Two Guys and the Holy Bible

March proved to be an eventful month for me. I celebrated my 22nd birthday, traveled on an all expenses paid trip to Seattle (where I flunked an interview and met a few interesting people), enjoyed a weekend road trip to Washington DC (where I met with those three dramatic incidents that I had described in much detail in the previous blog posts), experienced some mundane things like getting screwed in the mid term exams and some not so mundane things like watching India win the world cup.

And sometime in the middle of march, I had yet another interesting encounter that deserves mention on this blog.

It was around seven in the evening. I was sitting outside Starbucks (in the basement of the Purdue Memorial Union) with a delightful caramel Frappuchino to keep me company, as I pored over pages upon pages of intellectual hocus-pocus. I had a paper submission deadline in a couple of days' time and I had barely started off with the background research. I was fighting a losing battle against the sands of time.

From the corner of my eye, I could see two tall, well built blokes walking towards me. And I naturally assumed that they were coming to my table to grab a couple of empty chairs. The taller guy somehow looked distinctively familiar.

The shorter of the two guys spoke out in a thick Spanish accent, "Hi there! Do you have a moment?"

"Uhh...yes, I suppose so," I replied. I was in a weird position, holding the coffee cup in one hand and sucking on its straw, while holding on to a badly crumpled piece of paper on the other.

"We would like to ask you a few questions," the guy continued.

Questions? What sort of questions? I gulped looking at the size of those two guys* standing in front of me.

Without waiting for a reply, they sat down, one on either side. The taller guy put down a hard bound 'Holy Bible' on the table with a loud thump.

Oh my God! Now I know why he looks familiar. He looks just like Silas!**

The shorter guy took out a sheaf of papers from his bag. And the moment I saw those papers with their short one liners and distinctive bullets that followed, I realized what the rendezvous was all about.

"So, you're here for a survey?" I asked.

"Yes, yes," the shorter guy replied. "By the way," he continued, "my name is Carlos(name changed) and this is my friend Joe(name changed)." While Carlos grinned broadly, Joe gave a quiet and courteous nod.

"Nice to meet you guys. I'm Sri," I smiled back and extended my hand. Although I knew that the hourglass would now become even more porous to the sands of time, I relished the prospect of having an interesting conversation with these two strangers.

"Okay Sri, here is the first question," Carlos said, making it sound more like a game show than a survey. "What are your opinions on pre-marital sex? Are you for it or against it?"

"I well...uhh" I was completely taken aback by the bluntness of the question. I continued, "Well I am not against pre-marital sex like I'm against say, violence or drugs..."

"So, does that mean that you are for it? You want pre-marital sex?" Carlos asked, twirling his pencil through his fingers, eager to jot down anything that I spoke.

"I just said that I'm not against the concept. But that does not mean that I will follow it." I replied.

Carlos looked at me confusedly and then continued, "Okay. Now on to the next question. Do you believe in euthanasia, or mercy killing?"

"Okay brother! I know where you are getting at!" I thought as I looked at the Bible that rested below Joe's big hands.

"I am not against Euthanasia. Frankly, I believe that if a person wishes that his life be taken, and that his loved ones wish that his life be taken, so that he need not endure endless pain and suffering, then I believe that he has every right to do so."

Carlos nodded and scribbled something down. He continued, "What do you think about abortion? Do you think it should be made legal?"

"Uhh...now that's a tricky question. I don't know what say. I mean, it probably depends on the situation."

"Now, don't be diplomatic, Sri." Joe spoke for the first time. He had a mischievous smile on his face.

"Well...I guess it is wrong to take an innocent life. Abortion does exactly that. But what if the child is born in an environment where he or she is forced to face a life of suffering and pain. I mean, the mother generally has a very strong reason, if she decides to abort the child. And considering the fact that no mother would want her child dead, that reason perhaps justifies her act," I replied.

"But who are we to decide that, my friend. It is the Lord who decides the fate of the child. He decides the fate for each and every one of us," Carlos said. His eyes were twinkling as he spoke.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But there is an interesting thing about abortion."

Both Carlos and Joe raised their eyebrows as I continued further, "I read this book called Freakonomics. Heard of that one?"

"Uhhm. I guess I've heard of it," Carlos replied.

"Those guys proved that there was a direct relation between the legalization of abortion and the level of crime in the area. I don't remember which US state it was, but it seems that crime rate drastically declined after the state legalized abortion. And come to think of it, it could actually be true."

"How?"

"The children who would've otherwise been aborted, end up being orphans. And as they grow up, the lack of a family and parental love, takes a toll on them. Lack of education leads to unemployment and unemployment leads to crime." I sat back, put one leg on top of the other and sipped my coffee.

"Alright, now on to the next question," Carlos said in a very thoughtful voice, "Do you believe that Jesus is the son of God?"

