by Ruskin Bond
As they entered, the feeling they had was of replacing the free flowing hot air outside by the stuffy hot air inside. They were repulsed. The students did not say anything, but Virendra opened up spontaneously, 'It will be impossible to sit inside!' The students nodded in agreement.
'Perhaps outside, even the open air, will be better. We could drag a few chairs under that tree and sit there,' Virendra pointed to a tree nearby, looked at the students and then at the waiter with an inquiry. The waiter agreed; he was quite used to a wide range of demands and pleas from the students. The waiter picked up a steel chair, the students picked up one each, and all of them walked to the shade of the tree.
Even in the shade the air was still hot. The place where they sat was at the edge of the partially enclosed sports stadium; their view covered the fields with the athletic track that went around the central field, the concrete structure of the stadium that stood at the west side of the field, and glimpses of the hostels beyond the stadium. Despite the heat and despite the tiredness, Virendra felt pleased, because he imagined that with every passing moment all the shadows in view would grow longer and longer and it would only cool from then onwards. Perhaps a pleasant cool evening was in the cards.
Virendra looked at Rajendra and then at Urmi. Rajendra was handsome; he was of moderate height, of fair complexion, curly black hair, bright intent eyes, and there was a trace of untrimmed but not overgrown moustache. He wore a pair of light blue trousers; his bush shirt of pink checks hung over them. Urmi was darker and shorter, had sharp features, wore glasses, and overall, had a serious sophisticated appearance.
She was wearing a light violet salwar and a white kurta with a design of small clusters of violet, purple, pink, and orange flowers. Both had rather worn-out Hawaiian slippers of white sole and blue straps, which had become the rather uniform footwear among the students in this technical university. Some members of the faculty also wore such sandals in summer and in the rainy season, which indicated the casual dress standards that prevailed. Rajendra and Urmi both looked somewhat tired but there was a mild glow in both their faces, the type of glow one radiates when one is about to embark on an exclusive voyage, unknown but expected to be both adventurous and joyous. Both were politely and eagerly waiting for Virendra to say something.
'So, when are you leaving?' Virendra put a general question, more to start a conversation than curious for information.
'Sir, Rajendra will be leaving on the seventh of August, and I shall be leaving on the twenty-fifth of July, exactly two months from today,' Urmi promptly responded to the question, and eagerly awaited the next.
'Is your university opening so early?'
'No, sir. Rajendra's opens mid-August, mine third week of August. But I shall first go to Pittsburgh, my uncle and his family are there; they have insisted that I stay with them for some time and then go to my university. They want to give me an introduction to the American way of life before my university does,' Urmi smiled.
Virendra also smiled. 'Has your uncle been there for a long time?' he asked.
'Yes, sir. He is an engineer. In the sixties he went to do his graduate work there, and did not come back. All my cousins were born there. It is such fun talking to my cousins; they can speak only a few words of Hindi in a strange pronunciation, and have such curious ideas about this country.'
'How are you flying?'
'Straight from Delhi to New York, no stopover. My cousin will come to New York to receive me. But Rajendra will stop over to see London! He has so much love for big cities; just wait and see, in no time will he be a New York City guide.'
Virendra smiled and looked at Rajendra. Rajendra also smiled. By nature, this top student in this year's graduating batch was not given to talking much. But he had an intense presence. Virendra enjoyed hearing about Rajendra's interest in big cities; he was not surprised though – Rajendra came from Bombay. Once brought up in a big city, one is forever in love with all big cities. Virendra knew an American scientist who was from Los Angeles. While many of his friends and colleagues teased about his 'LA this, LA that' refrain, Virendra understood his sentiments. Perhaps Rajendra would soon turn out to be indistinguishable from a native New Yorker. 'Will anyone come to receive you at New York? Have you decided where you are going to stay?' Virendra asked Rajendra.
'Sir, I have not made any arrangement so far. At present there are seven students from our Department in Columbia alone. After I got admission I wrote to Farooq, who went there last year. He has written back that he would make some arrangement for me, probably a shared apartment with some other student. But I have not written him yet about when I shall be arriving.'
'If you like big cities, you would surely like New York. I liked the little glimpse I had of it. You know Dr Khanna of Physics? As he says "Go to the Top of the Sixes just before twilight, and let the great experience of seeing the city light up around your feet seep in; you will never forget it in your lifetime." And those great art museums, theatres, and bookstores.' Virendra paused. Then he asked with a sparkle in his eyes, 'With all such attractions around, when will you study, Rajendra?'
Rajendra smiled. He enjoyed this teasing, and did not say anything.
'Sir, is it true that the streets and subways of New York are dangerous?' Urmi asked.
'I cannot answer that question. I have no experience. But experienced people say that if some stranger asks you for a dime, do not take it literally and give only ten cents. Be generous and give at least a hundred times that. And carry that amount all the time with you in case someone asks for such sudden help and you do not have anything on you. That situation, I have been told, can be dangerous.'
