Namaste New York: A Novel

Copyright © 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact: NamasteNewYork@yahoo.com

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Preface

Several years ago, I came to New York from Mumbai, India to pursue a Master’s degree in Mechanical Engineering. I was one of the hundreds of thousands of immigrant students who come to United States every year. Just like every other young student, I had a lot of ambition and energy, and I was prepared to work hard in order to succeed and achieve my dreams.

Being from a lower middle class family in India, my lifestyle in the U.S. was not exactly lavish. Before arriving here, most immigrants dream about all the fun they’re going to have, but in most cases, these wild ambitions are tempered upon arrival when they realize that fun comes at a price. Students, particularly those from developing countries and first generation immigrants, generally have to settle for vicarious thrills.

This was my experience as well. I began living with a few other needy students from India in Ozone Park, Queens. Without our parents and their constant monitoring, we could have had so much fun at that young age, but given our financial limitations, a lot of that fun was beyond our reach. In fact, most immigrant students tend to hide their true situation and struggles from their parents, who are already uncertain and stressed about sending their children thousands of miles away. We didn’t want to add to their worry. In fact, I have seen so many young people who were irresponsible when they were living with their parents become mature and grounded when they were here alone in a new environment.

Like many other students, I cried frequently during my first few months here as I struggled with homesickness and a desire for my mom’s tasty food. I quickly came to understand the importance of family in a way that I never appreciated when I was home. Those early days were difficult and I threw myself into my work to keep my mind off my troubles, but no matter what, I did not give up. Just like my friends, I ran after success. Being a 20-year old and knowing first hand the depths of India’s poverty, I thought success was measured by the amount of money I acquired. So I did everything possible to earn and save money, just like my friends and roommates did.

Once I completed my education, I found a good job and settled here in New York. But I never stopped thinking about my first few years as a student. During that time in my life, I met many immigrants and lived with so many Indian students, forging life-long friendships with some of them. Perhaps due to my successful academic background (which matters a lot to Indians), I had a reputation for being a trustworthy and empathetic listener. Many of my friends would come to me with their problems, opening their lives to me and sharing their dreams and their fears. Their lives and our conversations are inscribed indelibly in my memory, and the story of three graduate students in New York that you are about to read is an amalgamation of my experiences and those of my friends and classmates as we did our best to navigate this new world. Although the students in this story are Indian, their experiences are representative of all immigrants who share a common ambition, endure a common struggle, and strive to achieve a common goal of creating a better life for themselves and for their families.

Chapter 1

The National Society of Mechanical Engineers was hosting a lavish event for the leading scientists and researchers of 2012 in downtown New York. The scintillating lights of the center, the aroma of the flowers in the table centerpieces, the gourmet food, and the sparkling champagne added to the vibrancy and energy that permeated the air as the event’s presenter addressed the crowded hall. Behind the velvet curtains that lined the stage, a tall and slim Indian man in his early thirties paced the floor and raked his slender fingers through a mop of dark hair, a nervous gesture left over from earlier days. An attendant approached him and offered a small plastic cup of water. The man took the cup with a self-deprecating smile.

Is it that obvious? he inquired.

The attendant, a young woman in her twenties, shook her head. It happens. I’m sure you’ll be fine once you get out there. She took the empty cup he handed back to her, and left the man alone with his thoughts.

After graduating from the New York Institute of Engineering and Management in 2007, Dr. Kumar, a research scientist at Brooklyn Fire Safety Laboratories, conducted several prominent studies that have changed the way firefighters attack fires in many parts of this nation and contributed to saving the lives of firefighters and civilians across the globe, the presenter continued. In the last five years, Dr. Kumar has published more than twenty-five journal articles, fifty conference papers, and has received more than four million dollars in research grants.

The young Indian man took a step forward and pulled back the curtain slightly, his eyes scanning the elaborately adorned circular dining tables for familiar faces. But at the onset of the award ceremony, the lights in the main hall had been dimmed and a spotlight was now centered on the presenter as she continued her lead-up. The man couldn’t discern any specific faces in the audience, so he shifted his gaze to the rows of stately men and women who were seated directly behind the host. The National Society of Mechanical Engineers’ President, Board of Directors, and Trustees were all patiently listening to their newest inductee’s long list of accomplishments, and nodding at each other in a self-congratulatory gesture.