Aha! Eventually it had to boil down to a religious discussion!

I chose my words very carefully as I spoke, "Well, maybe I'm not the right person to answer this question." The sentence ended up being quite awkward. I quickly continued, "What I mean to say is that I am not a follower of Christianity, so my ignorance prevents me from speaking much about this question."

"I see." Joe smiled and dragged his chair forward and peered into my eyes as he spoke, "So, what religion do you follow?"

"I am a Hindu. Hinduism is not just a religion though, it's a way of life." I stared back into his eyes.

"So, what do you know about Christianity?" Carlos asked.

"Just the basic stuff that I gathered from books and movies."

Carlos immediately began his excited talk about Jesus's life, the miracles that he performed, the last supper, the crucifixion and the resurrection.

"Yes, yes. I am familiar with that legend." I interrupted him.

"Not legend, my friend. It's a historical truth. A lot of archaeologists around the world have proved it."

"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"All that matters is faith. I mean it really doesn't matter if Jesus actually walked amongst us or not." Carlos and Joe seemed shocked. I twirled the straw around the coffee cup as I continued, "What I mean to say is that, irrespective of what the historical truth is, the story of Jesus is a symbol. It teaches us to be good moral human beings and reminds us that we are eternally under the grace of the Lord. Be it or fact or fiction. It's the faith that matters."

"Hmmm...well said." Joe nodded.

"So, coming back to my original question, do you believe that Jesus is the son of God?" Carlos asked.

"I believe that Jesus was a great messiah."

"That does not answer my question." Carlos repeatedly tapped his pencil on the table.

"And that's the only answer that I have." I shrugged and pretended to sip my coffee.

Joe pushed forward the Bible that he was holding in his hands. "Have you read the Holy Bible?" he asked.

"I've read some of it. I've read the Genesis."

"So, did you like it?" Carlos interrupted.

"Yeah. Genesis is more like a history lesson. I enjoyed reading it. And I love some of the verses in the Bible. They are very good."

"If you like the Bible so much, why don't you follow Christianity?" Joe blurted out.

I let out a half-grunt cleared my throat and countered, "Do you believe in God?"
Both of them nodded. I continued, "And I do too. So, what difference does it make, if I follow the Christian ways or not...when the both of us believe in the existence of an almighty being?"

"Jesus sacrificed his life to pay for our sins. And that is what prevents us from getting sent to hell despite of all the sins that we commit."

"I don't think we should look at it that way. See, we must respect the fact that Jesus sacrificed his own life to pay for our sins. If we continue to sin thinking that Jesus will save us, of what use would his sacrifice be? We must honor that sacrifice by not committing any sin in the first place."

For a moment, none of them spoke. They seemed to be lost in their thoughts.

It was Joe who broke the silence. "I believe in Jesus because he saved my life." He stared at me through his dreamy eyes. "A few years back, I was an atheist. My life had become a complete wreck. I was addicted to drugs. I had troubles with my relationships. I flunked all my exams. And just when I thought that my life was over, Jesus showed himself to me. I saw him. And that's when I started believing in God. I have been praying to him ever since. And because of his grace, I've reclaimed my life. I've stopped with the drugs. I got into Purdue and I'm doing well in my courses. My relationships are back on track. Jesus is real, my friend. And he is watching us right now."

"Good for you, mate," I said and shuddered a little.

"Jesus will reveal himself to you, if you do not believe in his existence. And when he does, you will change your mind," Joe said in a hypnotic voice.

"Yes, my friend. Jesus can come in any form. If you want to meet him and see how it feels like to connect to God-"

I interrupted Carlos midway through his sentence,

"I don't need God to reveal himself for me to believe in his existence. I just believe. As I told you before, faith does not need evidence."

"What you say is true," Carlos smiled politely. He continued, "Thank you very much Sri for your time. I really enjoyed talking to you."

"Yeah," Joe added.

"And now we'd like to give you back something in return." He had a mysterious smile on his face. "Do you believe in the power of prayers?" he asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Then we'd like to pray for you. Is there any wish that you have, anything that you'd like God to hear?"

"Well...uhm...as of the moment, I guess I'd be glad if I get a summer internship."

"Okay. We will pray for you now."

With that Carlos closed his eyes, bowed his head and joined his hands. Joe did the same.

"Sri would like to get a summer internship. And together we pray for the same. Please God, listen to our prayer and grant him this summer internship. Amen."

"Amen," I said softly.

With that, both Carlos and Joe got up, shook my hands and blended into the crowd of students. ***



* Invariably, everyone is taller and larger than me.

** The pitiable villain from the hit fiction novel, The Da Vinci Code, and the role played by Paul Bettany in the movie of the same name.

***Although I did not get through in Microsoft, I did manage to get an internship with Simplex Investments. Maybe that collective prayer really paid off!

