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Part 2

Summer 2008.

We land in Mumbai late in the evening after a long flight. It was a challenge to spend close to fifteen hours sitting in one place. I prepared myself. Ever since my visit to the Pentagon with Dan’s father, my curiosity and interest in anything military grew immensely. I visited the Fairfax library and asked the librarian to recommend books that could provide insight into the lives of soldiers. I read biographies of military leaders and the history of wars America was involved in. To read during the long flight, I wanted something interesting. I picked up “We Were Soldiers Once… and Young” by Harold G. Moore and Joseph L. Galloway, and “Cracker! The Best Dog in Vietnam” by Cynthia Kadohata. The “Soldiers …” book is an account of four days of war in the Battle of the Ia Drang Valley in Vietnam. What impressed me was that the Commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps had selected this as a must-read book for all Marines. I am intrigued by the second book because I never imagined an animal playing a role in a war.

I read a few chapters of ” We Are Soldiers”. It is a big book containing over 450 pages.

I look around the plane. The lights are turned off, and almost everyone has blankets pulled over them and is sleeping. A few are watching programs on the small TV attached to the seat back in front of them. I close the book and turn on the TV in front of me. As I flipped through the channels, I was surprised that a movie based on the book I am reading popped up. It stars Mel Gibson, one of my favorite actors. I cannot resist turning it on. I didn’t know how the next two and a half hours passed. I am tired as the movie ended. I doze off.

I wake up as the pilot is announcing that we may be landing in a couple of hours. The pilot informs us that the weather in Mumbai is warm and humid, but no rain. Some people start visiting the bathroom to freshen up, to make themselves presentable. I don’t care much.

The landing is smooth. With so many passengers, it takes a while for us to get off the plane. I am surprised how much everything has changed in the airport from my last visit many years ago. It is brightly lit, clean, and has name-brand stores, including Starbucks. Even the restrooms are modern and westernized. What used to be a hassle to go through customs is a snap. No one harassed us by checking the luggage and asking myriad questions. We go through the green lines, and we are out. Wow, India has changed.

Uncle Mayur has come to receive us. We see him waving at us from among the crowd waiting outside. Dad is all smiles and happy to see his brother. Anticipating the amount of luggage we may have, Uncle Mayur has brought two cars. One is a Mercedes, which he drives. The second is a Toyota Highlander driven by Gopal, his chauffeur. There is plenty of room for all of us and for our luggage. I can see the delight on Dad’s face on seeing the affluence of his brother. I wonder if he felt he could achieve the same when Krishna and I follow the career paths he was envisioning for us – Krishna, a doctor, and me, an Engineer.

Gopal wouldn’t allow us to lift our luggage. He asks us to please sit in the cars, and he will take care of everything. This is so different from America. But, hey, I am not complaining. Dad, Mom, and Lakshmi go with Uncle Mayur in the Mercedes. Krishna and I go with Gopal in the Toyota. I try to sit in the front passenger seat, but Gopal insists I sit in the back with Krishna.

Once we are out of the glitter and shine of the airport, the reality of the real Mumbai is evident. Even though I had visited India when I was young, I got culture shock. The roads seem narrow and crowded. Vehicles, large and small, are competing to share the road and navigating the best way they can. We see cows and dogs loitering on the streets. Some people are sleeping on the road divider. I see a sign in the back of a truck, “Honking is allowed”. Once outside the airport, I feel the humidity and heat.

 It takes less than an hour to reach Uncle Mayur’s house. I am glad Uncle Mayur’s cars have air conditioning. It appears to be a gated community. A guard in a khaki uniform salutes and opens the gate as he sees our vehicles. Again, Gopal politely requests us not to worry about our luggage and to follow Uncle Mayur inside, and he will take care of everything.

Uncle Mayur’s house is a sample of prosperity. It is a three-bedroom condo on the fourth floor of a luxury building. The cool air of the air conditioning welcomes us.

As we enter, we notice a large living room with a modern kitchen on one side. A sitting area with plush sofas is nicely decorated with art and artifacts collected from their trips abroad. I walk past the sofas into a large balcony presenting a view of the city.

