THE IMMIGRANT

by Manju Kapur

  ‘He will understand that it is the end of the season, and be very grateful,’ broke in Nina impatiently, her arms aching with the load. The bus came and twenty minutes later they got off at Shahjahan Road, and walked over to 43 Meena Bagh.

  ‘Please wait, ji,’ said the tall grey haired lady ushering them into the glassed in verandah. ‘He phoned to say he might be a bit late, he was called for a meeting at the last minute. He had to go, you know what it is like these days.’

  Everybody knew what it was like these days. Indira is India, India Indira, we need no one else, certainly not an opposition, D K Barooah, the Congress president, had declared as opposition was jailed, the press censored, demonstrations banned, activists tortured. The most startling objector to be thrown into prison was the venerable freedom fighter Jayaprakash Narayan. Old and frail, incarceration would destroy his health and succeed in killing integrity and conscience.

  On the wall opposite the front door was a black and white portrait of Indira Gandhi. Around her was a garland of sandalwood roses. They were in the house of a sycophant, or to interpret it more kindly, a man too scared to be seen as anything but a Believer. Slowly but surely Madam’s probing eye delved, knife-like, into every house, every heart.

  How feared she was. And how useless. Of her Twenty Point Programme the drive to produce sterile men was the only one that proved responsive to force. Poverty, alas, was resistant. Garibi Hatao. Almost thirty years after Independence that day was further away than ever, though government employees kept long hours in office, too scared to be absent or go home early. This man was obviously an example.

  ‘Papa didn’t need this kind of fear to make him work,’ burst out Nina. Her tall, vital, handsome father, hair greying at the temples, black framed glasses, clean-shaven face, slightly yellowing teeth, whose laughter was a series of snorts, who could charm with every word he spoke. Were he alive their lives would have been completely different. She tried never to think such thoughts for they led nowhere, but today, on her birthday, circumstances demanded them.

  ‘Your papa was a different breed of man,’ sighed the widow. For her every celebration was tinged with sorrow.

  ‘If papa were alive, we would not be here. Nice way to spend my birthday.’

  ‘That is why I say you should settle down. If you married an NRI or someone in the foreign services you could live abroad nicely.’

  ‘I don’t see NRIs or foreign service officers lining up to marry me. Get real Ma.’

  ‘Hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it won’t. Everything is possible.’

  Even marriage? Even happiness? Even escape?

  If a husband could protect her from life in a brutal autocratic state she would marry him tomorrow. All around them countries like Burma, Pakistan, North Korea, Cambodia, China, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, were showing the way to totalitarian regimes, with their repressive measures and violation of human rights. What was so special about this country that would enable them to escape the fate reserved for so many of their neighbours?

  Coming, we are coming, wait for us, our millions will soon join you.

  Forty five minutes later, as Nina was urging her mother to get up and leave, they heard the sound of a car drawing up next to the house, seconds later its door slamming. ‘Namaste, namaste,’ twittered a thin, grey-moustached, bespectacled man, deputy secretary, Ministry of Education. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, unexpected meeting. Sit, sit, I have heard so much about your husband.’

  The government servant cum astrologer quickly settled down to business. He asked the date of birth, name, added numbers, calculated the planet configuration at the moment Nina was born. He divined enough details of their past to establish even Nina’s unwilling confidence.

  Now, he claimed, the fifteen year bad period in their lives was coming to an end. The unfortunate arrangement of stars that had governed their destinies was slowly giving over to a more favourable combination. Things were going to change, change quite drastically, he added frowning.

  ‘Marriage?’ suggested the mother.

  The civil servant peered at the charts. ‘Late,’ he declared.

  It didn’t take a genius to predict that, thought Nina. At thirty it was late by anyone’s standards.

  Marriage would take place this year or the next, went on the astrologer. Journeys were involved, the signs were good for prosperity and happiness. And till where had Nina studied?

  ‘MA,’ said the mother.

  ‘Things are not easy if you are educated, the mind needs companionship, the search becomes longer.’

  Nina scowled. The man should stick to his stars instead of making ridiculous pronouncements.

  ‘And Miranda House you said? Good, very good.’

  By now the mother was in a state of deep excitement and Nina in a state of deep suspicion.

  Well, at least she has been given enough sustenance to make this birthday less traumatic, thought Nina while the mother clutched her hand on the way back, as though she were already leaving for a new home.

  ii

  Far away, on the eastern seaboard of Canada, in Halifax, Nova Scotia, a young man stood at the window of his clinic and gazed at the trees lining the sidewalk. It was summer; the air was mild, the sun shining for a change. His long time friend and partner had just walked home to his wife, child and lunch.

  Eight years earlier, Ananda had been a practising dentist in small town Dehradun. Unlike many of his friends he had never dreamt of leaving India. His ambitions were simple. He wanted to make enough money to look after his parents and repay them for the time, love and hope they had invested in him.

  But these exemplary aspirations were not destined to be realised.