What Happens in DC stays in DC - Part 3

Incident 3 - The Innocent Bystander

Most of us often ponder about the things that we wished to happen but which never happened. We look back at past events and ask ourselves a thought provoking question - 'what if?', the answer to which is seldom known. What if I had done something different? What if I had not spoken those words? What if I had studied more? What if I had prepared better? Questions like these about parallel realities often trouble us after we make a mistake or end up doing something that causes grief and dissatisfaction. But how many times have we used the same question to ponder about the things that which almost happened but we never wish for it happen in the first place? It is a rare feeling that often accompanies a moment of relief. Thank God, it never happened! What if I had failed in my exams? What if my secrets had been revealed? What if I had met with an accident? And today, I write this blog post with the same kind of relief that certain events that I did not wish to experience swept past me as mere possible parallel realities, instead of the one true eternal reality.

The third eventful incident in our colorful DC trip was nothing short of a tryst with mortal peril. It was an incident that lasted barely for a second, yet it managed to permanently etch itself in my memory.

It was mid afternoon. The weather was glorious. The sun shone brightly and the sky was blue and spotless. It was the commencement of Spring and the sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains was amazing. The Interstate in West Virginia was a pleasure to travel on...marvelously engineered for high speeds and breathtaking vistas. We were rocketing ahead at speed of around 90 miles an hour (around 145 kmph) and yet it felt completely normal, as normal as driving in the bumper to bumper traffic in Delhi! Everyone was driving at the same speed. We were in a long straight section of the road with three lanes on each side, comfortably separated by a grassy divider as wide as a two-lane road.

The highway was busy yet smooth, as cars and trucks freely moved on both sides. It was then that I saw a huge truck (that looked not very different from the likes of Optimus Prime and his transforming buddies) approaching from the opposite side of the road. The payload section of the truck was open and a huge black colored mass was stacked on it. As the truck approached closer, I realized that those black objects were truck tyres, neatly stacked on top of one another and held together by a harness.

All of a sudden, one of the tyres magically broke loose from the harness, popped out of the back of the truck and bounced across the road. Before our minds could register what was happening, the rogue tyre bounced once on the grassy divider and jumped right at us. And it was at that fleeting moment when I saw the tyre coming towards us like a canonball, that I realized that we were in serious danger.

Let us do a quick analysis of the situation. The diameter of the tyre was a big as the extent of my outstretched arms. Since both our car and truck were traveling at around 90 miles per hour, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the tyre was heading at us at around 150 miles per hour (assuming the loss of speed owing to the other directional components and to the one bounce on the divider). Although I didn't think of all these calculations during that moment, I knew for sure that with that momentum, the tyre could easily smash the windshield, if not crush our car.

The incident happened so fast that I cannot recollect what happened next. All I remember is the feeling of instantaneous shock being replaced by instantaneous relief as I saw the tyre miraculously miss our car, and the other car to our right, and roll harmlessly into the fields beyond. Perhaps, B, who was driving the car, made a split second turn or perhaps the tyre simply managed to bounce over the bonnet of the car...I really can't say what happened.

What harm can a rogue tyre cause, you may ask?

In July 2009, Formula 2 driver Henry Surtees, son of F1 legend John Surtees was hit by a rogue tyre during a race in Brands Hatch. He was instantly killed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1zqL86w0Gk
(I had seen this video countless times. Imagine how I would've felt when I saw that tyre coming straight at us!)
A few days later, F1 driver Felipe Massa was also hit by a rogue tyre on the race track, leading to a serious injury on his eyes and head.

Agreed that we were not traveling in an open top vehicle and not as fast as an F2 car, but still, a variety of 'what if' situations were possible. What if the tyre smashed our windshield? What if we lost control and smashed into the car adjacent to us? What if the tyre hit the car next to us and that car lost control and rammed into us? What if we braked to avoid the tyre and got pummeled from the back by an 18-wheeler? Each of these situations could have possibly led to fatal injuries, if not death! (a la 'Final Destination').We were indeed lucky to escape unscathed.

When I look back at this incident, I realize one brutal truth about life. No matter how much you may claim to be in control of your life, there are certain events that defy rationale, certain things that defy logic, things that are simply beyond your control no matter what you do.

I believe it is called Fate...

What happens in DC stays in DC - Part 2

Incident 2 - The Victim

It was around 10 at night. After a sumptuous meal at an Indian restaurant in downtown DC, we headed back towards our car. The crowd had thinned out. Most of the shops were closed. The citizens of DC had gone back to their homes to get a good night's sleep before the drudgery of the coming week.

"Remember where we kept our car?" I asked as I scraped my feet on the pavement. My stomach was full and my legs felt like lead.

"Yeah", came a lazy reply.