There was a mixture of amazement and amusement in the eyes of Urmi and Rajendra. Virendra also noted a trace of relaxation in himself. Though physically he was quite uncomfortable, and he was carrying on the conversation with effort, his tension was melting in the company of two young persons who were totally unaware of what he had gone through during the day.
The tea arrived. The bearer brought three cups on a steel tray and held it in front of them. They picked the cups up one by one. Virendra knew even before taking a sip how it would taste. Tea from such a shop had a characteristic taste; they were all different from one another, and from good tea. Virendra tried not to think about that any further; it was not worthwhile, one had to just go through the process. He took a sip, felt amused about how correctly he had anticipated the taste. He found the tea a little too hot; he slowly leaned to the right from his chair and kept the cup on the ground.
'Sir, would a lot of warm clothes be necessary? My cousin has written that in winter it snows for months. It gets as low as minus twenty Fahrenheit. Since I am sensitive to cold, my mother is making so much fuss about it. Last week I had gone home for a couple of days, I found she had already collected half a dozen full-sleeves sweaters, each one this thick.' Urmi indicated the thickness with her thumb and the index finger.
Virendra smiled. He knew that those were minor problems, or no problems at all. Yet to someone travelling to a distant land for the first time, each such question loomed large. 'It really does not matter what you take now. When you reach there the weather would be pleasant. I believe late November would be the time from when you would need real protection; then you could go and buy there whatever pleases you. But I agree with you that six heavy sweaters are quite a few too many unless you inadvertently get involved with many bone-chilling courses!' Virendra said the last part with feigned seriousness.
Both Urmi and Rajendra smiled. Virendra picked up his tea, took a sip and kept it back again on the ground. There was a pause. The students had already finished their cups.
'Sir, we had a very difficult time getting our visas,' Rajendra changed the topic.
'Why?' Virendra inquired, although he had heard this complaint before.
'Urmi got her visa early, but last month they were unbelievably tight and nasty; many of our students were refused without any rhyme or reason. Sir, you k
new Satya Prakash of computer science? He has been refused. Nagarajan of electrical? He has been refused twice. So have S. Parthasarathy and Ashish Bose, both of mechanical.'
'My God! They are some of our best students. And they are going to some top universities! There could be nothing against them.'
'Sir, the entire business is absolutely whimsical and arbitrary. They look at you and hurl back a decision, and that is it! There is apparently a clause somewhere that if they suspect one is a potential immigrant, then they can refuse a visa. They use it as they please. Sometimes they would ask you to show evidence of having property in this country as a proof of need to return. If they do not want to give a visa, they use this as an excuse. If one has this evidence, they will say "We still do not believe you will return," and it is over.'
'That is very strange. Nearly half the scientific and technical research in their universities is done by foreign students and scientists, and so many from this country. After continuously luring away our best talent, this official attitude is unfortunate.'
'Sir, the visa office itself is quite a humiliating experience. From the early morning one has to queue up like a beggar, uncertain whether one will succeed or not. At times I felt like leaving that office, and forget about it all.'
'You really do not have much of a choice. I suppose you just have to go through that unpleasant experience. After all, it is their country; and despite the fact that they are in dire need of you, on the surface at least you are the one who is soliciting permission; so how much they humiliate you depends on their whim. You do not know how at times your own embassy people elsewhere make it difficult for others to enter this country. They constitute one particular class of people; sometimes they have a valid reason for their behaviour, but often it is their habit.'
'But it is so disgusting, sir. And so different from the courteous and helpful correspondence we received from their universities.'
Virendra smiled. 'But then they are universities. There is a substantial difference in attitude between governments and universities. Do not feel too upset, although I understand your anguish. This phase will pass; once you are there, you will realise how transient this phase is; you will be overwhelmed by the warmth of the people you meet there, with almost unlimited freedom and facilities in the universities. It is unfortunate that in the country of your birth you did not get what you deserved, that you are not adequately appreciated.'
'Sir, many of us would not have applied abroad, if reasonable facilities existed here. And some hope of change in the foreseeable future. There is attraction for studying abroad, but then staying there indefinitely has many drawbacks.'
'But the government tells you all the time, "Do not go".'
'But, sir, that sounds so hollow. The minister who was here the other day and was urging us to stay back, has himself made millions there, and now here he is trying to prevent us from studying and working in a better environment.'
Virendra did not immediately respond to this. He knew how true this was. From the programmes of the government and its priorities, he had little proof of sincerity of such urgings. Tides were flowing in quite different directions and there were no signs of their changing. He remained silent.
Urmi changed the topic. 'Sir, what would be the proper areas to specialise in our research?' Urmi asked.