…And so, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you tonight our newest recipient of The Rising Star of Mechanical Engineering Award, Dr. Vijay Kumar!

The audience respectfully stood and began to clap with earnest. Well, the man said to himself as he stood taller and grasped the bottom of his tux, straightening his jacket. And so it begins.

Dr. Vijay Kumar took a deep breath and strode to center stage with a confidence he had not felt only moments before. He approached the presenter and greeted her with a gentle hug, accepting the heavy, rectangular glass award embossed with a rising star. The woman handed him a check that was made out in his name in the amount of $100,000. The grant was to be used for furthering his research, and though neither the check itself nor the amount came as a surprise to Dr. Kumar, he still stared at it in wonder, subtly shaking his head, humbled by the moment.

Dr. Kumar, would you like to share your thoughts? the woman offered with a smile.

I…this…it’s amazing, he attempted, as he turned towards the front of the stage, his shyness flooding back suddenly as he faced the audience. This is unbelievable, and I truly mean it. Exactly ten years ago, I was just a graduate student distributing flyers in front of the New York Stock Exchange, two or three block from here. I came to this country all the way from India to get an education, but being from a lower middle class family in Bombay, I didn’t even have enough money to pay for my schoolbooks. And now here I am, standing in front of you all this evening, with…this he said, holding up both hands, his voice choked with emotion.

I don’t want to take up too much of everyone’s time, but I would like to thank the National Society of Mechanical Engineers for recognizing my research. And of course, I would like to thank my mother. She took on a heavy burden after my father passed away, and she has always been the biggest inspiration for my work. My mom is here, he noted, gesturing towards one of the tables in the center of the hall. She's here for this award ceremony and she's also here because I'm getting married tomorrow. He paused, looking at the floor and shaking his head once more.

I wake up every day, surprised that my fiancée hasn’t changed her mind about marrying me, he continued, and the audience erupted in laughter. I’m not sure I would have been so driven if not for her, and winning this award just confirms my belief that she is, and always has been, my good luck charm, Vijay said, as his fingers rubbed the award like it was a talisman. An appreciative humming noise came from the audience as they turned their attention to the table nearest the stage.

A second spotlight turned its attention to the table where an older Indian woman in a red silk sari was sitting and dabbing at her eyes with a white, embroidered handkerchief. Her head was covered with the fall of the sari, and she was holding on to a young, blonde woman whose face was also glowing with pride.

So I want to thank all of you, most humbly, for this gift and this opportunity. Without the support I received from my parents, my teachers, my friends and my colleagues, and my future wife, tonight would not have been possible. I promise to make the most of this gift by honoring those who came before me and whose work paved the way for my own research, and by striving to light the path for others who will come after me. That’s all I can really say, except thank you again.

Once again, the sound of applause filled the hall, and most of Vijay's colleagues stood up from their chairs in respect. The presenter had to move her microphone closer to her mouth so that she could be heard over the crowd's enthusiasm. Thank you, Dr. Kumar, and congratulations on the award and your wedding! We all wish you much happiness as you begin this new journey together, the presenter concluded, and she placed her hand on his arm to escort him off the stage.

Vijay walked to the nearest table and embraced his mother as she laid her head against his chest. He handed her the award while keeping one arm protectively around her, and he could feel the pride radiating off her in waves as she wept. The woman looked at her son’s name engraved in the golden star. Your father would have been very proud of you today, whispered Shobha Kumar, almost to herself, as she reached up with her kerchief to blot her eyes again.

I am sure he is watching us from heaven, Vijay replied as he drew her close for another warm embrace. Hey Carrie, he said, turning to look at the girl beside his mother. Can you please take mom home? I need to get to the airport.

Carrie Jacobs was trying not to become emotional, but failing miserably. I am so proud of you, Vijay! You’ve worked so hard and you deserved this, she said as she produced a large bouquet of red roses from a bag beside her chair. Shobha had insisted that they pick up the flowers on the way to the event.

Thank you, said Vijay, taking the flowers from her and giving her a quick hug and brushing his lips against her cheek. "I have to run. The flight must be landing now. Maa, can you cook mutter paneer and roti for dinner? He likes it," Vijay said while digging through his jacket pockets in search of his car keys.

Of course, Vijay. Drive safely. We will see you for dinner, Shobha replied. Carrie put her hand on Shobha’s shoulder as Vijay ran towards the exit sign, the outer doors closing behind him and muffling the sounds of the audience’s clapping that was still echoing throughout the hall.

