Shankar Mane, all of 5 feet 5, 145 pounds, thick black hair, permanent stubble, looked around at the frantic activity in his one bedroom house in Solapur.
Shankar is B.E. Electronics and has worked two years in a software company as a developer. Shankar is extremely hardworking and sincere. Today he is embarking on a journey to the United States. Shankar is scared. So far in his life, the farthest he has traveled is to Pune for the walk-in interview with the head hunter. Unconsciously he pats his pockets. He has been doing that since morning. His pocket holds his passport and tickets. To a new world.
"Do not forget your roots", Shankar's father repeats for the 5th time in an hour in a tone he thinks is menacing. Shankar's father runs a small grocery shop. Shankar's elder sister, married and 1 kid, winks at Shankar.
Shankar's father sees it. "Don't be like her", He tries to drawl. Shankar's sister had the temerity to chose her own husband. She winks at Shankar again.
Shankar's mother packs the last of the pickle bottles in the bag. There are two bags, old, oft-used, rough handled. They are bulging at their seams. Anil, Shankar's best friend (he has traveled to Mumbai twice) throws a nylon rope around the bag and trusses it.
"The world is very bad", Anil mutters as if he rode shotgun with Vasco Da Gama "You have to keep your eyes open all the time"
Shankar shrugs into the jacket that his father has brought for him. Shankar wanted a black jacket, but his father bought him a blue one. Shankar does not complain. Shankar never complains.
He touches his mom's feet and then his father's. He puts his hands together in front of Ganapati (for mother's sake).
Shankar leaves the house. Anil is putting the bags in the taxi. His eyes drawn to the balcony of a house facing theirs. As usual, Shama is stands in the gallery. Though today, she smiles at Shankar. A sad kinda smile, Shankar imagines. For a moment, Shankar cancels his trip to US. It has been 5 years now that Shankar has tried to prove his existence to her. He even sent her a Valentine card this year, but then did not dare sign his name on it (He wore his cricket gloves while sealing the envelope so as not to get his fingerprints on it. Shankar reads detective novels. The thumb and the index finger of the glove are still stuck to each other. Shankar considers that a good omen).
Shankar sighs and lets Shama go. Atleast for now. He looks down and climbs into the taxi that takes him to the railway station. One hour and 4 ounce tears later, he is on his way to Mumbai.
In the train, Shankar tucks the two suitcases under his seat and them lashes them to the armrest with a chain and lock. The chain could easily contain a raging elephant. He then puts the keys in his handbag and locks the handbag. The second key, he puts in a small pocket he has stitched in his underwear. He then puts the handbag under his head, lets one hand dangle - super casually - such that it touches the bags under the seat and tries to sleep. He thinks of Shama and sighs. Were the train not moving he would have got out.
Next morning, his maternal uncle picks him up at the railway station and drives him to the airport. The goodbye is quick. His maternal uncle does not see eye to eye with Shankar's father.
Anil had told him, "Make sure you don't take the back seats. It is bumpy". Anil's experience is limited to buses. But he always had an advice. Advice is like an arse-hole, everyone has one. Shankar gets a seat above the wing. Shankar bungles through the lines, botches up forms, and manages to reach the plane. He finds his seat and sits in. "Do not remove the jacket" Anil has told him. His passport and ticket are in the jacket. The Mumbai air is hot and humid. Shankar bears it. Shankar can bear anything.
A young Gujrati couple takes the seat near him. They are recently married. The girl has fresh mehndi on her hands. She giggles. He thinks of Shama. Shama would never giggle. The couple hold hands. Shankar looks the other way.
The plane takes off. Shankar watches, his neck craned, as the lights of Mumbai glitter, then twinkle and then fade into the darkness. Soon he is enveloped in the clouds. Shankar cannot believe he is actually on his way.
The air-hostess asks him what he would like to drink. He looks at the array of bottles on her cart. Shankar is a teetotaler. He points at a Chivas. The air-hostess, opens the bottle, puts it in front of him. Places a glass with three ice cubes and moves on. Shankar corks the bottle again and tucks it into the seat pocket and sips the ice. Then he dozes off.
