Chapter 11

To America

While standing in great excitement in the queue in front of the American consulate in Madras, my mind was zooming like an aeroplane penetrating through the thick clouds. The pictures of America, the wealthiest nation in the world, implanted in my mind from newspapers, novels and films flashed back as in a cinema.

I used to see English movies in theatres from the age of twelve. Most of the movies of that time had an American background. Similarly, the novels of Arthur Hailey, Alex Haley and Harold Robbins had greatly attracted me. Baby was also a voracious reader. It was her habit to search for scholarly books to read. Most of her gifts to me when she came home would be books of this nature. The Republicans sneaked into the headquarters of the Democratic party at Watergate Hotel and stole their secrets during the American election. The much controversial book, All the President's Men, written with the background of President Nixon's role in the incident was my favourite. I was a great admirer of Che Guera and (Fidel) Castro. Che Guera, the revolutionary leader, was a great genius with magical powers to stir up young minds to action. The young blood would boil on hearing that name. The activities of this revolutionary were so awe-inspiring. Though qualified as a medical 23 practitioner, the revolutionary in Che Guera sprang up. He toured the length and breadth of Latin America on a motor cycle to get a first-hand knowledge of the real life of common men and annoyed with the exploitation of the governments, he became a true rebel. When the revolt took the shape of guerilla warfare and became a headache, the government put a price on his head. In the end, the youthful revolutionary Dr Earnesto Che Guevara was trapped and killed. With that martyrdom, he became an idol of young men like me all over the world. His words were more powerful than bullets. When he had a very narrow escape from death, he wrote:

I have started my journey mounted on the horse of revolution wearing my armour again. My Marxism has taken deeper roots in me and has gained more clarity now. I believe that the only way before the striving masses is that of the armed struggle. I stand determined in it. Others may call me rash. Then, I am that. But differently adventurous. I would not mind to lose my head in order to prove that what I believed was right.

My reading of the adventurous revolutionaries like Che Guevera might have given me the zeal and courage to lead a life of rebellion. Almost all in the neighbourhood were wealthy families. But, in spite of striving hard, we remained poor. These sort of injustices happen because of the system in which we live in. Only the rich can gain access to good education and job. There was no way an intelligent child from poor background could get excellent education and come up in life. The majority of the poor remain poor all the time. A small section lives comfortably on their tax money. That was what I could see. It was from Fidel Castro and Che Guevara that I understood that the reason for such a scenario was the prevailing System of government.

I knew very well that I could fly to America only after dumping all this leftist ideology. Therefore, I left it behind.

The moment I got the visa, I went to take the flight ticket to the Panam office on Mount Road. My plan was to reach America at the earliest. But the reply from the counter was like this: "There is no ticket for today. Will give it for tomorrow."

On December 16, 1979, I bid adieu to my motherland. There were no direct flights to America those days. My plan was to go to Bombay and fly from there on 17th. I was only a vessel in the great ocean of life drifting aimlessly till then. This nomad is going to have a sanctuary beyond the seven seas. There is no place for me to stand rooted in my homeland. So it is inevitable that I had to move to another place. Existence is life's exigency. The problem was not mine alone, I had to go for the sake of a big family which needed some 24 ground to stand on and a house for shelter. I harboured the same thoughts of any person who would leave his birthplace and go overseas for a living. This has been expressed vividly in the thought process of Narayanan, the character in O.V. Vijayan's The Prophet's Path.

" ... Narayanan turned back again. In the ups and turn, the portico and the pillar line disappeared behind the greenery-Mango, jack, pomegranate and other natural fruits which dipped me in pure sweetness in my childhood. Now I can see only the top of the barn. The stain from the rains nobly engrafted on to the glass tile. Behind that, like a thick sky, the naturalness of the Nila River gushing and concealing frequently through the openings of the swaying lush greenery. The trees on either side ran and disappeared ...

"Thus the paths moved on; another passage, thus, waited to welcome Narayanan far away, the paths in difficult terrain that the mules treaded. It traversed to the thunder-hit mountains, back to the valleys and to the cities, to fall into rest in the day dreams of a damsel. Narayanan felt the road talking to him: Son, hereafter, you have unknown paths. Blessings! The ways of the birds vanished unseen and smooth. The love's fragrance of sorrow pervaded where they went away to..."

The aeroplane ascended to the sky like a big bird. It was going via London. It was afternoon when the PanAm Airlines plane landed at the JFK airport after 18 hours of arduous journey. For me, who was looking through the window with great excitement to see the dreamland of America, it was only disappointment. Because of heavy snowfall everything was under the carpet of snow.

The airport was amazing. I came out after the immigration clearance and customs checking with the assurance that Baby would be waiting for me outside. There were no mobile phones then. Tension was writ large on almost all faces of those who had landed there for the first time. Each eye was frantically searching for relatives waiting for them. The nurses from Kerala were looking for their sponsors. The time was decisive then.

I could locate Baby from the waiting crowd. Her best friends Babychan and his wife Kunjhamma were also with her to receive me. I did not have any excitement when the car sped through the broad roads of America because I had already come here through my dreams a thousand times. There was not much difference from the impression of America which I had gained from the books, films or Baby's descriptions. I watched with great interest the orderly waiting of the vehicles for the traffic signals. Such technological advances to control traffic had not reached our cities at that time.

The car stopped at the shop 'Alexanders'. That was for purchasing a woollen coat to resist the bitter cold. The shopping malls had appeared in America at least 50 years before they came to India. That means, India was behind America by half a century. But that has changed a lot. Anything produced in America is marketed first in India now.