Vijay reached Church Street, and immediately noticed the paper under the windshield wiper of the car. He grabbed the parking ticket and opened the door of the black Lexus, throwing the flowers on the seat beside him. Even a ticket couldn't put a damper on his mood this evening. He started the car and gunned the engine, maneuvering out of the tight parking space, and after a few turns, he was heading in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was mid-August, but the last few days had been unseasonably mild, suggesting an early arrival of fall. Traffic was light, and when Vijay reached the bridge, he opened the sunroof and rolled down the windows, enjoying the cool evening breeze and the familiar, briny smell of the East River wafting into the car.

It was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of his tires gliding over the asphalt, and the lights on the bridge cast a soft, undulating glow that lit the interior of the car. As Vijay began to relax, his mind gently drifted back to his childhood and to the memories he had of his father, his school friends, and his family still in India. He remembered the moment he decided to study in America, and how his mother had reacted, both excited and nervous for her only child. The applications, the waiting, the acceptance letters, and finally the trip that took him so far from home. Those had been difficult years, filled with self-doubt and sacrifice, but they had finally paid off. And now he was on his way to the airport to meet a man who had shared those years with him and knew him like few others did. Vijay had been looking forward to this moment for weeks, and couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself when he thought about the man with the ironically unfortunate name.

After crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Vijay turned left onto Atlantic Avenue and the sound of a car horn immediately jolted him out of his reverie. The streets were more congested here as people milled about, enjoying the break in the summer heat and taking advantage of the opportunity to casually wander through downtown Brooklyn. Vijay’s excitement about seeing his old friend was growing exponentially the closer he got to JFK. He mentally implored the traffic to move out of his way, convinced that they would cooperate if they knew how important it was for him to reach the airport on-time, unlike the first time he’d gone to meet this man. Ten years ago he had made this same trip, but it had involved a subway and a bus instead of a Lexus. The mode of transportation was not all that had changed over the years, though. A small pocket opened up in the traffic and the Lexus responded to the smooth pressure of Vijay’s foot as he lowered it towards the floor, the car effortlessly propelling him forward into his destined future and simultaneously taking him backwards into his past.

***

It was the fall of 2002 when Vijay Kumar arrived at the New York Institute of Engineering and Management to study for his PhD. He had been in New York for a few weeks already, having come a little early to talk to his adviser about a research assistantship. He’d found a small studio apartment on Rockaway Boulevard in Ozone Park, Queens, but his five hundred dollar monthly stipend wouldn’t begin to cover the four hundred dollar rent and his other expenses, so he’d inquired with the school’s chapter of the Graduate Indian Student Association (GISA) about a roommate. The young Indian girl at the front desk had mentioned that she knew of a South Indian student who was arriving at the university the following week, and he, too, was looking to share housing. She gave Vijay his contact information, and Vijay quickly sent him an email. The next day, he’d received the young man’s reply. Yes, he was very eager to share an apartment with Vijay, and he’d included a copy of his resume. Vijay had found this a bit odd, but charming in its own way. His potential roommate had earned his B.B.M. degree and was coming to the U.S. to study for an MBA. He’d also worked for six months under the tutelage of a famous South Indian chef. Vijay couldn’t believe his luck, as he’d never been very good in the kitchen and was sure that he wouldn’t have time to learn now while studying for his PhD. After only a slight moment of indecision, Vijay had sent a reply, and asked his new roommate to let him know when he would be arriving in New York.

The sun was low in the sky when Vijay glanced out of the high, narrow window of the apartment, debating about how to get to the airport. He could take the subway to Howard Beach and then hop on the AirTrain to the airport, or he could take the subway and switch to a bus for the final leg of the trip. The AirTrain was a faster and considerably nicer option, but it would cost him more money. If he took the bus, he could ride for free with his monthly subway pass. Even the $1.50 for the subway ride wasn't cheap for a graduate student on a stipend, so Vijay decided on the second option. His new friend might be unimpressed, but it would be good preparation for the disappointment that awaited him in Vijay’s stark, basement apartment.

