Read Tandoori Texan Tales Page 3


  dismissal. I walked out of that place with my chin high up. I

  was full of youthful pride and idealism.

  Life at CHU, as Cockerell-Hill University in Dallas, Texas

  is called, started quite well. My dad had provided me with

  enough wherewithal to carry on the first Semester. Later I

  managed to get a teaching assistantship. There was also

  subsidized student housing on the campus. I shared a two

  bedroom apartment with Srinivas, a Chemistry Major.

  Altogether I just scraped by with some money left for fun as

  well.

  ‘Fun’ for most part meant some of us Indian boys getting

  together in the apartment of one of us, watching Indian

  movies on the video and drown plenty of beer. We would

  also share in preparing the food. Either we would bring

  something or pitch in preparing a curry or sambaar.

  There were also TVs and VCRs individually with each of

  us. If you had those and could rent X-rated videos you must

  belong to the better off elite. If not, you had to make do

  with ‘Penthouse’ and ‘Playboy’, which gave more

  excitement than a new arrival from India could easily

  handle. That was as far as love life went for most guys.

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  The campus was quite segregated and stratified, in terms of

  color, ethnicity and cultural background, even though it was

  not ‘Politically Correct’ to officially acknowledge that.

  There was of course the stratification of Faculty and

  different layers of academic standings.

  At the top echelon belonged boys and girls of Texan Oil

  Barons who drove about in Mercedes Benz and BMWs.

  They were there to show some degree of literacy before

  taking over their dad’s business and riches. They partied

  and frolicked amongst themselves. The Texan girls are

  some of the most gorgeous looking in the world. That made

  it even more frustrating for the outsiders with whom they

  would mix as much as oil with water.

  Then there were puddles of people from different

  backgrounds like Red China, Korea and the Middle-east,

  that would mingle amongst themselves. They also came

  from different economic strata from their own countries.

  Kareem Al-Saeed was the son of a Kuwaiti Sheikh. He got

  an allowance of $40,000.00 per year from his dad. He lived

  in a well-furnished apartment and sported very expensive

  clothes and haircut. It was a common tale that he would

  bring home girls and have romantic evenings. He loved

  sipping some nice brew in front of his fireplace with soft

  music playing in the background. Even in the middle of

  Texas summer when the mercury would be hovering at

  100+, he would turn on the fireplace with air-conditioning

  turned to full blast. But even with this kind of money

  Kareem could hardly make any headway with the local

  girls. Texan Oil would not mix with Kuwaiti Oil either. It

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  took more than that. As a result he had to drive out in his

  convertible to Harry Hines Boulevard at dusk and look

  alongside the curb for a good hourly bargain.

  On the other end of the scale was Cai from Red China who

  was the Teaching Assistant for Dr. Hegde of Chemistry

  Department. Cai had to maintain an “A” average to stay on

  the Financial Aid. Dr. Hegde originally from Mangalore,

  South Kanara in India, was a tenured professor. That meant

  in the name of ‘Academic Freedom’, he could not be

  shaken from his position of power by anything less than a

  Congressional Impeachment. He had made it through to this

  position with a lot of hardship. And now it was his turn. It

  was a common knowledge that he made Cai wash dishes,

  do grocery and laundry for his wife, as a part of academic

  exercises. Cai was a person of very modest means but with

  a very good-looking wife. She was known to do sewing and

  stitching for other students to make some extra buck. You

  could also make her go some ‘extra length’ for a few extra

  bucks, if you wanted.

  Then there was this Dr. Margaret Stich, Professor of the

  Computer Science Department. She might have as well

  called herself Margaret Thatcher. Just like Dr. Hegde, she

  had a lot of pent up anger with this World. She had made it

  through this far in a Man’s World suffering plenty of

  humiliation and injustice. She was willing to take on any

  male thing that moves with cudgels soaked in blood. If you

  were a male and one of her wards, you had to take a number

  and stand outside her door. Whenever she opened the door

  and let you in, you had to prove yourself innocent before

  she finished chewing that bit of apple she had just bitten. Or

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  else, the next bite would be of your scalp. It was told, for a

  hobby and recreation, over the weekends she fixes an M1tank

  parked in her backyard. She wanted to prove to all

  those Male Chauvinist Pigs at Pentagon that she could do a

  better job of fighting the Soviets than 5-star Generals.

  Soviet Union dissolved itself on hearing this.