  His parents had been middle class professionals, on the lower scale of things. His mother taught at the Convent of Jesus and Mary, his father was a minor functionary at the Forest Institute. They had two children. The daughter studied at her mother’s school, and for her BA went to Miranda House, Delhi University. Her lack of academic brilliance was compensated by the genius she exhibited in choosing her partner. The boy had actually been to Doon School with Sanjay Gandhi! Now he was in the IAS, UP cadre. Success was bound to crown your career when you could claim some connection with The Family.

  The umbrella of this marriage would cast its shade over the young brother as well. At all times the parents were keenly aware of the potential calamities that could befall their children and a son-in-law added to their sense of security.

  Ananda was going to be a doctor. The father spent hours going over the child’s lessons with him, making sure there was no question he could not answer, and the son justified this attention by winning scholarships every year. He had to be something responsible, respectable, solvent and being a doctor fit the bill. In class XII he had school in the morning, coaching classes for medical entrance exams in the afternoon and homework at night. But though he was a position holder in the science stream in the boards, he didn’t score high enough in those other exams to make it to medical college. It was the first disappointment he had known in anything that had to do with reproducing large amounts of memorised material.

  Dentistry was the alternate option. The medical exam entrance forms had demanded he fill in a second choice and now he was forced to see the bright side of things. He would not have to do night shifts. He would get the same—almost the same—respect as doctors did, the same—almost the same—money, but without the insane hours. With more economy and a bank loan, he could set up private practice in Dehradun. The career of a dentist uncle in Canada was painted in glowing colours. Who knew, his future too might convey him across the globe. But for the moment, a stretchable moment, he belonged to his parents.

  Dental courses ran on quotas. Ananda was from UP, so for him the obvious choice was the dental wing of King George’s Hospital in Lucknow. He passed the interview, and for the five years it would take to qualify he shuttled between Dehradun and Lucknow.

  From the moment of his
birth Ananda had been surrounded by the rituals of his caste. Before he left home, his parents did their best to reinforce the practices of a lifetime. He was a Brahmin, his body must never be polluted by dead flesh. Low caste boys in the college hostel might try and tempt him towards non-veg, cigarettes and alcohol. Should he deviate from the pure habits they had instilled in him, his mother’s heart would break. She assured him of this with her disturbed, devoted gaze.

  Ananda was put in a room with three boys who, including the other Brahmin, all smoked. The air was blue with the haze of constant indulgence. He breathed deeply and smelled liberation.

  From cigarettes he graduated to alcohol. As he moved from first to second to third year at King George’s he found parents allowed their sons a certain autonomy if they were doing well. So, freedom went hand in hand with success. He absorbed this lesson.

  Most of his classmates aimed to go abroad. Were they to labour like donkeys for the measly sums Indian doctors commanded? No, never, not while they had wits to fill in applications and patience to endure the year it took to get admission. They would have to qualify again once they were abroad, borrow money for tuition and living expenses and put in even more years if they wished to specialise, but the eventual reward dwarfed these sacrifices.

  If the love of his parents meant that Ananda’s ultimate destination lay no further than the small town he had lived in all his life, he was son enough to accept this. His parents found him an internship with a reputed dentist in Anstley Hall on Rajpur Road. His future was such a well understood thing between them that discussion was not considered necessary before this was settled.

  Ananda worked with Dr Chandra for two years. His hand was deft, but with patients, strangers after all, his conversation was hesitant, his demeanour bashful. Dr Chandra thought he would gain confidence with time, you can’t be awkward around people’s mouths. Dentists have to be skilled at putting patients at ease, especially since they feel vulnerable as they recline, mouths open, saliva gurgling in tubes stretched across their chins. Each file had to have notes about the client’s profession, background, interests and family, so that small talk could be generated, empathy exhibited.

  Two years later Ananda felt he had learnt enough to be on his own. His parents broke their fixed deposits to help him set up a dentistry practice further down on Rajpur Road. They applied for a one lakh loan from the State Bank of India with their house as collateral to help finance the office equipment.

  This done, they insisted it was time for him to marry, he was already twenty four. Marriage brokers were contacted, the family grapevine alerted, advertisements scanned. Photographs with attached bio-datas began to appear and were judiciously scrutinised before being offered to the son for comment. It would take a few months for her to be found, assessed the parents, but before a year was over they expected to have a daughter-in-law. In anticipation of this, they bought a second-hand car, a Premier Padmini with only thirty thousand miles on it.

  Ananda wanted to keep a driver but the parents insisted such expense was unnecessary. They hardly went anywhere; the driver would sit on their heads the whole day and steal petrol. When the bride came and his practice was more established, they could consider it.

  ‘My practice is established,’ countered the son, ‘and surely you need the car more than my wife, whom nobody has yet seen.’

  ‘May you live forever, may you always be happy,’ murmured his mother.

  The boy felt baffled. It was not a question of his happiness but theirs. ‘No arguments, I am keeping a driver. He can get the fruit and vegetables if nothing else.’

  The young were so headstrong. What did they know about preserving the life of a car, rationing petrol or saving the salary of a driver? The minute they earned they started to spend. That was not the way, the way was to save, to conserve; how else had they managed all those fixed deposits which had supplemented Ananda’s one lakh bank loan? Besides who could trust food bought by hired hands?

  The driver was not kept.