After taking the A Train and exiting at Lefferts Boulevard, Vijay took up a position in the line of passengers already forming for the Q10. The bus was late, and by the time the passengers had shuffled onboard and paid their fares, Vijay was already running fifteen minutes behind schedule. When he finally reached JFK’s Terminal 4, the crowd had already thinned considerably, and Vijay’s eyes immediately fell upon the frail, dark-skinned Indian boy standing near the long assembly line of yellow cabs that were pulling up to the curb and loading passengers. Despite the fact that it was August, he was wearing an oversized, faded winter coat that only exaggerated his spindly legs sticking out below, and he stood at alert, his spine straight and his head moving left to right as he kept his hands on two large luggage bags and a backpack that seemed to be bursting at its seams.

Vijay smiled when he saw the man shivering and occasionally releasing his grip on his bags to rub his hands together. Instinctively he knew it had to be him, as only a south Indian could be cold in the middle of a New York City summer heat wave. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and seemed nervous as he scanned the area. Vijay wondered if the look was out of concern for what he would do if no one showed up to claim him, or if he was nervous that someone would try to steal his bags, which he was guarding as though they contained the last of his worldly possessions, perhaps, Vijay realized, because they actually did. Vijay looked down at the picture on the resume he held in his hand. The man shivering in the cold was definitely his new roommate.

Next! Where to, sir? An attendant grabbed the man’s bags to load them into the waiting cab, and the Indian man panicked. No! No, leave it, he said, yanking at his bag. Sorry, sorry! I do not need cab.

The attendant gave him a dirty look. What are you doing in line then, huh? Get out of everyone’s way!

Vijay held up his hand and waived, quickly running towards the commotion. Hey! Hi! Lakshminarayanan Durgalakshminath? he shouted, impressing himself by not fumbling the name too badly.

Lakshminarayanan immediately looked up at the sound of his name, and broke into a huge smile when he saw Vijay running towards him. Hello! Mr. Vijay Kumar? he responded with a South-Indian accent. He approached Vijay and extended his right hand, which was covered in a thick, woolen glove. Vijay hesitated, and a shadow briefly flickered across Lakshminarayanan’s face. Vijay caught his expression and quickly gestured at the glove. Looking down, the man laughed, bobbing and weaving his head in a back and forth motion that was both typical and uniquely Indian. He ripped the glove off and shook Vijay’s outstretched hand vigorously.

How was your trip? Vijay asked while grabbing one of the bags.

Very long, the man continued, Hey! Thank you for coming.

Vijay turned back in the direction of the bus stop. Don’t worry about it. We’re roommates now, so we’ll be helping each other out for a long time.

Vijay’s words immediately put Lakshminarayanan at ease, and he nodded in agreement. You are right, he said as he fell in step behind Vijay, swinging the backpack over his shoulder and yanking at the collapsible handle of the remaining bag. Where are we going?

We’ll take the bus home, Vijay replied. I think it’s coming now, so we have to walk fast, he said while increasing his pace. Lakshminarayanan struggled to keep up as best as he could. As Vijay hauled the bags up the narrow steps of the bus, Lakshminarayanan stood at the door and looked around with surprise. He had never seen such a clean bus, and there wasn’t a single person sitting on the roof or hanging out its windows. The interior lights glowed steadily, casting a yellowish-green tint on tired faces. Vijay swiped a card twice through some kind of machine, and swiveled his head over his shoulder.

Come on. Get in, he shouted over the noise of the bus’s engine.

Lakshminarayanan stepped up into the bus and stopped abruptly when he saw that the driver was a woman. His face registered his shock, and the driver smiled. Already, America was different than what he’d expected. The bus was crowded, but Vijay had managed to find an empty seat and offered it to him.

Have a seat. You must be tired, Vijay motioned.

Lakshminarayanan sat and placed the backpack on his lap. An older white woman was seated beside him, and shifted in her seat to give him more room. Thank you, he said, looking at the lady and then back up at Vijay, who stood beside his seat.

How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Vijay asked politely.

No. They gave us food on the plane. It was pretty good.

How was the flight?

It was okay. But I could not sleep.

You came via Air India…right? Vijay asked.

Lakshminarayanan nodded. Yeah! There was not any leg space. You know, this was the first time I was flying, so I was excited about getting to see the beautiful air hostesses. He blushed suddenly, thinking perhaps he had been too forward in front of his new friend, but Vijay just laughed.

I think they prefer to be called ‘Flight attendants’ these days. So? How were they?

Oh, man! I was so disappointed with those old Indian aunties. I feel like I am being monitored by teachers in school, Lakshminarayanan confided.

