Engineering a Life

by Krishan K. Bedi

  As Maelie made phone calls, Mrs. Olsen said, “Oh Kris, she loves you so much.”

  After a few minutes, I returned to my apartment feeling puzzled and under tremendous pressure. What has happened? I wondered. How am I going to break this news to my friends and family back in India? My parents were supposed to arrange and plan a marriage for me, and up until that point, I had planned to fulfill their wishes and marry someone from my culture.

  Apparently, in Maelie’s mind, saying “I love you too” meant we were in love. She had hoped for this, and most of all, as I learned later, it was her mother’s wish that she marry me. I was educated, had a full time professional job, and always wore a suit. In Mrs. Olsen’s mind, I was a perfect match. I also learned that Maelie had cautioned Kay, her best friend, to stay away from me. “Kris is mine,” she warned. Kay was a flirtatious girl, and Maelie feared that she might try to date me.

  When I shared the news with Mrs. Brown, she acted surprised, because she hoped I would call her daughter again when she was back in town. In any case, she congratulated me, and soon the news spread among the Programming Department employees.

  That weekend, when I visited Sewa Singh, I reluctantly told him the news. “I’m engaged, Sewa.” He took one look at my face and started laughing. “How did that happen, man? Who is this girl you haven’t told me about?” I wanted to laugh along with him, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I thought I had no choice. Part of me was being polite, not wanting to hurt Maelie and Mrs. Olsen’s feelings. At the same time, they were trying to manipulate me. I found myself trapped in their fantasy, and not having experience in such a situation, I went along with it. Why didn’t I speak up and say I had no wish to marry Maelie? It may have been the easy way out, but thinking back to that time, I wonder if I simply didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Olsen. She was a mother figure to me, and I desperately missed my own mother after eight years away from home. In a way, Mrs. Olsen filled that gap in my life. Nevertheless, I spent many sleepless nights hoping the relationship would not mature.

  While I tried to figure out what was happening with my life, my thesis became my primary focus, as well as, completing my final course requirement—Managerial Planning and Control. I passed my last two classes with As, and with only one course left, I could spend more time writing my thesis. I began writing it by hand, working hard to write a significant amount so I wouldn’t fall behind the timeline indicated by the Industrial Engineering Department.

  The thesis writing process overwhelmed me. I needed to compile one hundred typed pages, yet I could not exceed a certain number of words. I did not own a typewriter, nor did I know how to type, so I needed to hire someone to type the thesis for me. After searching around, I found Belinda, a pregnant woman experienced in typing the thesis in the required format. She charged $450 to type my thesis. Since she lived between Nashville and Franklin, three times a week I delivered my handwritten notes to her on my way home from work. Every other weekend, I drove to Knoxville and reviewed my thesis with Professor Buchan.

  One evening, two weeks before my thesis submittal date, Belinda gave me the bad news. “I can’t do it anymore, Kris. I’m sorry. These typing deadlines are putting too much pressure on me. I’m in my eighth month of pregnancy, and my husband doesn’t think all this pressure and tension is good for the baby. I don’t want the baby to come prematurely because of this.”

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. Graduation was just around the corner, and without someone to type for me, I didn’t know if I would finish in time.

  In the end, I found a woman in Knoxville who promised to give my thesis first priority over the other work she was doing. I accepted her charges with no bargaining, gave the thesis material to her, and drove back to Nashville, relieved a solution had surfaced so quickly. However, it meant I would need to drive to Knoxville twice a week instead of twice a month. In addition to the extra driving, I needed to study for my final exam. The only thing keeping me going was the fact that I was almost done. I celebrated every little success, knowing that the big one was closer than ever.

  Chapter 10

  The committee for my oral exam consisted of three professors from the Industrial Engineering Department: Dr. Hutchinson, the department head, known to be tough on students; Dr. Snyder, who came to my parties with Professor Buchan; and my trusted advisor as well as good friend, Professor Buchan. I wasn’t worried at all about Professor Buchan, and I was comfortable with Dr. Snyder; although, as the saying goes, “You never know.” However, I was concerned about whether or not Dr. Hutchinson would give me a hard time.

