"wake up, you moron!!", mom was yelling at the highest decibel possible in a desperate and frantic effort to spring me out of the bed. Every mother in this beautiful world is an amazing alarm clock and as long as you have the former, you don’t need the latter. I was shielded by the ozone-like quilt but even that couldn’t prevent the vociferous nature of my mother’s voice from prevailing under the heavily cushioned layer.
To add to the frustration, the soporific warmth of my room was extremely seductive and tempted me just to spend little more time in the cozy bed. I have always felt that early morning sleep has been god’s cynical gift to mankind. It is that time of the day when dreams seem to be insipid, ambitions make you livid and desires are treated with disdain. All that u care for is a few minutes of sleep in appendage.
However, the day ahead was a special day indeed. An interview for a United States of America visa would have given some lads sleepless nights and loose bowel movements but I wasn’t one who would be shaken by the tremors that tension might offer. In fact, most people have been bewildered by my attitude towards life. In retrospect, I have always considered my "easy-going" attitude as my strength and it has often pulled me out of quicksand during various circumstances. Even this attitude of mine couldn’t stop me from ejecting myself from the bed. I ruffled my hair and had a quick glance at the mirror.
One really ponders over the fact that why humans look at the mirror every morning despite knowing that complexions can’t change and features don’t fabricate in a matter of hours. We can’t expect evolution at such a breathtaking pace. However, there are some days you might appear good and some days where you might not, I resolutely believe that it all depends on our perception. No wonder it is called "mirror image".
Regardless of a man’s IQ level, educational profile, family background , most people are "socrates" while ablution and "edison" while brushing teeth. Somehow, I shunned all those thoughts and was intent on getting ready. The last thing I wanted was to be late for the interview. In any case, I had the auto-journey for my "thought-engine" to work.
Getting dressed in a spic and span attire was a bohemian task as far as I was concerned. I have never given much focus on these issues which I considered futile and trivial. But,there was no room for any pragmatism on that particular day. It was essential to present myself in a suave and sophisticated manner,atleast for a few minutes. The US embassy have obviously forgotten the quote "appearances can be deceptive" and I was prepared to make hay while the sun shone.
So,I summoned all my strength and dressed myself in the best way possible.
As usual, my mom had prepared a heavy and cumbersome breakfast. The mere sight of the menu filled my stomach with satisfaction. She never seemed to comprehend the fact that I had breakfasts in abstemious fashion and simply loathed rich diets. I managed to stuff myself for my mom’s sake and bid adieu to her.
I must admit that I was a bit dodgy during my exit. There were butterflies in my stomach and made me extremely nervous. There is always an emptiness which deserts you during these days. It is like you have a sudden jolt of alzheimer’s.
I scampered across to the nearby auto-stand and managed to grab the attention of a few auto-guys. Unfortunately, I was caught in a tug of war between two guys who desperately wanted me as their first passenger of the day. Finally, one side emerged triumphant and I was glad to get started.
"Where did this all begin?" I asked myself.
I wasn’t referring to the journey to the US consulate, but the journey of my US dream.
It actually started during my high-school days when most of my cousins fled to the "land of opportunities" during the "it" boom. A life in US was an aspiration which kindled the fire in my belly. It was the sole cause of my stellar performance in my board examinations.
The United States of America is probably the only country where talents are recognized without shades of nepotism or bribery. You didn’t have to be the best, you just had to be committed to your job. I have always wondered what the hell were we doing when the US had built a nation with such diligence? The fact is that we were sleeping. One of the few answers that makes sense literally too. Whatever the reason, reality was that the US was the destination that almost every educated indian desired and I was no different.
The reason behind their angst for a life abroad was simple and inevitable. They wanted to be a NRI. No other three letters could give you so much pleasure(of course there is another word). I had always been enthralled by these set of people and wanted to emulate their feats abroad. The luxurious life sans tension and perspiration(climate is good there) was always lucrative for people living in a populous nation with dusty conditions and high level of inefficiency in the system. Pollution in the system exceeded air’s and none seem to bother too much about it. I must say that I too was a stereotyped indian citizen who doesn’t give a damn about the state of the nation.