I followed the other three as we turned left from the main street and into a side alley.

Yes, this is the place. There is that same school building that we saw before, its walls smeared with spray paint. There is that streetlamp whose flickering light casts an eerie shadow on the road. The stench of alcohol is heavy in the air…

Yes, this was definitely the place. But there was something different about it. Something had changed. I zipped up my jacket and put on my hood. The mercury had dipped a little. A cold breeze began to blow and a couple of empty beer bottles rattled against the sidewalk.

We walked past the school building and turned left towards a steeply inclining slope.

"And there is our ca-" B stopped midway through his sentence and looked back with an expression of horror on his face. "Guys, something is wrong", he said.

=======

Two hours before the incident, we were trying to navigate our sleek black Mazda through the busy streets of Washington DC. Our two day trip had almost come to an end. And it was time to give it a befitting closure - a hearty, sumptuous dinner at a good, yet not very expensive Indian restaurant.

Looking back, I would say that Washington DC is a lot like South-Central New Delhi, (and thus perhaps like any another capital city in the world*) with government buildings, national monuments honoring the leaders of the country, beautiful gardens with plush greenery, wide and expansive roads, and then a downtown area with pubs, nightclubs and boutique shops. But the best part about DC is that most of its tourist spots are within walking distances from each other. The Smithsonian Museum Complex is about a 15 minute walk from the Capitol Building. The Washington Monument is about a 15 minute walk from the Smithsonian Complex. The Lincoln Memorial is about a 15 minute walk from the Washington Monument and the White House is about a 15 minute walk from the Lincoln Memorial. Furthermore, the tourist areas of DC can be covered in two days, perfect for an enriching weekend getaway.

And thus, after admiring the architectural marvels, getting fascinated by the museum exhibits, enjoying the St. Patrick's Day parade and getting amused by the protestors outside the White House, we found ourselves frantically looking for free parking spots near the Indian restaurant. And the failure to find one, led us to turn into a desolate side alley.

"Finally!" I shouted out loud.
"There's no 'No Parking' board here. So I guess we are fine." A said as he parked the car alongside the curb.
"And besides, its the weekend. We won't get ticketed.**" B replied.
"Remember the location. Last thing we want is to forget where we parked our car." I spoke out as I walked out of the car and slammed the door shut. I felt refreshed as the cool evening breeze caressed my face.

I guess the location is easy to remember. Steep incline on the left. And that seems to be the back side of a school building. And there is some cool graffiti sprayed on its walls. And then there's a flickering streetlamp, casting its soft incandescent glow on the road. Shouldn't be a problem.

C seemed unusually quiet as we walked from the side alley, into the main road and towards the Indian restaurant.

"What happened?" I asked C.
"Nothing." C stopped for a moment, looked back over his shoulder and then continued walking.

=========

Two hours later, we found ourselves walking back to that desolate side alley. We had found our car. It was exactly where we had left it. But unfortunately, it was not exactly in the same condition as we had left it.

The car's driver's side window had been smashed. Jagged clumps of glass were what remained of the window. There were shards of broken glass lying on the road and on the driver's seat, brilliantly glittering under the light of the streetlamps.

"Careful." I called out as A peered inside the car through the broken window.

"Guys, the GPS is stolen." He remarked.
"Was there anything else in car?" B asked.
"I guess not. Our bags are in the hotel." C replied.
"What about the papers?" I asked.
"The glove compartment is locked." A replied.

"What do we do? What do we do now?" I almost screamed out.
"I have no idea." A replied back. The shock was setting in slowly.
"Just when we thought that we had a trip without a major incident! ***" B snorted.
"Well, at least we are safe." A replied.

Yes. At least we were safe. Things could have been a lot worse. What would have happened if those thugs had come around when we were there? What if they had robbed us, or worse, attacked us? What if our bags were in that car? What if our laptops had been stolen? What if our passports had been stolen?

"Ok. So what do we do?" C asked gingerly as he walked around the vehicle inspecting it from all angles.
"Do we call 911?" I asked.
"Yes, I'll call." B took out his phone and dialed the emergency number.
The three of us looked at him in anticipation.

"Hello, my name is B and I'm standing near the intersection of Columbia Street and 31st Street (names changed). My car's driver side window has been smashed....Yes, it was parked here…Yes, it looks like our GPS has been stolen....No, nothing else....Yes, we have the papers...Yes, I want to file a complaint...Do I leave my car here and wait for you guys to come...Oh, you guys won't come here?...So can I take my car and get it fixed...Yes, alright....Yes, I'll wait for your call...Thank you."

He hung up the phone.

"So?" I asked.
"They said they won't be sending anyone. And they asked me if I wanted to report it and I said yes. Hopefully, that should take care of the insurance." B replied.