Aunty Sheela welcomes us. Mom hugs her. We touch her feet to show our respect for the elderly. She enquires about our flight and whether it was comfortable. She compares it to her experiences of being delayed and or receiving poor service. She has prepared a simple dinner, expecting us to be tired and wanting to relax. Uncle Mayur is busy supervising Gopal and other servants in placing our luggage in our assigned rooms.

“I’ve planned our shopping,” Auntie Sheela says, turning to Mom. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Uncle Mayur interrupts.

“Sorry, boys,” he addresses Krishna and me. “You two will sleep upstairs. Mr. Murthy, our friend, and his family are on a vacation, and they have allowed us to use their flat.”

I cannot sleep. The jet lag is taking its toll. The clock in Mumbai is ten hours ahead of America. I cannot concentrate. In addition, the air conditioner is a rectangular piece installed right over the headboard of my bed. It makes a buzzing sound and clicks as it goes through the cycle.

I think of our visit to India years ago when we were young children. We stayed with our grandparents in their small bungalow with a concrete fence all around. It was fun to sleep all together in a single room with our cousins, our age. Sometimes we carried thin mattresses to the flat roof and slept under the open sky. The cool breeze grazing our faces and the beauty of the stars would lull us to sleep. We wondered at the cows that would saunter inside the compound and eat the leftover food we offered them.

“Cows are sacred, you know,” Grandpa used to say in a serious tone.

He told stories of Indian mythology involving Gods, including the one about Ganesh with an elephant’s head. It was mesmerizing for us who were growing up in America. The one thing I miss in America is the proximity to grandparents. We don’t have anyone in Fairfax to tell stories, spoil us with gifts, and give their love and affection. Maybe that’s why when we come across an older person, visiting parents of Dad’s friends, we address them as our grandparents. We call them Ajoba (grandpa) or Aaji (grandma), just like I did during the Diwali celebration in our home.

 I close my eyes and fall asleep.

I have no idea what time it was when I woke up. It appears Krishna is not in his room either. I go downstairs and find everyone sitting around the big table. Mom and Dad are having tea, occasionally picking a cookie from the plate in front of them. A lady is working in the kitchen. Another one is busy mopping and cleaning the floors. The doorbell rings every few minutes, informing that someone is at the door. These are people delivering the newspaper, milk, or dry-cleaned clothes. No wonder Auntie Sheela was not comfortable doing the chores around the house when she visited us in America, being accustomed to having so much help around.

“After lunch, we will go shopping,” Auntie Sheela says to Mom.

Uncle Mayur comes out of his study and motions Dad to follow him. It looks like Mr. Joshi, Aakash’s father, was on the line, and they needed to talk. They have been gone for almost half an hour. When Dad returns, he looks worried.

“Everything Okay?” Mom asks. She does not want any problems or new demands from the future in-laws.

“Yes and no,” Dad says, sitting in front of her. “Mr. Joshi had booked a well-known caterer for the wedding reception.”

“Then?”

“He had a fire in his kitchen that damaged most of his appliances. He wouldn’t be available.”

“My goodness. What are they going to do now?”

Auntie Sheela is listening. Uncle Mayur had returned from wherever he was.

“Don’t worry about it, Viju Dada,” Uncle Mayur says. I’ve a few contacts. Something will work out.”

 That afternoon, Auntie Sheela takes Mom and Lakshmi to shop for ladies’ clothes. Uncle Mayur takes us to the shop for men’s clothes.

In the evening, Mom and Lakshmi are all smiles. They have two large bags full of clothes.

“Thank you for your recommendation to shop in Mumbai, Sheela,” Mom says. “We would not have been able to get these types of quality clothes in Fairfax.”

“And, I so wanted a dress by designer Ritu Kumar,” Lakshmi adds. “They only had a couple left. I am lucky.”

“Lakshmi looks gorgeous in the sample she wore,” Mom agrees.

Dad is curious to see it.

“Let’s see how it looks,” Dad says.

“It needs some alterations,” Mom replies. “Fortunately, they will be able to do it by tomorrow.”

“Okay. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow then.” Dad is not happy, but has no choice.

“But you can see the saris we bought.”

Mom takes out the saris one by one and places them on the dining room table. They are of different colors. All of them with bright hues of green, yellow, orange, and some with two tones. Mom identifies which sari is for whom and when it will be worn during the wedding.