  The night before the exam, while I studied my thesis at Sewa Singh’s apartment, Professor Buchan showed up at the front door. “Tomorrow I’m throwing a party after your oral exam to celebrate your graduation,” he announced. Then, looking at Sewa, he added with a big grin, “And Kris is cooking!”

  “But Professor Buchan,” I began with wide eyes. “What if I don’t pass the exam? You will have to cancel the party, and I will look like a fool.”

  “Just be yourself,” Professor Buchan said, as if that were the easiest thing in the world. “Answer the questions directly and to the point.”

  The next day, I arrived early to set up my thesis materials. It was a labor of love, and I had not worked so hard on anything in all my years at college. For the graduation requirement, I printed five soft covers and three hard covers. On the dedication page, I wrote: “This thesis is fondly dedicated to two wonderful people—Father and Mother.” My eyes filled with tears when I came to this part. I felt my parents had been with me all these years, guiding me along the path of my dream to receive an engineering degree.

  As the hour of the examination approached, I waited anxiously outside the room. One by one, the committee members arrived and took their seats on one side of the conference table. After a minute, Professor Buchan stuck his head outside the door and waved for me to come in. “We’re ready for you,” he said.

  Upon entering the room, I greeted each of them with a handshake, saying, “Dr. Hutchinson, sir. Dr. Snyder, sir. Professor Buchan, sir.” Then, I stood in front of them and waited for their permission to start.

  Professor Buchan took the lead. “Kris go ahead and explain your thesis to us.”

  Launching into a brief background of my topic, I described the methods I’d used to collect information, conduct research, form an analysis, develop staffing formulas, and create a methodology for other hospitals to use my formulas. Each committee member was required to ask at least two questions. Dr. Snyder asked the first question.

  “Explain the previous research on the staffing formula and methodology for the hospital’s Lab Department,” he said.

  Once I explained, he followed up with another question regarding the staffing formula. “Explain using the blackboard,” he said.

  Suddenly, I became inexplicably nervous as I walked to the blackboard and tried to explain in greater detail. At one point, when I became confused between the workload formula and the staffing formula, Dr. Snyder grew huffy and impatient. “Damn, Kris, just write the formula,” he said in a frustrated voice.

  My mind went blank as I tried to think what to write on the board.

  Thumping his fist on the table, Dr. Snyder commanded, “Kris, please just write the damn formula on the board.”

  Flustered by his behavior, I couldn’t think at all.

  Just when I started to think my industrial engineering degree was about to go down the tubes, Professor Buchan spoke up. “Kris, write your staffing formula and explain the parameters and limitations of the formula.”

  Immediately, it clicked in my mind what I needed to write. “Okay,” I said with renewed vigor and inspiration.

  Effortlessly, I wrote the staffing formula and explained it.

  “Now, Kris, that was not so difficult,” Dr. Snyder said, leaning back in his chair.

  I was sweating a little, chalk powder sticking to my clammy hands, as Professor Buchan asked
his two questions and Dr. Hutchinson wrapped up the exam by asking about the conclusions and recommendations. I answered quickly, and then they asked me to wait in the hall while they made their decision.

  After a while, Professor Buchan asked me to join them. The moment I entered the room, I saw a smile on Dr. Snyder’s face. Then Professor Buchan gave me the news. “Congratulations, Kris. You passed.”

  Relief surged through me. Not knowing what to do or say, I simply thanked all three of them. They congratulated me and shook my hand before I left the room. I was halfway down the hall when Professor Buchan called after me, “Don’t forget to go to my apartment and get the food ready for the party!”

  Joyfully, I drove to Sewa Singh’s apartment. Everything was filled with light and happiness. Birds sang in the trees under a cloudless sky, and the traffic in the streets seemed to open up for me as I maneuvered past the houses up the hill and the remaining few blocks to Sewa’s place. He sat on the porch, waiting anxiously to see how I’d done.