I was disappointed. I thought that we'd have to wait until the cops would arrive and cordon off the area with that yellow colored tape that says - "Police Investigation. Do not Cross." I thought that the cops would wave their cool badges in front of us and interview us. I thought that the forensic team would photograph the crime scene. Sadly, none of that happened. I realized that this was nothing but a petty crime. Such things might be happening every day. For the person on the other end of the 911 call, it would have been yet another mundane report of theft. But for us, the entire ordeal was scary.

Once we were done taking the photographs of our car for the insurance claim, we moved on to yet another critical discussion :

"What do we do now? How do we fix the windows?" I asked.
"We need to find a garage, pay for the replacement and then claim our insurance. The car was fully insured, right?" B added.
"Yes." A replied.
"How do we find the garage?"
"Even if we do find the garage, we can't be sure if they have a window replacement for a Mazda."
"And even if they do have it, how long will they take? Because, I need to be in West Lafayette by Monday night. I have a flight to catch on Tuesday morning."
"Which means, we have to leave DC by max 2pm."
"I doubt if the window can be fixed by then."
"So what do we do?"
"What can we do? We'll drive it like this. Clean up the car a little bit. Remove the glass from the seats and carry on."
"You plan to drive a car without a window on the interstate at 80 miles per hour?"
"We have no other choice."
"That is not a choice either."
"We'll have to wear our jackets and shiver in the cold, that’s all."
"It's not about the jackets. The wind speeds will be insanely high on the interstate. The car will be unstable. You cannot drive. Remember how it used to feel and how the car used to sway when we lowered the window for a brief moment?"
"Hmmm…Well, that leaves us with no option at all."

"There is one option." I said.

"Which is?" A asked.

"Where are you flying to on Tuesday?" I asked.

"Boston."

"Ok. Then listen to this. We'll try and get this window fixed by Tuesday. You can cancel your air ticket and we can drive from here to Boston!"

"Guys, there is a realistic option." C who seemed to be quiet all this time, finally joined in the conversation.
"What?"
"Why don't we call up Hertz? I'm sure they'll have a garage in DC. Let's see what they have to say."

And thanks to C’s insightful suggestions, we managed to put an end to our misery (and to my crazy idea). Hertz, the car rental company, had a garage at the Ronald Reagan International Airport. Upon hearing our story, they had agreed to give us a replacement car for no extra charge. So either Hertz was notified by the police, or Hertz had a way of corroborating our story with the police report, or most likely, it really did not matter to them. I guess that the issue of dealing with a car with a broken window would be of no value compared to the issue of maintaining the satisfaction of the customer.

So we drove the battered Mazda to the Hertz garage, signed a few papers and came out with a sparkling red Chevy.

* It’s a bold claim, considering that I have only visited two national capitals till now.
** Curbside parking is generally free on weekends in most US cities.
*** B had pompously claimed that there had always been at least a single incident on any trip that he'd been on. Upon pressing him on what kind of incidents he was referring to, he casually replied, "Something like breaking your bones."

What happens in DC stays in DC - Part 1

There were three crazy incidents that happened on the trip to Washington DC. And I managed to play a different role in each of the incidents. In one of those incidents I was a victim, in another I was a criminal and in the third one, I was an innocent bystander who narrowly escaped death. And since that famous adage about Las Vegas* does not apply to Washington DC, I decided to pen down my experiences.

We (I and three other friends, let’s call them ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’) went on a road trip to Washington DC during the spring break in mid march. I was highly excited since this was my first ever real road trip. I call it a 'real' road trip because it was a 12 hour drive to DC **. Before embarking on the journey, I thought that 12 hours was a little too much and we would all get bored on the trip. Surprisingly, there was not even a single moment where I felt bored or jaded. I realized that the combination of good friends, a comfortable car, good music, chips and coke, the beautiful, scenic freeways and the ability to rip on them at high speeds (amidst trucks that look like transformers), leads to a very exciting and fun-filled trip. In the process we managed to go through six different states and on the very same country roads that John Denver talked about in his famous song. ***


Incident 1 : The Criminal.

It was around seven in the evening, and the sun had just sunk behind the horizon. It had been about four hours since we left West Lafayette in our sleek black Mazda and were traveling on an interstate in Ohio.

"With arrms wide oppee...Hey, why did you turn down the volume?" I shouted.
"Guys, I think we might have a problem." A replied as he gingerly peeked at the rear view mirror from the driver's seat.
The mirror was completely covered by flashing red and blue lights. I turned around in my seat to glance at a sleek white Dodge Charger tailing us.
"Uh-oh. What now?" I gulped and gritted my teeth.
"Were you speeding?" B asked.
"I don't think so. I don't think I went much over the limit." A sounded nervous.
And as the lights behind us got more intense, we slowly pulled over to the curb and patiently waited for the officer behind us to make his move.
"What do we do? What do we do?" I almost screamed in panic.
"Nothing. We just sit here and wait for the officer." C replied calmly.