  There were the Fraternities and Sororities, into which the

  non-American, especially Indian students rarely participated

  because they firmly held that this kind of Western social life

  was immoral. They were here just to study and keep their

  cultural torch aloft all the time.

  Amongst the South-Asian students, including India,

  Pakistan, Bangladesh & Sri Lanka, the gender ratio was

  something like 2 girls to 100 boys. Statistically there was a

  good probability that 1.95 of the 2 girls were already

  married. The remaining 0.05 would be the typical Gujju

  Behnji type. Of course these two categories are not

  mutually exclusive, plenty of them belonged to both.

  Even amongst the boys, there were different types. Plenty

  came from little towns like Kumbakonam, who would do

  their ‘Sandhyavandanam’ and proudly go about with a spot

  of Vibhuti on their forehead. For them date was some dry

  fruit you could eat with a glass of milk. There were just a

  few guys that had experienced some kind of dame chasing

  and socializing in Bombay or Delhi.

  Indians definitely had an edge over students from some

  other countries like China, Japan, Korea and even South

  America, due to their familiarity with the English language.

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  It was quite heart rending how those other boys and girls

  had to work 10 times harder to keep their grades and stay on

  the course.

  It was common knowledge that Gigi was not one of those

  typical Texas girls. She was from Florida and would

  condescend talking to specimens of other ilk. She was in

  our Project Team. I took some courage and made the first

  move of asking her telephone number. I was just testing the

  waters if there was any long-term prospects for a soci
al life.

  I was able to make it through the first hurdle. But invariably

  any time I called her either the line was busy or the call

  went through to an answering machine. Next time I met her,

  what the heck, I jumped right ahead and asked her out,

  using the first trick on the book.

  “Have you ever tasted Indian cuisine? I know this fine

  Indian Restaurant. I wonder if you would want to discuss

  this assignment there this Saturday evening. It’s due

  Monday, you know?”

  Plomp came the response, “I would really love to do that,

  Roe-hitt. But this Saturday I am going out with my

  boyfriend Leff”. A couple of nights later I was working late

  at the Computer Lab and there she was smooching some

  guy, definitely not Leff.

  They all had this trump card up their sleeves. If they did not

  like the looks of you, they would pull this ‘boyfriend’

  routine and say ‘we can always be good friends’. In other

  words, ‘Keep those candies and flowers coming. But I am

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  not going to bed with you in this lifetime. I am waiting for

  Robert Redford in a red sports car’.

  On that Holiday Season, Srinivas and I decided to call

  another girl Melissa who seemed to be quite nice and

  friendly. We planned a cozy evening at our place. We were

  going to cook some nice Indian meal. Have some drinks

  and music etc. Who knows who would be found wearing

  the Pajama Top next morning?

  Since we were two of us, we told Melissa to come with a

  friend. Much to our excitement, she readily agreed. When

  that grand evening finally came, at the appointed time there

  was the doorbell. When I opened the door, there she was,

  Melissa giving a great smile with another guy.

  They drank our expensive bottle of Chardonnay, ate our

  food, spilled curry on the carpet, filled the ashtray to

  overflowing and went away at 9:30PM to another

  discotheque by themselves leaving us behind. Our

  apartment looked like a war zone. We two had to clean up

  all day next day.

  There were also some of those girls who had a well-

  determined menu card. You could buy yourself a kiss for a

  normal homework assignment. For serious help with

  Projects you could negotiate some heavy petting. For

  anything more than that, you had to do something really

  important like getting a Hot Ticket for a Bon Jovi concert.

  Keeping a ‘B’ average in 2 semesters was compulsory.

  Otherwise you would be given the boot. The faculty was

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  quite aware of how grades could be bought and sold

  amongst boys and girls. They would devise different means

  to put a check. There would be ‘Surprise Quiz’, ‘Open

  Book’ and ‘Closed Book’ exams and Projects. Students

  would always try to beat the system one way or another.

  After all Faculties consist of humans as well. It is these

  same students who later become Faculty. Don’t they?

  All in all the system here was better than what I was used to

  in India. There we used to kill ourselves in the last few

  months before the Final Exams. Two or four years’ worth

  of work was being tested in a matter of 3 hours. Which was

  a very unfair way to judge, prize or penalize plenty of hard

  work. It was more a test of memorizing capabilities than

  knowledge. That way many a good life has been ruined or

  undeserving rewarded.