Vijay chuckled and grabbed the overhead bar to steady himself as the bus made a turn. So. You are from Tamilnadu, right? He was trying to maintain the conversation to make his new friend feel at ease. The bus’s air conditioning unit labored to cool the overcrowded bus, but the South Indian man was unfazed by the heat, even in his heavy down coat.

Yes, Lakshminarayanan replied as the bus made its first stop.

Where in Tamilnadu?

Sivakasi, Virudhunagar District, he answered, while gazing out the window.

What? Sivakasi in Tamilnadu? Vijay asked curiously.

Yes. Why?

No. Nothing, Vijay replied hesitantly.

I know you are from Bombay…I mean Mumbai. My town is not as big as your city. I am from very small place, Lakshminarayanan’s voice trailed off as he again turned his attention to the world outside the bus’s window.

Oh! No, I didn’t mean it that way, Vijay countered, upset that he had offended his friend. I know Sivaksi. Almost every firecracker and match box in India is made in Sivakasi.

Yeah. I worked in one of those factories since I was six years. I know how to make almost every type of firecracker.

Vijay noticed the tears that had suddenly pooled in Lakshminarayanan’s lower eyelids. Vijay knew of the poverty in Sivakasi, and silently chided himself for not being more thoughtful with Lakshminarayanan. It was not a conversation you had with someone you had just met, and certainly not one to have on a bus full of strangers.

Our stop is next, so let’s get ready, Vijay said, offering Lakshminarayanan his best apologetic smile and pulling his bags towards the front of the bus. Lakshminarayanan stood up and nodded briefly at the old woman next to him. The brakes screeched as the bus lurched to a halt, and he awkwardly sidestepped down the aisle, trying not to hit anyone with his suitcases.

Excuse me, sorry. So sorry, he apologized, again gently bobbing his head back and forth.

Now we have to take the subway, Vijay said. As usual, the elevator at the station was broken, so they had to lift each bag and carry it up the stairs. Vijay again swiped the yellow card twice and opened the emergency exit door, which startled Lakshminarayanan with its disapproving siren. He had always thought American trains were underground, but ahead of him he saw an elevated track and yet another staircase. Once more, they made their way up a flight of stairs, dragging the heavy bags.

When they got to the platform, Lakshminarayanan was completely out of breath. He stood without talking for several minutes, watching the people waiting on the platform, before turning to Vijay again. Hey, he said, breaking their silence. What is the yellow ticket you use?

It’s a Metrocard for the subway and the bus, Vijay replied.

Oh! So how much I owe you? Lakshminarayanan said while reaching into his pocket.

Don’t worry about it. We will take care of it later, Vijay said, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the approaching lights. The train is here.

It was a long train, with many individual cabs, and once again, Lakshminarayanan couldn’t help but stare as it approached. The train’s brakes hissed as it pulled alongside the platform’s edge, and with a ringing sound, its doors opened and he was hit in the face with a blast of cold air. Just like the bus, no one was shoving anyone or hanging out the window, but this time, there were a lot of available seats. He grabbed two of them and motioned to Vijay to sit down. Nice! Lakshminarayanan grinned.

Yeah, I suppose it is, Vijay sighed. But I am a pure Bombayite, so I actually miss the crowded Bombay trains. I used to love running alongside them and grabbing on and climbing up the sides when I was a kid, he continued. The train pulled forward, and Lakshminarayanan eagerly looked out the windows on both sides of the car, hoping to catch a glimpse of the city.

You don’t get a real view of New York from here, Vijay cautioned. We live a little far out from the city, in Ozone Park. It’s not bad. Just thirty, maybe forty minutes from the city by the A train. We can go to the city tomorrow if you don’t have jet lag.

Good, I am sure I will be good. No problems. And how far we live from University? Lakshminarayanan asked.

The university is also in Manhattan, so it takes almost as long, Vijay answered. Lakshminarayanan looked disappointed. But don’t worry, we have lots of Indian grocery stores around our area, where you can find any ingredient you would need for your famous dishes! Vijay added, hoping that this information would please him.

Lakshminarayanan frowned, and looked away from Vijay. Vijay was confused. Was Lakshminarayanan already regretting his decision to stay with him? Had Vijay again said something improper that had offended his new friend? Vijay quickly replayed the conversation in his head, but he couldn't think of any reason why Lakshminarayanan should have been upset, unless…

Lakshminarayanan turned