A few hours later he wakes up with a start. He has no idea where he is. He is hungry. He gets up. He sees the girl in the next seat half sprawled across the boy's chest. Shankar clucks his tongue and shakes his head. He steps across the couple. He sees an air-hostess.
"Hungry", he says.
"What would you like, sir", she asks
"Food"
"Yes, I mean, Veg or Non veg"
"Vegeterian"
When he returns to his seat, he sees a tray set on the little foldable table. The tray has some lettuce and cucumbers, some pasta, a slice of cheese, a slice of bread, butter and jam and juice.
He sees the air-hostess passing by.
"Food ?" he asks her
She looks at the plate in front of him quizzically.
"Chapathi and daal ?"
"Excuse me ?, sir"
45 seconds later, he realizes this is what they call food. He eats the bread with the butter. He licks off the jam and polishes the juice.He pushes the plate aside and dozes off. he is starving. He misses Aai.
A difficult 27 hours later, the plane touches down in Seattle, Washington.
Shankar is cramped, starved, tired, stinking and irritated. The couple in the next seat have been very noisy and seemed to be enjoying everything. People start deplaning. Shankar looks around. Catching an opportune moment, he stuffs the pillow, the blanket and the toothbrush, that the airline has thoughtfully provided, into his handbag. He follows that with the headphone, three mini bottles of Chivas Regal, one bottle of Smirnoff and one bottle of Blue Label which he has religiously collected on every trip that the air hostess made down the aisle.
He follows the couple as they sashay towards immigration.
At the immigration counter, the INS officer asks him
"Sir, do you intend to study here ?"
Shankar is immediately on the alert. He thought his job interview was over. "Will learn on the job, Sir, I learn fast".
"No, No. Are you going to go to a school here ?"
"Don't need education. I have already done school. I got 93% in SSC."
The INS officer looks at Shankar. He smiles. He does not see a threat to America.
"Welcome to the United States" says the INS officer.
If only he knew how wrong he is going to be....
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Shankar worked his way through the terminal down to the luggage claim. As he got off the escalator, he was was greeted by the antiseptic smell of pine cleaner and a sign that read "Piso Mojado". He waited for his luggage to appear on the carousel.
In his breast pocket, folded away in a carrying case, was a pair of spectacles he had inherited from his grandfather. He toyed with them, thought about wearing them, then decided against it.
He did not know it at the time, but that seemingly trivial personal effect would transform his life and the lives of countless others; through it he would earn the respect, love and admiration of those around him; it would bring him face to face with some of the most powerful people in the world; through it he would accomplish, albeit without intending it, what some of the most powerful governments in the world had been unable to do, and it would ultimately alter the course of history. It would also make him the object of envy and drive him to the brink of madness.
But he did not know all that just yet. For now, he focused on the cardboard box that formed the last of his checked-in luggage.
He wheeled his luggage to the taxi stand and took the first one that was waiting. The driver greeted him courteously. Shankar gave him a little scrap of paper with an address on it. The driver nodded and said, "I know where this is". The driver loaded the luggage into the trunk and they set out.
Ten minutes on the road, the driver made an error that many others would make. He misread Shankar. He had pegged Shankar for someone fresh-off-the-boat. He thought of the I-405/I-90 ruse and decided to pull it. But there was no way he could have known that that right that second, Shankar knew that the driver was pegging him for someone fresh-off-the boat.
The driver said, "I will take I-90. That is a shorter router. It will save you $5". Shankar said, rather matter-of-factly, "No. Take 405 and then 8th street".
The driver was taken aback. Only a long-time native could have known that. He bit his lip, cursed under his breath and dreamed away of owning his limousine service in three years.
They pulled into the apartment complex and Shankar got out of the cab. The driver deposited his luggage on the ground and said that will be $50. Shankar palmed him the fare. The driver looked at him expecting a tip. Shankar gazed at him, as if to peer into his soul and said, "Here is a tip- In four years, you will be running your own business, but do not hire employees based on how they look".
If the driver was taken aback initially, he was now stunned. But he did not show it as Shankar disappeared into to the block of apartments.
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