  I jumped out of the car and shouted, “I made it, Sewa! I passed the orals! Let’s celebrate with beer!” Leaping up the porch steps in bounds, I went straight for the kitchen. Sewa and I pulled back the tabs on our beers, clicked the cans together, and said, “Cheers!”

  “Here’s to no more studying!” I exclaimed, tilting my head back and taking a large swig.

  Five minutes later, Sewa and I drove to Professor Buchan’s apartment to prepare the big feast. Sewa was playing hooky from work so he could be at this party, and while cutting onions and cleaning the chicken, we drank more beer. Professor Buchan joined us at around 5:00 to help prepare food. We set up the bar with scotch (Chivas Regal), bourbon, gin, vodka, and two types of beer, all of which Professor Buchan bought on his way back to the apartment. “Kris, this is all for you,” he said. “Especially the scotch.”

  “Enough of beer!” I said. “Let’s switch over to scotch.”

  At seven o’clock, people began to arrive, and the party started. Dr. Snyder and his wife showed up, and we all sat down wherever we could find a spot while Dr. Snyder relayed what happened four hours earlier.

  “You should have seen the look on his face when I said ‘Damn, Kris!’” Dr. Snyder laughed. “And when I slammed my hand on the table and said, ‘Put your damn formula on the board,’ he looked like he wanted to run out of the room!”

  We all laughed, and what had seemed so awful to me hours earlier now seemed like a big joke. Dr. Snyder took a swig of beer and said, “Kris, I just wanted to see the formula, so we could get it over quickly and come to your party.”

  Graduation was set for August 25, and up until then, Sewa and I threw small parties with a few friends, enjoying food, beer, whisky, and good conversation. Everyone teased me about Maelie because, by that time, they knew she was the one who’d announced the engagement. “Oooo, Kris, is in love,” they said. I kept quiet, careful not to share my true feelings. Let us see what will happen, I thought.

  The morning of August 25, to my pleasant surprise, Billo arrived with her three-year-old son, Yusuf. While I’d invited her to come, I didn’t think she would travel all this way. Together, we went downtown to the Knoxville Civic Auditorium and Coliseum where we met Mrs. Olsen, her sister, and Maelie. When Billo heard that Maelie and I were engaged, she raised her eyebrows. Later, she pulled me aside. “Kris, what is going on? You did not tell me this.” Billo wanted to know all about Maelie, but I told her I would explain later. “For now, just enjoy my graduation,” I said.

  When the time came, I sat near the back with the College of Engineering grad students. While waiting for the ceremony to start, I could not help thinking of my parents. I missed them tremendously, and seeing all the parents and relatives at the graduation made the absence of mine only more noticeable. These parents had come to witness their sons or daughters receive their degrees and share the joy of the occasion, along with many relatives. My parents did not have the luxury to travel so far.

  The ceremony began exactly at 11:00 a.m. As the president of the university gave his speech, I flipped through the program booklet, gratified to see my name printed with the other engineering graduates. I would save the booklet and send it to my parents. They would be proud and would have something to show our relatives, friends, and the whole village.

  When it was my turn to walk across the stage, a sense of anticipation and excitement filled me. The faculty members flashed me wide smiles and shook my hand, saying “Congratulations.” It was one of the biggest moments of my life, to stand on the stage and receive my long-awaited, hard-earned master’s of science degree in industrial engineering, which I’d paid for with my sweat and tears. All the nights I’d fretted and cried, buried my head in books and notes, and now I could finally say, “I did it.”

  Clutching my diploma, I walked back to my seat, again, wishing with all my heart that my parents could be there. I felt tears come to my eyes as I watched the rest of the ceremony. I had succeeded. I had not embarrassed my parents, and now I could go back to India.

  After the ceremony, I walked back to Sewa, Billo, and the others, crying loudly with tears flowing down my cheeks. Sewa and Billo understood I was missing my parents, and they hugged me, saying, “It’s okay. You made it. Congratulations!”