Wow! A cop had pulled us over. It was just like how it was in the movies. The cop car trails the criminal, puts on his lights and siren. The criminal pulls over. The cop slowly approaches the car with his gun drawn out. The criminal lowers his window and asks, "Is there a problem, officer?" The officer points the gun at the driver and shouts, "Keep your hands where I can see them!"

"Hey! You have to keep your hands on the steering wheel." I whispered to A.
"Yeah. yeah, I know that."

Everybody knows that. In fact, this question always features in the driving test ****:
What do you do when an officer pulls you over on the road?
Option 1 : Keep your hands on the steering wheel and wait for the officer to talk to you.
Option 2 : Keep one hand on the wheel and one inside the glove compartment.
Option 3 : Do not pull over. Keep moving.
Option 4 : Step out of the car and run.

"What do we tell the officer?" B asked.

Do we slip in a 20 dollar note? I thought, but then dismissed it. Such ideas only work in India.

"We don't admit to anything unless he asks us something specific." A replied.

Our eyes were focused on the driver's seat window as we waited for the officer to arrive.

Tap! tap! There was a loud knock on the passenger side window. We were surprised to see a heavy set man in a county sheriff uniform holding a flash light in his hand. We lowered the windows.


“Where are you heading?” the officer asked.

“Washington DC.” We replied.

"Can I see your license and registration please?"
We gave him the papers.
"Rental car, eh?" he asked.
"Yes" we said.
"I'll be right back." With that he took the papers and went back to his car.

The officer goes back to his car and runs a background check on the vehicle. He is startled. He picks up the radio and calls for backup. Two more cop cars pull in. More officers approach the car, while a few of them stay back with their guns aimed at the criminals in front. "Please step out of the vehicle and open the boot." The driver would get out of the car and open the boot to reveal a bag of drugs, guns and stolen diamonds.

The officer then came back with the papers.
“Sir”, he said sternly, “Do you realize that your high beam is on?”

“Uhh…” A hesitated.

In the US, the road rules are very strict. And breaking even the most minor traffic rule will get you a ticket. You get a couple of those tickets and your driving license will be suspended. And keeping the high beam turned on, on a two way highway is a ‘ticket-able’ offense. We were in a tough position. Admitting that we were aware that the high beam was on would mean that we were blatantly breaking the law. On the other hand, if we claimed ignorance, it would mean that the driver wasn’t skilled enough to tell whether the high beam is on or not, making him un-fit to be a driver. So, thankfully B had the presence of mind to say neither.

“Officer, this is a rental car. We were just trying to figure out how to operate the headlights.” B spoke in his usual confident tone.

“Ok. Make sure you turn the high beam off when you drive.”

“Absolutely, officer!” B replied.

We were happy to get away without a ticket. (Although, we did get a speeding ticket in West Virginia, while on our way back to West Lafayette). And more so I was relieved that my imaginations didn’t come true. But I so desperately wanted to hear a real police officer say – “You have the right to remain silent.”

* "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
** Washington DC is about 650 miles from West Lafayette
*** "Country Roads" by John Denver, in which he sings about the Blue Ridge Mountains and country roads of West Virgina.
**** I had this exact same question on my driving test.

The Cabbie from Somaliland

On the evening of March the seventh, I found myself standing outside Microsoft’s office in Redmond, frantically waving at a taxi cab on the road.

The car stopped beside me and a heavy set black man got out of the driving seat. With a big booming smile on his face, he ambled towards me, picked up my luggage and stashed it inside the boot.

“Hello there! I’m Abdul (name changed). Going to the airport, brother?” the cabbie asked, as he turned the ignition.

“Yes, Sir.” I replied.

“May I know when is your flight, bro?”

“Its at midnight. We have plenty of time.” I looked at my watch. It was around seven o’clock.

“What will you do at the airport so early?” the cabbie asked as he guided the car outside the Microsoft complex and into the highway that led to Seattle.

“Err…I don’t know. I had nothing to do. So, I thought I’d just go to the airport and wait there.”

I was extremely tired. My interviews that day were very tough and frustrating. All I wanted to do was to get back to West Lafayette and back to the company of my friends. Spending your birthday all alone isn’t the ideal way to spend your birthday! And even though it felt a little weird talking to this huge stranger behind the wheel, I longed for some friendly conversation.

“Can I give you a suggestion, bro?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure…” I replied apprehensively.

“Why don’t you go to downtown and enjoy the city?”

“I’ve been to downtown.”

“So, you saw the Space Needle?”

“Yes.”

“The City Center…museum?”

“Yes.”

“The Pike Place Market?”

“Yup” I yawned.