“Looks like you are all done,” Dad says, relieved.

“Yes and no,” Mom replies.

“What does that mean?”

“We still have to get our blouses. They took the measurements. First, they said it would take them a week. Then Sheela took control of the situation. She convinced them that she is a long-time customer and she knows the owner. That worked. Now they have promised to have them ready in two days. We’ll see.”

“I know these people. They are reliable.” Auntie Sheela tries to put Dad at ease. “Worst comes to worst, we will bring them with us when we come to Udaipur.”

“Sounds good,” Dad says. I can see from his expression that he is not entirely convinced.

Auntie Sheela instructs her maid to make tea for all of us. A while later, the maid brings tea with an assortment of cookies and other snacks. We are all hungry after the shopping.

“How was your shopping?” Mom wants to know. “Did you find everything you wanted?”

“Lots of choice. We couldn’t decide. We have to go to a different store tomorrow. Maybe you should come with us.” Dad explains.

Mom comes with us the next day. I am glad she did. She has an eye for what matches with what. She helps us select a sherwani for Dad to wear during the reception, and a colorful kurta pajama for him to wear during the wedding ceremony. She also selects kurta pajamas for me and Krishna with stoles. She knew which colors would match the sari she would be wearing. That will make Mom and Dad a beautiful couple together. The kurta pajama I selected also needs alteration. The store owner promises one-day delivery. By the middle of the week, we have so much stuff that we have to purchase two new suitcases.

 On the third day, Dad gets a call from Mr. Joshi.

“Hello Girish ji,” Dad greets Mr. Joshi. Ever since the WhatsApp video meeting, Dad and Mr. Joshi are on a first-name basis. Dad is hoping for some good news.

They talk in Hindi, which I don’t understand. He sits on the sofa after the call. Mom had heard the phone and Dad’s voice. She approaches and asks who he was talking with and if everything is okay.

“It was Girish. We still have a problem with the caterer situation.” He says.

“Oh?”

“Yes. He has not been able to find anyone. The ones he contacted can only cater to one hundred people. We are probably going to exceed two hundred and fifty.”

“That doesn’t look good, Daddy.”

Mom sits down with her hands on her lap. She looks worried.

“Well. I’ll talk with Mayur when he comes back. He may be able to do something.”

 Uncle Mayur takes us to a different fancy restaurant every day. Mumbai has a plethora of restaurants offering cuisines from different parts of the world. One evening during dinner, Dad asks Uncle Mayur how Santosh is doing at Oxford. Santosh is my cousin, Uncle Mayur’s son. He has no other siblings.

“It would have been so nice if Santosh had been here to attend his cousin’s wedding,” Dad says.

“Yes,” Uncle Mayur replies. “He feels bad about it. He is working on his Ph.D. thesis in Economics and cannot take time off.”

“We understand.”

“He said he will call and talk with Lakshmi before the wedding.” Uncle Mayur assures.

“That’ll be nice of him.”

 The next afternoon, a young man shows up at Uncle Mayur’s place. He is thin, not very tall, and dressed in black jeans, a yellow polo shirt, and Nike sneakers. His black hair is parted in the middle and neatly combed back into a ponytail. Uncle Mayur introduces him as Narayan, who lives on the second floor of the same building. We learn that Narayan is a budding scriptwriter and is trying to break into the Bollywood film industry.

 “Bollywood? Really?” Krishna almost jumps to his feet. “This is cool, man. Do you work with actors and directors?”

I wonder why Krishna is interested in Narayan’s work. And why is he so excited about Bollywood? He never watched Indian movies with Dad.

“I’m just a junior person. But yes, I have come across a few.”

“Amitabh Bucchan?” Krishna wants to know.

“No. But Amir Khan, once.”

Krishna’s eyes are open wide. He looks curious.

“Since when did you get interested in Bollywood? And how do you know the actors? I want to know, brother.” I can’t help asking.

“The UVA India association, dear Arjun. They organize movie nights. Especially the foreign students from India. They always talk about the latest movies and cricket. Not that I hang out with them always.”

“Dad will be thrilled to know that,” I say

 “I can take you to the Film City, if you are interested,” Narayan interjects.