More than anything else, I felt that the status that the NRI’s enjoy back home is something astonishing. Relatives perceived almost all NRI’s as a person working under bill gates,steve jobs and were totally ignorant of the "crap" you do. The matrimonial profile scales new peaks and parents enjoy a great self-esteem. During the cusp of the "it" boom, there was a slump in the migration but the rate picked up as students started pursuing their masters in a more serious and studious manner.
Getting an admission in an american university wasn’t exactly a cake walk , but it definitely was much easier than I thought. I was fortunate to score 1260 out of 1600 thanks to my affinity towards mathematics(or should I say math). I wasn’t eloquent in english but it was just enough to scrape through in a mediocre university.
"who cares whether it is mediocre,it is in US", this was my reply to friends who ridiculed the university. Deep inside,I knew I was consoling myself and it was a sheer act of escapism as I was rejected by other universities. A pass port with a stamped visa would just be the icing on the cake. Even as I uttered these words, the three wheeled vehicle halted with a jerk.
I was instantly transformed from the dream land consisting of a sea of booze,piles of cash and blessed with gorgeous girls to the sultry land of beggars, snake charmers and piles of cowdung.
"What is it", I inquired the driver . "traffic jam", the driver answered it a blunt and surprisingly in a rather cool manner. Traffic jams in chennai had dissolved completely into the system and people cared least for it. These times would be used for phone conversations, glaring at women and other activities. Every day had it’s own sagas and the traffic situation was nothing but a comedy of errors. Accidents, VIP journeys, riots all had their share in disrupting the harmony on the road.
I was curious to know the reason behind the latest imbroglio. I squeezed my way through the minimal spaces available between the vehicles jammed together. Even a lean frame of mine did not make my task easy. I made my way through to the main road only to see a group of people huddled together. I had an intuitive feeling that it was an accident. I courageously went closer and had a peek at the scene. What I was about to see shocked me to death.
A young man of about my age was clambering for life only to be watched by others. His face was completely shrouded with blood and even "gore" would be an understatement to describe it. It appeared that the person had multiple fractures and was fighting a lost battle. I observed that he was dressed in an outfit similar to mine. I discovered a file lying on the edge of the road which apparently noone had noticed . I tip-toed trying to avoid myself getting the attention of the policemen.
I flipped the file and caught a glimpse of a resume in it.
NAME- C.Vaidhyanathan
COLLEGE- XYZ ENGG COLLEGE
I was filled with dismay. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I wanted to puke not out of disgust, but of sorrow. Vaidhyanathan was my classmate in my college days. He wasn’t the closest of my friends but we shared a great rapport . there are some people who might not be intimate to you, but there is always a special and soft corner for them. Vaidi was one of those guys.
I rushed to the spot in a phrenetic manner to check on his status. It was too late. He had succumbed to the multiple injuries he had incurred. It was an unbearable pain which emerged from my lower abdomen and went right upto to my upper chest. I couldn’t digest the fact that my friend was nothing but a corpse now. I wanted to cry out aloud but was conscious of other people’s presence.
Meanwhile, an ambulance came in late as usual and took the body(sorry, vaidi’s remains) away with the aid of a stretcher. Ambulances are more like mortuary vans in this nation. I quickly realized that I had to get back to the auto. I couldn’t even envisage the ignominious act of getting late, leave alone skipping it. After a fierce battle between conscience and me, I decided to get in to the auto and head for the consulate.
Back in the auto, I had another glint at vaidi’s resume which I held out in my hand. With every blink of my eye, vaidi’s image flashed across my mind. The times and moments that I cherished haunted me. A life had been snatched by god in a matter of few minutes. Vaidi was heading for an interview and probably ushering into a new life. A moment of negligence had annihilated thousands and thousands of joyful moments perpetually.
I had inquired a person about the tragedy before I had started my journey and learnt that vaidi was travelling in the footsteps of the bus. A small confusion resulted in him being sucked into the wheels. Footstep travel was a daredevil stunt in this part of the country that almost every youngster performed with blithe. It was the most often used puerile way for impressing girls. Even I tried my luck in it when I was younger but my poor athleticism let me down in many instances.