“But did you see all that at night?” the cabbie winked.

I raised my eyebrows, “Uhh…I guess not.”

“Ok. So, let me take you to downtown then. It is very beautiful at night, bro.”

“You mean, the lights and all that stuff?”

“Yes, bro. Trust me, it is good.”

Why is this guy so adamant of getting me to visit downtown? Does he have any special reason to take me there? I nervously shifted around in my seat. The car seemed hot even though the AC was running.

“One question. Just to confirm.” He turned around and spoke out.

“Yeah?”

“Those guys at the office gave you the coupon?”

I slipped my hands into my pockets and retrieved a yellow slip of paper.

Ah! Now this is what its all about! A wave of relief swept over me.

Microsoft had given me a taxi coupon. I would just have to mention the place I visited and write down the amount and hand that coupon to the cabbie. The cabbie would then cash it at his office.

“Yes, I have the coupon.” I scoffed.

“Oh! Don’t get me wrong, brother.” The cabbie seemed offended. “I know that the company is paying you. But that does not mean I will cheat the company.”

“Uhh…pardon?”

“Some taxi drivers here do that. Take the party to the airport and fill up an amount that is twice the fare. They make it look like the party has traveled to downtown, maybe Bellevue and then to the airport. But I’m doing no such thing.”

“So…uhm…how does this work exactly?”

“I take you to downtown. You enjoy downtown at night. Then I take you to the airport. And fill up the total amount. I get paid more. You get to enjoy. We do something that is perfectly ethical. What do you say?”

“Alright. I guess so.” I raised my eyebrows and nodded back.

“Microsoft is a great company, bro. They call a lot of people here, which gives us our business. I would never cheat the company, bro.”

The company? Makes microsoft sound like some kind of a mafia outfit!

I slouched back on my seat and slight smile formed on my face.

The cabbie then took me to downtown and gave me a guided tour of all the major landmarks. And once we were done with that, we proceeded to move towards the airport.

After a brief moment of silence, the cabbie spoke out again, “May I know your name, bro?”

“Sri.”

“Sri? You are from India, I suppose. Southern part?”

“Well…yeah.” I replied.

“India is a beautiful country, Sri.”

“Ohh…yes it is! Have you been there Abdul?”

“No. But I have heard good stories. I want to visit your country someday.”

“Where are you from?”

“Somaliland.” The cabbie replied with pride.

“Somaliland?” I was pretty sure that there was no such country by the name of Somaliland. “Do you mean, Somalia?” I asked.

“No no. Somaliland. Haven’t you heard of Somaliland?” he seemed shocked.

“Tell me about it.”

“We are an autonomous region bordering Somalia.”

“Ahh…so how is the political situation there? I hear there are a lot uprisings going on these days in Africa.”

“In Somalia, it is bad. It is very bad. Corrupt government. People are living in misery there. But in Somaliland, we follow democracy. We are free.” He replied passionately.

I just nodded. I would’ve wanted to hear his opinions about the Somali pirates. But I restricted myself. What if I say something wrong and this guy gets a little cranky!

The cabbie seemed to understand the situation and quickly changed the topic.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Sri?” he smiled.

“Err…ok, go ahead.”

I would’ve rather had a political conversation!

“Your girlfriend is American? Or is she from India?”

“Uhhh.” I was completely taken aback by this question. “Abdul, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The cabbie suddenly burst out in laughter.

“You’re kidding me, Sri? You are in the United States of America and you don’t have a girlfriend?”

What the hell! I thought. I regained my composure and replied, “Well, is that a big deal?”

“No. I mean people come here and fuck blond women, bro!”

I shifted a little towards the window, looked at my watch and adjusted my shirt collar.

The cabbie continued speaking, “You came here for an interview, right? You study here?”

“Yeah.” I replied.

“And you haven’t fucked a blond woman yet?”

"Uhh…Nope! I’d rather like to spend my time and energy in doing what I came here for.”

“Very good. I’m impressed. But you look very young, Sri. Now is the time to do a lot of fucking. Once you get older, it ain’t gonna happen.”

"Uhh…probably.” I didn’t know what to say.

“So, you are going to marry a girl from your country then?”

“Uhh…most probably. But then, I can’t rule out any possibility.”

“Diplomatic, eh?” He turned around and smiled. “American women are very good when they are young. You will really enjoy them. You may want to marry one of them and settle here. But once you get old like me, you’d want to get back to your culture, your tradition. And that time it will be a problem. For example, we respect our elders in our culture. They don’t do it here. This and a lot other stuff will come in the way.”

“Well I guess, it is important that the cultures and traditions be passed on to the next generation.” I shrugged.

“Well said, bro. I like your thinking. Your parents would be proud of you.”

“Err…yeah. I guess so.”