  I finished my Master’s in Computer Engineering in less

  than 2 years of arriving here. We had our Commencement

  Ceremony with throwing of hoods up in the air and all the

  jubilation. It was a sweet and sour moment. There was a

  sense of accomplishment and concern.

  Soon after that, Reality started seeping. My student visa

  was going to expire in about 6 months. I still did not have a

  job. The job market for my skills was quite bad. Market was

  flushed with people like me. There was that periodic

  downturn in the Economy. Even corporations like IBM

  were laying off personnel and announcing hiring freeze.

  When a giant like IBM cuts back, it has a ripple effect all

  over the job market.

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  There were people with the much-prized Green Card or

  U.S. Citizenship staying home expecting the phone to ring.

  What chance did I have, with just a Student Visa? Quite

  religiously, I was mailing my resume to at least half a dozen

  destinations every day. Majority of them did not bother

  even to respond. Some would send a curt and crisp letter

  very neatly printed saying that my resume would be kept in

  their data-base for another 6 months, should any suitable

  opening arise.

  That summer morning I walked up to Mrs. Barbara Allyson.

  She was the secretary of our Dean and Chairman of

  Computer Engineering Department, Dr. David Kennington.

  I was wearing a red and blue T-shirt with CHU’s mascot

  donkey on the back and a large embroidered ‘CHU’ on the

  front. My jeans could have used some soap and water very

  badly. My ‘Neike’ sneakers were of a comfortable size 9

  and half. The baseball cap, with another CHU symbol, had

  its hood jetting out on the side over my ear. Who ever said I

  had to have a shave every day?

  If I showed up like this for a banquet at the Buckingham

  Palace, the doorman would have thought I was something

  that cat brought in on a rainy day and called the trash-

  collector.

  Beaming a big smile, I told her, “Barbara, that string of

  pearls on that beautiful blue dress makes you look

  gorgeous”.

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  “Cut it out Rohit. What do you want? What is it this time?”

  she asked, wasting no time on small talk trivialities.

  “How does David’s schedule look like this week, Barbara?”

  I asked, still with that smile broadly pasted on my face.

  “I could squeeze you in this afternoon around 4:30. But for

  no more than 10 minutes. What is it about now?”

  “My life in the Academia seems to be coming to a grinding

  halt. Along with that endangerment of self-survival is

  looming large. I am kind of wondering, if I should not be

  thinking of going on for a Doctorate program”.

  “Doctorate programs are for people seeking Knowledge and

  Truth, not Sustenance. Do you know the motto of CHU?

  ‘Veritas Liberitat Voss’, that is Latin for ‘Truth Shall

  Liberate You’”.

  “Is that so Barbara? I thought it meant, ‘Truthful Fellow

  gets liberated from his job by his Boss’. The real reason I

  told you, is strictly between you and me.”

  Having said that I slowly walked back to my room. My

  roommate Srinivas had not yet returned. I opened my

  mailbox. There were the usual junk mail and plenty of bills,

  credit card statements and the ubiquitous rejection l
etters to

  my resumes. Then there was an envelope with my mom’s

  handwriting on top.

  There was the usual sentimental stuff of advising me to eat

  well and take care of health. There was also a picture of a

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  demure young lady called Seema Dhillon, second child of

  Wing Commander Rajesh Dhillon of Indian Air Force. She

  was 21 and an under-graduate student at Lady Shriram

  College in Delhi. They were interested in a marriage

  proposal.

  Seema’s older sister Sangeeta was married to a heart

  surgeon, Dr. Arun Varma, in Seattle, Washington. They

  were willing to sponsor for a Green Card as well. I shoved

  that envelope with its contents into my pocket and tried to

  tidy up my appearance.

  I had that interview with Dr. Kennington at 4:30. He had

  been my advisor through the Master’s program. We had

  developed a good respect for each other. He was not one of

  those that would make me wash dishes for his wife.

  He said, there were a few research projects on which he

  could use me. He would run the idea by the Committee.

  Once the funding is finalized, I could come on board. This

  also meant my Student Visa could be extended until I

  finished my Ph.D. That was some reprieve on my life.

  That night there was a phone call from Dr. Arun Varma. He

  does not waste any time. Does he? He and wife Sangeetha

  were passing by Dallas, the following weekend, on their

  way to Florida on a trip. They would want to come by and

  meet me. The purpose was obvious. They wanted to check

  me out and send a confidential report to their folks in Delhi.

  I was angry first at this FBI like background checking

  business, then at the oncoming onslaught without my

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