It was quite evident that vaidi’s purse wasn’t heavy enough for an auto fare and the bus didn’t have space enough for a pair of legs. But buses at peak hours seldom did. Accentuated bus frequencies could have prevented the disaster but it was all too late for any thing to be done. Obviously, the conductor of the bus wasn’t shrewd enough to anticipate the ominous scenes to occur.
The auto came to a screeching halt reminding me that I had reached my destination. I quickly got down to pay the auto-guy his fare. I was dumbfounded at the rate he charged. Auto fares in the city had inflated at a greater proportion than the nation’s rate of inflation which in itself was humongous . what the auto-walas didn’t realize that the appraisals of other civilians wasn’t bloating in the nearest of the rates. In fact, at this point, I was contemplating a career in auto.
I had a look at the queue that had lined up near the consulate. It was in it’s premature stages and was building slowly, but surely. I was heading the queue and was probably starting things off on that fine day(or was it a fine one). I was still bruised by the incidents that surrounded me on that day. Even as I was waiting for my chance to go for the security check, I caught notice of a man on the other side of the road. His clothes were tattered and torn and appeared like a man in deep poverty. The stranger, a middle aged man was squatting on his knees and was in a rather unusual posture. He held a coconut shell in his hand and kept it underneath his anus. What was to follow next blew my mind away. I was petrified at the sight that I witnessed.
The man actually, believe it or not was consuming his own excreta. I was in a state of utter disbelief. What made him do a desperate act of extreme human behaviour? I couldn’t empathize with the stranger, or for that matter even vaidi. I strongly feel that sympathy creeps in when there is no room for empathy. But how could I? Putting myself in the shoes of a youngster dying before getting his salary and a beggar forced to commit the most ignominious act of mankind was something beyond my power.
"Excuse me sir,this way please", a man lead me into the consulate prior to the interview. I had to go through a security check where fingerprints of mine were scanned. I was still in the hangover of the incidents that had marred my day. Deep within, I was withering away in extreme emotional pain.
"your documents ,sir", a man asked me in a polite and courteous manner. I almost felt that he had an american accent in his speech. In india, there has always been a case of misinterpretation of fluency and accent. Persons with fluent language sans stylish accent were preferred over affluent people with poor fluency.
Indians abroad had a tendency of aping other accents and in the process, made a fool of themselves. They didn’t seem to realize that they were making caricatures out of it. No wonder, russell peters (a well known stand up comedian who is an indian himself) pulled 2 billion legs in his shows. No doubt, I laughed at his wise-cracks but I had a different feeling inside. In fact, I too had been a hypocrite in this issue.
The entire process was over and I was awaiting the call from the consulate for the interview. As a matter of fact, I had a call from nature at that time. I quickly answered it and came right back and seated myself in an aristocratic sofa present there. I was still cogitating about that stranger.
I have witnessed many a scenes of poverty but this was something that scared me out of my skin. Kwashiorkar suffering children with pot bellies , pregnant adolescent women skinnier than "kareena kapoor size zero look" begging were the regular ones that I had seen in the streets of my city where malls and multiplexes stood tall.
Almost every person was in the wrong impression that the country was heading in the right direction . the fact is that nations don’t develop in sophisticated malls and posh multiplexes, rather they develop in rural and agrarian societies where poverty and illiteracy were the ghosts that seemed to have eluded all exorcists. The socio-economic divide had exceeded the one between castes and religion. Poor man’s necessity had taken a back step to rich man’s luxury.
Vaidi’s death injected a sorrow in me that hitherto I have not experienced in my life. However, the man whom I saw on the road was a total stranger to me. But still, I had the same depression, I had the same feeling of puking not of disgust but of sorrow. Both vaidi and the stranger were victimized by the society.
The desperation behind vaidi and the poverty behind the stranger is something that they couldn’t overcome. Suddenly, my angst for US completely petered out in the most bizarre manner. My life had undergone a complete paradigm shift in a matter of few hours. Suddenly, I didn’t want to become an NRI.
