Parents who are reasonably busy in India find practically very little to keep themselves occupied when they visit their children in US. At the same time they cannot resist the prospect of a family re-union.
Against this backdrop, we once again visit US. This time we did not make the customary announcement from rooftop: “certainly our last trip”, for two reasons. First, like a New Year resolve, we have been flouting it from left, right and centre these last twelve years. Second, our credibility is eroding - no one takes us seriously when we say so, and whisper to one another, “yeh to aise bolte rahte hai”.
The initial enthusiasm runs high in the first about ten days, once in US. But everything has an expiry date. The countdown syndrome, waiting on its wings, takes charge thereafter even though you still have five and a half months for return. We hold two things responsible for this - having to depend on someone to go places; and difficulty in spending time. “Come what may, we shall overcome these,” my wife and I swore this time before booking.
Backed by decades of varied driving experiences of Delhi (free for all) and Bangalore (bumper to bumper), we tackle the commuting problem, though initially we get disillusioned by the left-hand drive, gear-less transmission, wiper pressing into service when you command the signal, the unaccustomed need to match speed-limit signs with your speedometer needle, and the Sheriff’s car on the beat all the time. Now, we drive to the nearby Safeway, Indian stores, or to the Library, strictly by turn – one way she drives, and the other, I drive. The only time I am in total command is when I drive to the hairdressing salon. She can’t accompany me there. Then I drive singing with gay abandon, “I am the monarch of all I survey; my right there is none to dispute”, by Alexander Selkirk in “The Solitary Reaper”. (What a pity, these very lines, so distinct now, disowned me in my Secondary School Board examination denying me 10 marks.)
We know this kind of trips does not happen everyday, and we need other avenues to pass time. So we walk across to the nearby park and meet other members of the herd – Association of Parents Busy in India, Idle in America, if you would like to name it so. Yes, six or seven of us, senior citizens, squeeze on one side of the bench, and a matching number, our better halves, on the other, and spend nearly two hours every evening.
All are here for varying reasons, be it to welcome the arrival of a grandchild; sheer principles of economics (2 tickets for parent to come here versus 8 tickets for sons and their families to visit India); or to suit one’s own preoccupations in India.
In addition to regular members, there are ‘guest appearances’. One is a retired professor. Sometimes she mistakes the group for a geriatrics class, and dwells on the plant kingdom at Masters level, until she realizes its sedative effect on the innocent senior citizens. Others include an ex-Principal of a High School in Tamil Nadu; a retired High Court judge of Mumbai; the ‘singing’ couple from Bangalore...
All these are temporary fixtures at the park. Some have returned to India, others are on countdown status – from three-digit to single-digit days. But there is one who remains part of the bench every evening, a retired Indian Government official, now a septuagenarian and a US citizen. His favorite pastime? To meet such parents at the park, spend time with them, drive them in groups in his car, once unfailingly, to the San Jose Sikh temple and, whenever possible, to organize picnics. He shares with each new group his treasured photo albums, maintained by year, featuring earlier visitors - now lasting friends.
Members hail from various parts of India. The medium of communication is therefore Hindi, with a liberal sprinkle of regional flavour. A Mumbaikar might say ardha for aadha, bhaaji for subzi, or apun for hum. The Oriyya gentleman takes liberty to say dutto baar to mean do baar, or the Tamil lady channa for chana, gaya tha for gayi thi, or a Punjabi changga for achha, or the Keralite gaana gaake for khaana khake. The lady from Bangalore, not confident in Hindi, takes the floor in English: ' I sented it to my friend, or she saw the husband of a cow in front, meaning a bull. The bottom line is fun – may be at one another’s cost, but definitely not the hurting variety.
The agenda for discussions covers anything under the sun – whether finally it will be Obama or McCain, the Trust Vote on Nuclear deal with its attendant hullabaloo, the California wildfires on the West versus the floods at the Mid West, gasoline prices, foreclosures on the housing front and Government’s rescue operations to resurrect them, banking sector taking a beat, or gay and lesbian marriages. Who says news is juicy only in India?
These serious discussions shift to gastronomy when the aroma of a delicacy wafts from the barbecue at the adjoining benches where a Mexican-American or Caucasian-American picnic is in progress. We exchange our experiences at various eat-outs: “Order you own Pasta” at Macaroni Grill which permits one to choose ingredients to be included; Thai Chili Cuisine’s green curry prepared with coconut milk; the quite filling Senior Citizen’s omelet followed by Fudge ice cream at the American outlet, Denny's; the variety of Mexican foods at Taco Bell, the unlimited supply of Salsa from On the Border; or the mouth-watering dough nuts, at a nearby shop. Mention of the last item however backfired. The visitor’s son refused to take her to the shop as she was diabetic. She is now after my wife and me, the originators, to take her there. We are still at our wits’ end to wriggle out.
The topic moves on to the culinary delights of the different regions we come from. Unable to take any more of it just being talked about on vacant air, the menfolk on one occasion suggested that these dishes should instead manifest themselves at a picnic in which, apart from group members, their children and grandchildren should take part. It would be an opportunity for the younger generation to get acquainted with one another.
The result? On a Sunday noon we all met at the same park. An advance party of three arrived early in the morning to ‘reserve’ - better still, to take possession of - two table-cum-benches for the picnic. Two hours later another team reported for duty to relieve the first batch - a la change of guard at Buckingham Palace. We had a delicious lunch, the highlight of which was a healthy competition among ladies to outdo the others in their respective dishes. Then followed photo sessions, songs, word-building games, riddles, and Bingo game to cap it all.
Now parents are returning to India one by one. One duo will be back again early next year for their daughter-in-law’s delivery – or, more to rejoin the group? Meanwhile, back home they plan to retrieve their desktop from the attic, repair it from the shop round the corner and brush up their knowledge of computer operations solely to be able to stay in touch with the group. The other thoughtful parents who had found it difficult to pass time on their last visit became wiser this time. They had brought along with them the complete DVD set of the epic Mahabharata to view while here. Preoccupied with these evening meetings and updating sessions over the phone during the day, they now plan to watch the remaining 9-1/2 volumes back in India, having already viewed half of volume 1. A strange coincidence that the 8 or 10 John Grisham, Stephen King and Danielle Steel novels that we brought from India too await human contact.
We have shared our email IDs to exchange mail regularly. We are hopeful that this association doesn’t end like any other long-haul train travel in India where we meet people from all over India, become friends with some and exchange addresses, but never get to contact them. Should that happen, we are still happy that we are making the most of our US visit right now, this moment.
V.V. Sundaram, retired from publishing services in a UN organization, is based in the Bay Area – vvsundaram40@gmail.com.
29 October 2010
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