And then an instant relief surged through me as I saw the lights of the airport terminal up ahead. The moment we came to the airport, I quickly handed him the coupon and got out of my car.

“Good luck Sri. Hope you clear your interview. And have a safe flight.”, the cabbie spoke out as he took out my luggage from the boot of the car.

“Thank you Abdul. Hope you continue to get interesting customers like me.” I laughed, shook my head and stepped through the automatic doors and into the plush carpeting of the Seattle Tacoma Airport.

America Lives in her Taxis

They say that India lives in her villages. Likewise, I believe that America lives in her Taxis! Because, if you want to know how diverse the culture here is in America, you'd have to sit in the taxis. I came to this conclusion after taking plenty of taxi rides in the big cities (New York, Chicago, Seattle and Milwaukee). And invariably, every single time I sit in a taxi, I would come across a cabbie from a different country. So far, I have managed to meet people from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Russia, Poland, Turkey, Morocco, Algeria, Ethiopia and Somalia. And it is quite interesting to note the differences and similarities in their behavior

Cabbies from the subcontinent would generally be very quiet and reserved.

“Where do you want to go today, Sir?” That’s probably the only thing that they would ever speak. But just when you are about to reach your destination, they would ask gingerly, “Are you from India?”

“Yes.” I would reply.

A wide smile would form on their faces. “Arre, main bhi India se aaya hoon. India mein kahaan se?” they would ask.

That’s a question that always stumps me. And many a times in the past, I have actually given different answers for this question. What should I say, Delhi? Noida? Chennai? Bangalore? Patiala? The cultures of all these places have been blended into me now, so much so that I find it much more comfortable to say that I am from India than name any particular region inside India. So, depending on my mood at that time, I would randomly pick out one of those five places.

By then, I would’ve reached my destination and would ask the cabbie, “Kitna bana?”

“Arre, aap toh India se hain. Jo aapki iccha ho!” the cabbie would grin from head to toe.

This is another question that gets me stumped. How am I supposed to know how much I owe you?

But I would sneak-peek at the meter and pay the cabbie with a dollar or two more than the actual amount. Somehow, that statement always manages to soften my heart a little...

Cabbies from Eastern Europe are completely different. For starters, they look scary. They are heavily built, usually sport beards and often give the impression that they are mafia henchmen, doing the job of a taxi driver as a cover. I remember one particular instance involving a Polish cabbie.

We were standing a couple of blocks away from Times Square and waiting for a cab to get to the Grand Central Train Station. There were six of us, including a child. In New York, cabs are only allowed to carry a maximum of four passengers. But we thought that given an extra dollar or two, the taxi drivers would bend the rules a little. So, we waited and waited as cab after cab refused to pick us up. Even Indian taxi drivers, whom I thought would have the same ‘chalta hai’ attitude like in India, simply shook their heads and sped past us.

Just when we thought that we had to take two taxis, a yellow cab skidded to a halt right in front of us. A heavy set man with a long scar running across his face leaned out of the window and spoke in a deep guttural voice, “Where are you heading?”

“Grand Central.” We replied.

He jerked his head a little and said, “Hop in.”

After being refused by a dozen taxi drivers before, we were a little surprised. “We are five people and a child.” We spoke out gingerly.

“Yes. I see that. No problem. A couple of dollars more than the meter and we are fine.” He replied without a trace of an emotion on his face.

So we packed ourselves like sardines and headed towards Grand Central. The cabbie was very quiet, while we, on the other hand, were making quite a racket on the back seat. I was worried that he might be offended. So I tried to strike a conversation with him. I leaned forward and asked him, “So where are you from?”

“Poland.” He replied harshly. I gulped and crept back into my seat. Once we reached our destination, we paid him and got out of the car. No pleasantries were exchanged. It was all business. I initially thought that the cabbie was rude, but then after meeting a couple of other cabbies from Eastern Europe who seemed to have a similar attitude, I concluded that they were not rude. Instead, that was just their normal behavior. That was how they normally talked! I guess perceptions can often be very misleading...especially in a cross-cultural context!

Cabbies from the middle east and northern Africa talk very courteously. Once you got into the cab, they would talk for a good five minutes about the destination where you’d be going...about the weather...the economy. But all of a sudden, the cabbie would start speaking in his native tongue.

“Excuse me!” I would say, completely taken aback by the barrage of Arabic words.

The cabbie would then point to an earpiece lodged on his ear.

Aah…hands free. I would think. And from then on, until I reached my destination, the cabbie would then shout, scream, whisper, laugh and display a range of other emotions in his native dialect.

But the most interesting cabbies are the ones from Sub-Saharan Africa. They are friendly and extremely talkative. In fact, they do not have any inhibitions while having a conversation. One such taxi driver deserves special mention. I call him 'The Cabbie from Somaliland'