I didn’t want to do menial jobs that fetched money which would put even executives in envy. I didn’t want to miss beloved friend’s weddings and important relative’s funerals. I didn’t want to come back home with "paper mate" pens and lousy chocolates to give away to friends and relatives who have made my life special. I didn’t want to roam around the city with "aqua-fina" bottles criticizing it without a single contribution to the system. Finally, I also didn’t want to speak a few tamil words in between american slangs.
The NRI’s aren’t cynical people. In fact, most of them are extremely talented. The commitments that they have on their shoulders have forced them in migrating. All they want is a life sans tension and perspiration(AC is available here). They have to understand that a luxurious life can be led here too. You just needed a little bit of perseverance and confidence.
The people residing in india havn’t been any kind to the nation either. I too for a large part of my life have been a part of these self-centred civilians who pursue happiness at any cost. I had abstained from voting(of course not for money), driven vehicles in spite of being drunk and havn’t done a single deed for my nation.
I wasn’t thinking of changing the nation. In fact, I would need a million lives for it. I wasn’t "the boss" who eradicated corruption or "the stranger" who terminated people in hill like milieu. However, I was prepared to change myself, probably the best way of changing the nation’s fate.
"MR. SURESH VAIDHYANATHAN", YOU ARE NEXT", the man pointed a finger at the interview room. I rose slowly. I stared at him ,almost motionless, my mind was far away from the consulate. Time was running out. I had to make up my mind.
Back in the auto, I was reliving the moments of that day which was the most eventful one (even now). Flopping in the interview wasn’t a big deal for a person poor in spoken english. I just had to make sure that I didn’t answer their questions in the nearest of contexts and they didn’t comprehend whatever I told them. It was the first instance in my life where I was proud of my blunder. It would remain a secret for a long time.( I had read somewhere that secrets are told to one person……. at a time.) I just was thinking of the people who were in the queue that had become a mutated serpent by the time I left the consulate. Of all deeds for the nation, I wanted to start off by doing one thing. I wanted to go near each person and yell at the highest decibel possible,"wake up, you moron".
( suresh vaidhyanathan got his MBA degree from a mediocre university(in india). He currently works in an investment banking firm(which by the way is not bankrupt). He is one of the well known philanthropists in the city. He is also appearing for the civil services examination… this is his fourth attempt. God knows how many IAS officers fly out the nation every day… in fact only the consulate knows…………)
To add to the frustration, the soporific warmth of my room was extremely seductive and tempted me just to spend little more time in the cozy bed. I have always felt that early morning sleep has been god’s cynical gift to mankind. It is that time of the day when dreams seem to be insipid, ambitions make you livid and desires are treated with disdain. All that u care for is a few minutes of sleep in appendage.
However, the day ahead was a special day indeed. An interview for a United States of America visa would have given some lads sleepless nights and loose bowel movements but I wasn’t one who would be shaken by the tremors that tension might offer. In fact, most people have been bewildered by my attitude towards life. In retrospect, I have always considered my "easy-going" attitude as my strength and it has often pulled me out of quicksand during various circumstances. Even this attitude of mine couldn’t stop me from ejecting myself from the bed. I ruffled my hair and had a quick glance at the mirror.
One really ponders over the fact that why humans look at the mirror every morning despite knowing that complexions can’t change and features don’t fabricate in a matter of hours. We can’t expect evolution at such a breathtaking pace. However, there are some days you might appear good and some days where you might not, I resolutely believe that it all depends on our perception. No wonder it is called "mirror image".
Regardless of a man’s IQ level, educational profile, family background , most people are "socrates" while ablution and "edison" while brushing teeth. Somehow, I shunned all those thoughts and was intent on getting ready. The last thing I wanted was to be late for the interview. In any case, I had the auto-journey for my "thought-engine" to work.
Getting dressed in a spic and span attire was a bohemian task as far as I was concerned. I have never given much focus on these issues which I considered futile and trivial. But,there was no room for any pragmatism on that particular day. It was essential to present myself in a suave and sophisticated manner,atleast for a few minutes. The US embassy have obviously forgotten the quote "appearances can be deceptive" and I was prepared to make hay while the sun shone.
So,I summoned all my strength and dressed myself in the best way possible.
