While writing last week’s post, my fingers pressed the words “penurious student” into service. Even as the words appeared on my computer screen, I spontaneously recollected two episodes from a distant past. Both contemporaneous, both packing a punch. This piece will describe those episodes and their peculiar juxtaposition.
I was then still in college. A semester was about to end, and I was eagerly looking forward to visiting home (at the time, that was in India.) My tickets were confirmed, and all shopping complete…when I abruptly learned that I should obtain some paperwork (the details are unimportant) from the INS before departure. My only option was to make an urgent in-person visit to the INS office, and do everything possible to secure same-day service.
Now there came into play the problem of logistics, transport essentially. It was beginning to look like two taxi-rides would be necessary. Both at odd hours, each prohibitively expensive. One to the airport, and one to the INS office.
There lived an Indian couple in town: my parents’ friends, long settled in the US, who had (and continue to) enjoyed my parents’ hospitality over a span of decades during biyearly trips to India. When I had landed in the US, I initially met them but immediately sensed a wariness on their part. Perhaps they were worried that I might impose unduly upon them. So I kept my distance, subsequently meeting with them only at gatherings. These interactions were cordial but infrequent. In this time of some need, however, I called them. They ever so politely declined my request for a ride (to the airport), only offering words of wisdom such as independence, and the American way. It wasn’t entirely unexpected but still disappointing.
I booked both taxi rides.
A little after midnight, the (first) taxi arrived at my door. I entered the vehicle to find that the driver was an elderly Sikh man. As he drove me to the distant INS building, we chatted. A little bit about where I was going and why. But mostly about where we came from, life in general, and his struggles in immigrating. Time swept by and by the time we arrived outside the INS building, it was 1AM. Before getting out, I offered him a credit-card. To my surprise, the man refused it point-blank. I was puzzled at first, then disbelieving, finally touched. I insisted that he take the fare, only to have him out-insist me flamboyantly, like only Sardarjis can. After all these years, I only remember the gist of his parting words- about me being like his daughter, it being an ungodly time of night, his best wishes for me in life.
I’ve reflected upon both episodes (always together) many times. Those who should’ve been enthusiastic to do me a favor had pulled a distasteful Houdini, while the man who owed me nothing had given me the sweat of his brow. The family-friends, who still continue to ask for and accept favors (from my parents in India) had offered banal words, while a stranger with no incentive had offered genuine goodwill (and more). Clearly, strength (or weakness) of character plays out regardless of circumstance while niceties are often circumstantial. And…somewhere along the way, I must’ve taken the red pill- so now I get to live in Wonderland and see just how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
DancingDrums 