  Ananda took the car to his clinic, and as always, the parents went for their evening walk to Gandhi Park, stopping on the way back to buy fruits and vegetables, selected only after they had been prodded, smelled and haggled over, piece by piece. One fateful day their rickshaw was hit by a truck speeding through town. They died instantly.

  Relatives came. Relatives commented. His parents’ karma, his own karma, what could anybody do? If only they could have seen to his marriage, he needed a wife to cushion such a tragedy. His sister kept crying and pointing out that all he had was her.

  The son’s tears finally came after everybody left. It was his fault, his fault. Why hadn’t he forced his parents to keep a driver? Why were they so paranoid about money? Look where it had led them.

  He flipped through the Gita his brother-in-law had left him. Do your duty, never think of the consequences; life is full of suffering—that he liked. Every time he read life is full of suffering he felt a mournful resonance deep within him.

  Meanwhile his sister took up from where her parents had left off. He was now an even more ideal candidate for marriage: own house, own practice, no parents-in-law to mar this perfect scenario. Offers flowed in, but Ananda had lost the desire to marry. He was marked by fate, happiness was unattainable and he wanted nothing of life.

  Destiny though had other plans. His mother’s brother, the doctor uncle settled in Halifax for the past twenty years, urged him to come to Canada. In India he would be constantly reminded of his loss, whereas if he wanted to make a fresh start, this was a country filled with opportunities. He sent one through the post: admission forms for the Dalhousie University Dental School.

  His sister did not want to lose him to the West. ‘I will never see you. You are all that is left of Ma and Baba.’

  Her husband scolded her for her foolishness. There was nothing in this country, and how often did they meet anyway? He strongly advocated his brother-in-law’s departure. His own luck came through proximity to The Family, and could not be shared. For most of the middle class even the basic things—a phone, a car, a house—took a lifetime. Now this golden chance had landed uninvited on Ananda’s doorstep.

  Opportunities are very insistent. If you neglect them they promise to retaliate by filling you with regret for the rest of your life. A lost opportunity refuses to hide, it pops out at every low moment, dragging you even lower.

  It took six months to settle things. Clothes and household goods were dispersed among people in order of their importance to the Sharma family. First Alka took her pick, then relatives, then friends and neighbours, and lastly the servants. Nothing was thrown away, nothing wasted. The practice was sold, and tenants found for their former home.

  His sister came from Agra to see him off. ‘Remember if you don’t like it, you can always come back,’ she repeated many times. Ananda was mostly silent. His situation had changed so much that he already had the mind-set of an immigrant, departing with no desire to return.

  Ananda landed in Halifax on the 15th of August, his country’s day of independence, as well as his own liberation from it. His uncle, waiting to receive him at the small and dazzlingly empty airport, remarked on this in a distant, nostalgic way.

  During the twenty three mile drive from the airport, the uncle expanded at great length on Ananda’s goals. The orphaned boy needed to get ahead, brooding was not going to help. He had made a smart move in coming, even though it meant more years of study. Take his own example: hard work and the right profession had made him worth half a million dollars. ‘Why do you think there is such a brain drain in India?’ he demanded. ‘India does not value its minds—unlike here. Otherwise you think we are not patriots? But there even the simple tasks of daily life can bleed you dry.’ The uncle shook his head sadly, while his expensive car slid smoothly along the road as though greased with butter. In the undulating landscape, lakes gleamed for a moment, then vanished. Ananda had never seen such empty spaces.

  ‘Where are all the people
?’ he asked.

  ‘They will come—once we enter the city. But don’t expect many, the whole country has barely twenty million—and Halifax only eighty thousand.’

  Now eighty thousand and one.

  ‘There, there we are,’ said the uncle, pride in his voice as they rose slightly onto a hill which offered a momentary vista of the city sprawled before them. His tone implied that this was the first of many gifts on offer to his nephew. Then came pretty wooden houses, set in green gardens, followed by the high-rises of downtown, all strangely deserted.

  ‘Where are the people?’ repeated Ananda.

  ‘Always the first thing to strike our countrymen,’ laughed the uncle. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  Again the spread out generosity of the residential areas, and finally Young Avenue. As they approached, the uncle switched conversational gears; this was one of the poshest areas in town, the Olands, liquour barons, lived right across the street in a huge mansion that made his own place look like an outhouse, but neighbours, nevertheless, neighbours. He could afford to live here because one plot had been divided into three.

  The car drew upto its companion outside a garage attached to a yellow house with a black roof. They climbed the steps, Ananda’s eager gaze registering the large picture window, the smaller windows, one strangely set just above a flower bed. The uncle unlocked the front door to reveal four more steps that led up to a carpeted expanse, filled with lamps, deep sofas, silk cushions, shining wooden tables, gilt edged pictures. All this belonged to a doctor like himself.

  His first cousins, Lara and Lenny, fifteen and sixteen, were introduced. He was to share the basement with Lenny. The den or the open area between the laundry and Lenny’s room had a pull-out sofa which was to be his bed. They had prepared it for him, they thought he might need to rest. Would he like something to eat first? Ananda accepted, and as he ate a dry and tasteless tomato sandwich his uncle told him this was lunch, and everybody made their own.