As usual, my mom had prepared a heavy and cumbersome breakfast. The mere sight of the menu filled my stomach with satisfaction. She never seemed to comprehend the fact that I had breakfasts in abstemious fashion and simply loathed rich diets. I managed to stuff myself for my mom’s sake and bid adieu to her.
I must admit that I was a bit dodgy during my exit. There were butterflies in my stomach and made me extremely nervous. There is always an emptiness which deserts you during these days. It is like you have a sudden jolt of alzheimer’s.
I scampered across to the nearby auto-stand and managed to grab the attention of a few auto-guys. Unfortunately, I was caught in a tug of war between two guys who desperately wanted me as their first passenger of the day. Finally, one side emerged triumphant and I was glad to get started.
"Where did this all begin?" I asked myself.
I wasn’t referring to the journey to the US consulate, but the journey of my US dream.
It actually started during my high-school days when most of my cousins fled to the "land of opportunities" during the "it" boom. A life in US was an aspiration which kindled the fire in my belly. It was the sole cause of my stellar performance in my board examinations.
The United States of America is probably the only country where talents are recognized without shades of nepotism or bribery. You didn’t have to be the best, you just had to be committed to your job. I have always wondered what the hell were we doing when the US had built a nation with such diligence? The fact is that we were sleeping. One of the few answers that makes sense literally too. Whatever the reason, reality was that the US was the destination that almost every educated indian desired and I was no different.
The reason behind their angst for a life abroad was simple and inevitable. They wanted to be a NRI. No other three letters could give you so much pleasure(of course there is another word). I had always been enthralled by these set of people and wanted to emulate their feats abroad. The luxurious life sans tension and perspiration(climate is good there) was always lucrative for people living in a populous nation with dusty conditions and high level of inefficiency in the system. Pollution in the system exceeded air’s and none seem to bother too much about it. I must say that I too was a stereotyped indian citizen who doesn’t give a damn about the state of the nation.
More than anything else, I felt that the status that the NRI’s enjoy back home is something astonishing. Relatives perceived almost all NRI’s as a person working under bill gates,steve jobs and were totally ignorant of the "crap" you do. The matrimonial profile scales new peaks and parents enjoy a great self-esteem. During the cusp of the "it" boom, there was a slump in the migration but the rate picked up as students started pursuing their masters in a more serious and studious manner.
Getting an admission in an american university wasn’t exactly a cake walk , but it definitely was much easier than I thought. I was fortunate to score 1260 out of 1600 thanks to my affinity towards mathematics(or should I say math). I wasn’t eloquent in english but it was just enough to scrape through in a mediocre university.
"who cares whether it is mediocre,it is in US", this was my reply to friends who ridiculed the university. Deep inside,I knew I was consoling myself and it was a sheer act of escapism as I was rejected by other universities. A pass port with a stamped visa would just be the icing on the cake. Even as I uttered these words, the three wheeled vehicle halted with a jerk.
I was instantly transformed from the dream land consisting of a sea of booze,piles of cash and blessed with gorgeous girls to the sultry land of beggars, snake charmers and piles of cowdung.
"What is it", I inquired the driver . "traffic jam", the driver answered it a blunt and surprisingly in a rather cool manner. Traffic jams in chennai had dissolved completely into the system and people cared least for it. These times would be used for phone conversations, glaring at women and other activities. Every day had it’s own sagas and the traffic situation was nothing but a comedy of errors. Accidents, VIP journeys, riots all had their share in disrupting the harmony on the road.
I was curious to know the reason behind the latest imbroglio. I squeezed my way through the minimal spaces available between the vehicles jammed together. Even a lean frame of mine did not make my task easy. I made my way through to the main road only to see a group of people huddled together. I had an intuitive feeling that it was an accident. I courageously went closer and had a peek at the scene. What I was about to see shocked me to death.
A young man of about my age was clambering for life only to be watched by others. His face was completely shrouded with blood and even "gore" would be an understatement to describe it. It appeared that the person had multiple fractures and was fighting a lost battle. I observed that he was dressed in an outfit similar to mine. I discovered a file lying on the edge of the road which apparently noone had noticed . I tip-toed trying to avoid myself getting the attention of the policemen.
