CHAPTER 10
Midnight
Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India – Summer 2006
I believe that life was about decisions and choices, whether you make them, or someone makes them for you. And if you are born in India, about ninety percent of your life’s important decisions—including your career, marriage, and kids—are directly made or influenced by your parents.
A few months back, while I was silently trying to rebel out of the most crucial decision of my life that my parents were trying to make for me, Mr. Purohit made a little invasion in my life, manifesting the core of my fundamentals.
At times, it fascinates me how Raag has become the melody of my life, and how I dance to his music.
It’s 8:00 in the evening, and I am coming back from Gandhinagar, Gujarat state capital. As the crowded, fast-moving State Transport bus makes its way from Indira Bridge to Sarkhej Gandhinagar Highway, I look out the window in the hopes of some fresh air. Unfortunately, the unwelcome warm late summer breeze blows right into my face, and loose strands of my carefully tied-up hair flow in the air.
A slightly blue and a lot of orange cloudy night sky leans over scattered tall buildings. Open grassy fields and meadows look beautiful. Dark, dense clouds cover the horizon, hiding the moon and stars. If we are lucky, it may drizzle soon. You never know.
Lately, it drizzles occasionally, hinting at the near end of the hot summer, but no luck on that full-fledged pouring rain. Today, in particular, is extremely hot and humid. At times, it feels as if the extreme mother nature tests the last of the courage and patience that humankind has left. Well, my dear love, Raag, seems to be slightly inspired by the weather since he has yet to come to bless me with his appearance.
Eight months back when Raag and I talked for the first time, it was a tricky spot in time. I was unsure and uncertain about the course of my life, a path. While continuing my studies in IT, at the back of my mind, my MBA was leering. But then, one beautiful day, which feels like once upon a time now, Raag had said, “Let me help you with IT fundamentals. If you still don’t enjoy this logical world made of 0s and 1s, you can go for your MBA, and I will support you.” But then, when the guru himself decides to clarify the fundamentals, how can one not learn?
Until then, I never thought I would enjoy working in IT, but here I am, doing exactly that. I proudly finished my internship.
I even managed to put together my dispersed thoughts into a story—Him and I, A Love Story. Raag says that if I keep at it, it is going to turn into a good read. I do giggle when he speaks so highly of me. For now, in the real world, I have established myself as an IT professional while I am a self-proclaimed writer in the world I escape to.
Raag is the only common element among the two completely different yet fascinating worlds. His charismatic touch has altered me into a person who is slightly new to my own senses. It almost feels like having a sparkle in my eye.
Back in the last semester, to my dismay, I indeed managed to assist in the Java programming lab and even topped in that specific exam. Arjun is still in shock to have one less point than I did. I could only hope that he gets over it. Or, maybe not! Even Professor Rawal praised me for excellent performance in the final examination for Data Structure. He provided his personal recommendation to work for SCS—Strata Consultancy Services, an IT firm—every intern dreams of working for.
I guess Raag was right about Professor Rawal, he was probably doing his job. Treating college kids like high school kids! Whatever it is, but we need more people like my love—who believe in the best of humankind.
Today dinner and dancing were a must, since today was the last day of the internship and the last day of the long-fought battle of engineering. After I started my internship, I took occasional freedoms to visit dance clubs with my friends, now that I am technically a working adult. However, I keep my little adventures secret from my parents but not from my partner in crime.
For my parents, it is the last day of the internship, and students have to stay a little late for presentations. A little lie doesn’t kill anyone; instead, it helps balance the positive and negative chi in harmony. Raag doesn’t agree with me on that particular thought. In his expert opinion on life, one should not hide anything from parents. Well, when it comes to parents, there is no comparison between his and mine. I distinctly remember when I visited Raag’s home after my saga of the detain list; his mother took the most fun out of the whole incident.
Once I reach home, I dart straight for my room, but not before quickly glancing at my father, Mr. Satish-Angry-Bhatt’s frustrated expression. Well, there is a thing about frustration, and there is a thing about heat. When you are boiling under the unforgiving sun, you tend to be a tad bit frustrated in general! And, when you are a tad bit frustrated, you tend to freak out more often by tiny annoyances or with none whatsoever.
It has been almost eight months that Raag and I are glued to our phones. Still, there hasn’t been a specific discussion on his arrival for the great cause—marriage. Which adds into the land of gossip among tiny groups, frequently gathered under shade trees in the muggy summer.
Boy, Raag wasn’t kidding when he mentioned six months to a year for an India visit.
In a typical arranged marriage, we might have been already married by now, and our relatives might have been asking for a little Raag or a little Mayu. For my father, the question of my future wedding is the biggest headache that adds to his frustration with the humidity and heat. Neighbors, relatives, friends, and some well-wishers across the social community asking him for his daughter’s marriage date is the question he is tired of answering.
I don’t blame my father. Eight months indeed, is such a long time.
My mother, on the other end, is frustrated for a different reason. She is missing out on all the sari sales amid the full-on marriage season.
Raag’s arrival to India, marriage, and visa are some of the highly controversial topics which he refrains from discussing, especially lately. Why is Mr. Raag Purohit suddenly acting so mysterious?
Distracting my brains from indulging in that particular direction is the best approach, since it is in a way playing in my favor. In the world where I was born and live in, marriage is not the destination. No! It is not a happily ever after, but it is the beginning. Mr. Raag’s entry could stir that pot of marriage and bubble up questions on my departure to the United States in my frustrated heat-harassed brains.
Why do happily ever after in the fairytales end with a prince and a princess living in a castle? Why can’t there be a definition somewhat dissimilar, like the princess works in a nearby village and comes to visit the prince when she gets some open slot in her calendar? Why can’t there be more than one definition of happily ever after? After all, every girl is a princess in her father’s eyes, and not all end up in a castle over the riverbank. But every girl, every princess, has her own adventurous tale!
Princesses can and do have aspirations apart from being princesses.
In my case, the princess is going to need a visa to be with her prince. The decision between H1B and H4 makes the whole circus of visas all the more entertaining.
Either path I choose, I know I am going to be a joker juggling between my love and my career. The H4 visa—dependent visa—would keep me with him but no job, while the H1B would give me a career but may still keep me away from him in a state far away from where he stays, for the work is not guaranteed in the same state of the country. That is, if I am lucky enough to hit the jackpot.