ‘Take care of yourself, my friend. I will definitely make it to Colombo and you better get me a bus to drive out there in the busy traffic’, said Dominick as my dad alighted screaming ‘Sure.Sure’.

My dad told me that Dominick had offered a drink and he had gone with him. I was so glad that I had not called the cops. Apparently he left a note on the door, which must have disappeared. I was feeling furious and wanted to scream at him. But I didn’t. I smiled and we went home. I got a feeling that it was one of happiest days of dad’s life. Or at least, it was one of the happiest he looked.

Soon after my dad was gone, I got another job offer and moved to a different city in Ohio. Spotting a bus there was like spotting a meteor. But whenever I did, I remembered the international driver duo and their partnership.