I flipped the file and caught a glimpse of a resume in it.
NAME- C.Vaidhyanathan
COLLEGE- XYZ ENGG COLLEGE
I was filled with dismay. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I wanted to puke not out of disgust, but of sorrow. Vaidhyanathan was my classmate in my college days. He wasn’t the closest of my friends but we shared a great rapport . there are some people who might not be intimate to you, but there is always a special and soft corner for them. Vaidi was one of those guys.
I rushed to the spot in a phrenetic manner to check on his status. It was too late. He had succumbed to the multiple injuries he had incurred. It was an unbearable pain which emerged from my lower abdomen and went right upto to my upper chest. I couldn’t digest the fact that my friend was nothing but a corpse now. I wanted to cry out aloud but was conscious of other people’s presence.
Meanwhile, an ambulance came in late as usual and took the body(sorry, vaidi’s remains) away with the aid of a stretcher. Ambulances are more like mortuary vans in this nation. I quickly realized that I had to get back to the auto. I couldn’t even envisage the ignominious act of getting late, leave alone skipping it. After a fierce battle between conscience and me, I decided to get in to the auto and head for the consulate.
Back in the auto, I had another glint at vaidi’s resume which I held out in my hand. With every blink of my eye, vaidi’s image flashed across my mind. The times and moments that I cherished haunted me. A life had been snatched by god in a matter of few minutes. Vaidi was heading for an interview and probably ushering into a new life. A moment of negligence had annihilated thousands and thousands of joyful moments perpetually.
I had inquired a person about the tragedy before I had started my journey and learnt that vaidi was travelling in the footsteps of the bus. A small confusion resulted in him being sucked into the wheels. Footstep travel was a daredevil stunt in this part of the country that almost every youngster performed with blithe. It was the most often used puerile way for impressing girls. Even I tried my luck in it when I was younger but my poor athleticism let me down in many instances.
It was quite evident that vaidi’s purse wasn’t heavy enough for an auto fare and the bus didn’t have space enough for a pair of legs. But buses at peak hours seldom did. Accentuated bus frequencies could have prevented the disaster but it was all too late for any thing to be done. Obviously, the conductor of the bus wasn’t shrewd enough to anticipate the ominous scenes to occur.
The auto came to a screeching halt reminding me that I had reached my destination. I quickly got down to pay the auto-guy his fare. I was dumbfounded at the rate he charged. Auto fares in the city had inflated at a greater proportion than the nation’s rate of inflation which in itself was humongous . what the auto-walas didn’t realize that the appraisals of other civilians wasn’t bloating in the nearest of the rates. In fact, at this point, I was contemplating a career in auto.
I had a look at the queue that had lined up near the consulate. It was in it’s premature stages and was building slowly, but surely. I was heading the queue and was probably starting things off on that fine day(or was it a fine one). I was still bruised by the incidents that surrounded me on that day. Even as I was waiting for my chance to go for the security check, I caught notice of a man on the other side of the road. His clothes were tattered and torn and appeared like a man in deep poverty. The stranger, a middle aged man was squatting on his knees and was in a rather unusual posture. He held a coconut shell in his hand and kept it underneath his anus. What was to follow next blew my mind away. I was petrified at the sight that I witnessed.
The man actually, believe it or not was consuming his own excreta. I was in a state of utter disbelief. What made him do a desperate act of extreme human behaviour? I couldn’t empathize with the stranger, or for that matter even vaidi. I strongly feel that sympathy creeps in when there is no room for empathy. But how could I? Putting myself in the shoes of a youngster dying before getting his salary and a beggar forced to commit the most ignominious act of mankind was something beyond my power.
"Excuse me sir,this way please", a man lead me into the consulate prior to the interview. I had to go through a security check where fingerprints of mine were scanned. I was still in the hangover of the incidents that had marred my day. Deep within, I was withering away in extreme emotional pain.
"your documents ,sir", a man asked me in a polite and courteous manner. I almost felt that he had an american accent in his speech. In india, there has always been a case of misinterpretation of fluency and accent. Persons with fluent language sans stylish accent were preferred over affluent people with poor fluency.