'Well, that depends on your future plans. First, I think, you should wait and find out what possibilities are available in your department. Do not rush to a decision. Also, after you have lived there for some time, you will be able to decide about your long-term choice, that is, to stay on or return. At the present point, no matter how hard you think, you do not have adequate knowledge to make the best decision. Once your projections are clear, then you are in a much better position to decide on a suitable direction of specialisation. If you plan to stay on there beyond your degrees, then specialise in as frontier an area you can find compatible with your liking and ability.'
Virendra paused. Urmi and Rajendra were keenly listening. The bearer from the canteen appeared. He picked up the empty cups and stood expectantly. Virendra paid for the tea. The bearer took the money and went away.
'Let me emphasise both the words: liking and ability. The meaning of liking is simple, but it is also very important that you choose an area which is within your ability, within your grasp. If you continue to feel it is difficult and uncomfortable despite your best efforts, then it is not wise to continue with that, because you are trying to float at a level higher than what your innate abilities can sustain. You will neither enjoy your work nor will you be able to make contributions in the field with drive and confidence.
If you decide to return to work here, some modification of the above plan would be necessary. I could not have said this with confidence twenty years ago when I was young, but I am now convinced about this. It is not generally a wise thing to have yourself trained in a real frontier area or technology, because our country is way behind the developed countries in science and technology. So when you return you will find a nearly unbridgeable gap between where it actually is and where you would need it to be in order to make a meaningful professional contribution at an international level. Unless there are drastic changes in the science and technology policy and there is an honest and enlightened leadership, the rest of your professional career may simply wither away in efforts to bridge the gap.'
'Sir, this would mean that returning home is like walking into an abyss from where, almost certainly, no worthwhile work will come out.'
'In many ways that is a correct summary. Unless, of course, you just walk into a place where luckily there exist exactly those equipments which you must have, and every other condition also is just right. Or, some godfather takes up your case. But both are highly improbable.'
'Sir, the way you summarise, it is very discouraging.'
'I do not do that intentionally, but that would be the right summary. Would you not consider it improper if I depicted the situation in a way which does not represent reality?'
Both Rajendra and Urmi appeared depressed and pensive.
'But that is not all that I would say. Involvement in science has become a vast social phenomenon today, so all the virtues and ills of a large system, which is statistical in nature, are manifest. So the really excellent contributions are very few. There are many moderately passable contributions, and some that are trash. The proportions of these various sections depend on various factors: innate ability of the workers, facilities on which the work is based, and the standards against which the work is judged. As a consequence, the quality, regrettably, also depends on the country in which the work is done. For example, this country has, we hear, the world's third largest scientific manpower, but in terms of quality of contribution it is rated way down. And it is not going up.
Do not be depressed though, although what I am saying is not exactly exciting. If you look at the curve and imagine your eventual performance as only average, you may feel bad. But do not look at it in that way. As an individual, either one or both of you could be at the leading edge of the curve; you have then no constraints except yourselves. The sky is your limit.' Virendra smiled at them encouragingly.
Both of them responded with smiles. 'But, sir, are there do's and don'ts of attempting a piece of good work?' Rajendra asked.
'You are asking a wrong person this question,' Virendra said laughingly, 'because I have not ever done any piece of good work. You may ask some really first rate scientist when you are abroad. I can only tell you what seem to me the cardinal components. They are: originality, skill, and hard work. They are essentially independent of one another, that is, you cannot compensate a total absence of one by the presence of another. These are, of course, besides perhaps the most important first step, that is, the choice of the problem which you attempt to solve. That is what determines the kill value, or the importance of the work.'
'Sir, how then to choose the problem?'
'That is your teacher's, your guru's, domain.
Or, when you are knowledgeable and wise enough, yours. Basically, choose that one which will answer some crucial question, choose that one which could unravel a whole new path. But there is no substitute for a good teacher. Search for one; if you are fortunate, you may find one. Be demanding in your search, but when you have found him, submit yourself. Sraddhavana lavate jnanam, only the respectful receives wisdom.'
The students were absorbed in the discussion. So was Virendra. The whole field was under a shade now; the sun had set behind the stadium. There was activity in the field – some students were running along the track, in the far corner there were a few who were practising basketball, there were some sitting at the centre of the field. For a couple of minutes Virendra did not say anything; the students also remained silent. They all generally looked towards the field and around, quite purposelessly.
The pause also took Virendra's mind again from the present to thoughts about the day's incidents. But his mind did not rest on any particular event; it simply made a sojourn and returned. The air was still warm, but gradually cooling. Virendra closed his eyes to feel the soft breeze that had started blowing from the south, and then opened his eyes. He looked up towards the sky. It was a spotless blue, but unattractive. A flock of parrots flew past high up in the sky from the right to the left; their return processions had begun; there would be many more now. Virendra's mind wondered for a while about how the birds might have spent their day – they too must be having ups and downs. Then the day comes to an end; it is great that days come to an end. Without looking at Rajendra and Urmi again Virendra realised that he was presently in the company of two of his students; they were waiting for him to speak again. He felt good that they were here; students were such great company; they bring the cool breeze of youth.