“Can you? Really?”

Uncle Mayur is listening.

“I will ask Gopal to take you wherever you kids want to go.” He tells us.

 Narayan shows up at 11 a.m. the next morning, and we drive to the Film City. I never saw Krishna so excited. He keeps asking Narayan about how actors prepare for their acting sessions. Narayan does his best to respond and, at one point, mentions that if we are lucky, we may see an active shooting. Krishna gives a high five to Narayan. I keep looking out the window as we drive along the streets of Mumbai.

Because of Narayan, we get a free tour of the Film City, which is like a town by itself. It is vast with well-kept gardens, lakes, theaters, and permanent sets, including some foreign locations. Lady Luck was on our side. In one large building resembling a mansion, they were shooting a scene involving verbal dialogue between what seemed like a father and son. There are cameramen and production staff all around. Narayan talks with one of the staff, and they allow us to stand by the sideline. For a simple scene of a father sitting on a leather armchair and his son approaching him, the director keeps saying “Cut” and then the acting resumes again. This happens at least ten times until the director is satisfied.

 “It’s easy to act in films,” Krishna comments. “In a live theater on a stage, you are in front of hundreds of people, and you cannot mess up. You need to get it right the first time, no retakes.”

I remember Krishna acting in a couple of plays in high school. He should know, I say to myself.

We have a late lunch in a cafeteria. It is four O’clock when we decide that we have had enough and it is time to return.

“This made my day,” Krishna says. He looks happy. I can tell just by looking at his face.

Narayan promises to take us to the Trilogy Supper Club the next day.

“You’ll have to see this to believe it. It matches all the best clubs anywhere in the world.” Narayan is charged with showing us the best of Mumbai.

 Narayan is true to his words. Krishna and I are impressed by the young talent in Mumbai. The stand-up comedians, especially one called Akhil, make fun of our parents’ generation. Akhil tells stories of how young Indians go to pray at a temple and offer gifts to THE VISA GOD so he can help them get an American visa. Krishna gets up and gives him a standing ovation.

I am surprised by the amount of drinking going on. It is a mixed crowd. The way these young men and women are dressed makes me feel their parents are affluent. It is way past midnight when the shows are over. Poor Gopal is patiently waiting for us in the car. Looks like he was sleeping, and we woke him up.

 We thank Narayan for giving us two of the best days in Mumbai.

“Maybe you will get a chance to visit America,” Krishna says.

“Yes, maybe your movie will win the best foreign film award at the Oscars,” I add.

“That’s wishful thinking for me. But thanks for your wishes. You guys are awesome. Not the typical spoiled Americans I had heard about.” Narayan says.

He bids us good night and walks up to his apartment. Gopal is patiently waiting to see if we need his services. Krishna folds a couple of hundred-rupee notes and hands them to him.

“Go home, Gopal. You have been good. We’ll let you know of our plans for tomorrow.”

Gopal bows, puts the money in his pocket, and raises his hand to his forehead as a thank-you gesture.

That Saturday, Uncle Mayur had planned a family kelwan (private shower) for Lakshmi in the famous Taj Mahal restaurant. This is an occasion when family members give gifts to the bride instead of at the wedding. Taj Mahal is one of the well-known hotels known for its grandeur and elegance. It is also insanely expensive.

“Taj Mahal?” Dad says, showing his surprise and admiration at the generosity shown by his brother. “This is not necessary, Mayur. You are too much.”

“It’s okay, Viju Dada,” Uncle Mayur says quietly. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime special occasion in our family. The first wedding, and that too of the only girl. Let it be a memorable event. I am honored to host it.”

Dad is quiet, but at the same time, I can see from his expression that he is impressed.

 Uncle Mayur recommends that we go to Udaipur a week ahead of the wedding. This will allow us to meet the Joshis in person and ensure all arrangements are proceeding according to the plan. He and Auntie Sheela plan to join us later, before the wedding.

 The next day, we take a late afternoon flight from Mumbai to Udaipur. We have not heard anything about the caterer situation. Neither Uncle Mayur nor Mr. Joshi has been successful.

To read chapter 23 click here. https://wp.me/p2b25R-jU

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