Indians abroad had a tendency of aping other accents and in the process, made a fool of themselves. They didn’t seem to realize that they were making caricatures out of it. No wonder, russell peters (a well known stand up comedian who is an indian himself) pulled 2 billion legs in his shows. No doubt, I laughed at his wise-cracks but I had a different feeling inside. In fact, I too had been a hypocrite in this issue.
The entire process was over and I was awaiting the call from the consulate for the interview. As a matter of fact, I had a call from nature at that time. I quickly answered it and came right back and seated myself in an aristocratic sofa present there. I was still cogitating about that stranger.
I have witnessed many a scenes of poverty but this was something that scared me out of my skin. Kwashiorkar suffering children with pot bellies , pregnant adolescent women skinnier than "kareena kapoor size zero look" begging were the regular ones that I had seen in the streets of my city where malls and multiplexes stood tall.
Almost every person was in the wrong impression that the country was heading in the right direction . the fact is that nations don’t develop in sophisticated malls and posh multiplexes, rather they develop in rural and agrarian societies where poverty and illiteracy were the ghosts that seemed to have eluded all exorcists. The socio-economic divide had exceeded the one between castes and religion. Poor man’s necessity had taken a back step to rich man’s luxury.
Vaidi’s death injected a sorrow in me that hitherto I have not experienced in my life. However, the man whom I saw on the road was a total stranger to me. But still, I had the same depression, I had the same feeling of puking not of disgust but of sorrow. Both vaidi and the stranger were victimized by the society.
The desperation behind vaidi and the poverty behind the stranger is something that they couldn’t overcome. Suddenly, my angst for US completely petered out in the most bizarre manner. My life had undergone a complete paradigm shift in a matter of few hours. Suddenly, I didn’t want to become an NRI.
I didn’t want to do menial jobs that fetched money which would put even executives in envy. I didn’t want to miss beloved friend’s weddings and important relative’s funerals. I didn’t want to come back home with "paper mate" pens and lousy chocolates to give away to friends and relatives who have made my life special. I didn’t want to roam around the city with "aqua-fina" bottles criticizing it without a single contribution to the system. Finally, I also didn’t want to speak a few tamil words in between american slangs.
The NRI’s aren’t cynical people. In fact, most of them are extremely talented. The commitments that they have on their shoulders have forced them in migrating. All they want is a life sans tension and perspiration(AC is available here). They have to understand that a luxurious life can be led here too. You just needed a little bit of perseverance and confidence.
The people residing in india havn’t been any kind to the nation either. I too for a large part of my life have been a part of these self-centred civilians who pursue happiness at any cost. I had abstained from voting(of course not for money), driven vehicles in spite of being drunk and havn’t done a single deed for my nation.
I wasn’t thinking of changing the nation. In fact, I would need a million lives for it. I wasn’t "the boss" who eradicated corruption or "the stranger" who terminated people in hill like milieu. However, I was prepared to change myself, probably the best way of changing the nation’s fate.
"MR. SURESH VAIDHYANATHAN", YOU ARE NEXT", the man pointed a finger at the interview room. I rose slowly. I stared at him ,almost motionless, my mind was far away from the consulate. Time was running out. I had to make up my mind.
Back in the auto, I was reliving the moments of that day which was the most eventful one (even now). Flopping in the interview wasn’t a big deal for a person poor in spoken english. I just had to make sure that I didn’t answer their questions in the nearest of contexts and they didn’t comprehend whatever I told them. It was the first instance in my life where I was proud of my blunder. It would remain a secret for a long time.( I had read somewhere that secrets are told to one person……. at a time.) I just was thinking of the people who were in the queue that had become a mutated serpent by the time I left the consulate. Of all deeds for the nation, I wanted to start off by doing one thing. I wanted to go near each person and yell at the highest decibel possible,"wake up, you moron".
( suresh vaidhyanathan got his MBA degree from a mediocre university(in india). He currently works in an investment banking firm(which by the way is not bankrupt). He is one of the well known philanthropists in the city. He is also appearing for the civil services examination… this is his fourth attempt. God knows how many IAS officers fly out the nation every day… in fact only the consulate knows…………)