  Mrs. Olsen, her sister, and Maelie congratulated me, and Mrs. Olsen held me close. “I’m proud of you, Kris,” she said, her eyes crinkling. Maelie looked at me shyly, kissed her index finger and pointed it toward me. She did not like to kiss or hug in public.

  As we walked to our cars, I looked up at the sky and said to my parents, “Here it is, what we all have been waiting for. Thank you for all your prayers and faith in me.”

  Mrs. Olsen, her sister, and Maelie drove back to Franklin, and Billo drove to Frankfurt, Kentucky, to visit friends, after a late lunch, leaving only Sewa and me to celebrate.

  As soon as I returned to Nashville, I wrote my parents a letter, saying, “You all will be glad to know that I have received my master’s degree due to your blessings and prayers. Mother, thank you for all your support, encouragement, and blessings.” I laughed to myself as I remembered the previous letters I’d written, praising my mother so much that my brother wrote back angrily, saying, “Why don’t you ever say much about me?”

  My parents replied immediately. “We are very proud of you and glad you have achieved this. But Krishan, it is all your hard work. You have done a good job. And you have made our name shine in the US. To share our happiness, we distributed sweets to the Malaudh residents, especially to the poor.” Much later, I learned that the poor people would come to my mother and say blessings—“Your son Krishan has succeeded in Amrika and will come soon.” Their words made her happy, and she would feed them snacks.

  My mother only wanted to know one thing. When would I be coming back? Sadly, I could not give a definite answer. I needed more work experience in the US before I would return. In the meantime, the VU Hospital raised my salary from $9,000 to $10,000. As I progressed on my projects at the hospital, one uncertainty hovered over me wherever I went.

  Maelie.

  Whatever my own reservations about our relationship, Maelie had no doubt in her mind. In fact, she had practically moved in. Although we weren’t living together, she brought her dishware to my apartment, and one afternoon, she lugged over two cushioned, high-back chairs and a large painting of a horse, which she hung above my music system.

  As Labor Day approached, Mrs. Olsen suggested that Maelie and I visit Maelie’s stepsister in Jacksonville, Florida. She insisted that her sister would love to see us, and we would enjoy their big house by the lake, where we could go boating. Mrs. Olsen often talked about her elder stepdaughter, Galina, who was fifteen years older than Maelie and had several children of her own. Mrs. Olsen said in her motherly voice, “It would be so good if you both went there.”

  As I had no plans to visit Knoxville for Labor Day weekend, I agreed to go.

  The evening before we left, I returned from wo
rk, planning to pack so we could leave early the next morning in Maelie’s car. Maelie came to my apartment and fixed a cup of hot tea for me. We sat on the couch she had brought over several weeks earlier, talking and listening to music. All of a sudden, she moved closer to me and laid her head on my shoulder, the closest she had gotten to me since we met. When she looked up, straight into my eyes, I could tell she wanted me to kiss her. In an instant, we wrapped our arms around each other and started kissing heavily. I felt no romantic feelings, but I figured if we were engaged, we should kiss sooner or later.

  Suddenly, Maelie gasped, pushed me aside, and hurried from the apartment. As she slammed the door behind her, I didn’t know what to think. I just sat there, feeling I hadn’t said or done anything to upset her.

  Even though the evening did not end well, I finished packing, under the impression we were still going to Florida. The next morning, I walked over to Mrs. Olsen’s apartment to see if Maelie was ready. Mrs. Olsen opened the door and asked me to come in, her voice low and broken as if she had been crying. With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Olsen said, “I am sorry to tell you that Maelie left for Florida this morning.” In a heavy voice, she added, “I’m so sorry, Kris. She did not talk much. After coming back from your apartment, she went straight to bed and ate very little.”

  Not knowing what to say or whether I should ask any questions, I just sat at the kitchen table feeling confused. What is going on? I wondered. How could she do this to me?

  “I don’t know what happened, Mrs. Olsen,” I said. “I was nice to her. We drank tea, listened to music, and kissed. That’s all. Then she just got upset.”

  “I understand you didn’t do anything wrong,” Mrs. Olsen said. “It is how Maelie behaves sometimes.”