Chapter 2
The train was moving slowly, delayed due to what the conductor described as "train traffic ahead." Lakshminarayanan didn't mind, and he passed the time looking out the windows of the train car. The view he was afforded at this speed was so different from what he'd expected, but not because there was anything particularly unique about Queens, NY. In fact, it was more its similarities than its differences that struck him as peculiar. Lakshminarayanan felt a mixture of relief and disappointment, since a part of him had always believed, however unrealistically, that America was a magical place filled with extraordinary sights and sounds that couldn't be experienced anywhere else in the world. So far, Queens New York didn't look much different than the city streets of India.
A mechanical voice came over the intercom announcement system. "This is Rockaway Boulevard." The doors opened, and the boys gathered their luggage and stepped off the train. Vijay waived his hand to the conductor and the train began its slow departure from the station. Lakshminarayanan was not used to such kind treatment. "People are nice here," he remarked, thinking that perhaps the airport attendant had been the exception.
"Yeah. Give respect and get respect is the formula here." Vijay replied. "The apartment is four or five blocks from here, so let's get going," he continued.
The train platform at Rockaway Boulevard was also elevated, and Lakshminarayanan's bags made a loud racket against the metal rungs of the steep stairwell that led to the street. The wheels protested loudly as they were bounced over broken and uneven sidewalks for several blocks until finally Vijay and Lakshminarayanan reached the old, two-story brick house.
"We have to use the back entrance," Vijay motioned with a wave of his hand. He took the keys out his pocket and started walking down the sloped driveway towards the rear side of the house.
Vijay opened the door of the basement, flipped the light switch, and stepped inside. Lakshminarayanan followed behind and set his bags down.
"Well," Vijay began, "It won't take much time to show you the apartment. It starts and ends right here," he laughed. He'd hardly taken five steps when he made a grand, sweeping motion with his arms. "This is the kitchen." Without moving, he pointed with his right index finger: "That's the bathroom. And the place where you are standing right now is our living room-bedroom-study room-and everything else room."
There was no furniture in the apartment except for a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a few chairs the owner had left for Vijay's use. For the most part, the walls were bare, and looked as though they had not been painted in some time. A small Bollywood calendar hung on the wall opposite the door, and the scuffed hardwood floors had seen better days. The ceiling was high enough for a person of average height to stand upright, but Vijay could touch it with his outstretched arms, and there was a single, unadorned light bulb hanging in the middle of the room. The lone window was covered with grime, and Lakshminarayanan noticed the pieces of luggage, presumably Vijay's, that were lined up neatly in the far corner.
Vijay felt a momentary pang of guilt when he thought about how he'd initially described the apartment to Lakshminarayanan as a spacious 1 BHK, but the feeling passed when he remembered how his roommate had described himself as a gourmet chef.
Lakshminarayanan shrugged. "This is still better than my house in India." He rolled his bags over to where Vijay kept his, and positioned them carefully, but he kept his backpack with him.
"Do you speak Hindi?" Vijay questioned.
"No. But I can understand Hindi little bit. They do not teach or use much Hindi in South," Lakshminarayanan answered and added, "I will learn it."
"No, no. That's fine. No problem. I just wanted to make sure."
Vijay filled a plastic 7-11 cup with water and offered it to Lakshminarayanan. He grabbed one of the plain, wooden chairs and sat down, reclining his body and interlacing his slim fingers as he raised them over his head and felt a deep stretch in his upper back. It felt good after the long commute to the airport and hauling Lakshminarayanan's luggage, and Vijay realized that he hadn't practiced yoga since he left Mumbai. One more thing that got pushed aside by his new responsibilities. Motioning to the other chair, he offered it to Lakshminarayanan.
"Have a seat. You must be tired."
"Ah, thank you, but no. I have been in plane for more than twenty hours, so I would like to take a shower if it is okay."
Vijay jumped up from his seat. "Oh! Definitely. I'm sorry I didn't offer. But?um?the bathroom is a little different here than what you're probably used to, so let me show you," he said.
Lakshminarayanan opened the black backpack he still held in his arms and pulled out a thin, orange towel with white stripes. "I am not used to having dedicated space for bathroom and toilet," he said as he followed Vijay.
Vijay pointed to the shower knob. "You can have both hot and cold water, just turn left or right. It's t
he same for the washbasin." He turned his head to look at Lakshminarayanan and noticed he wasn't paying any attention to Vijay's instructions, but instead had fixed his gaze on the toilet paper roll on the wall. Vijay sighed. "Yeah, they use toilet paper here. I know we don't like it, but there is no another option," he shrugged. The look on Lakshminarayanan's face was somewhere between horror and disgust, but Vijay knew his roommate would just have to sort it out for himself. He squeezed past Lakshminarayanan and stepped out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. The doorframe was swollen with the summer humidity, and the door didn't want to close all the way.
"Push from that side," he instructed. He heard a dull thud as Lakshminarayanan put his weight against the door, but still it would not close. Then thump-thump-thump as Lakshminarayanan threw his hip against the door, until suddenly it slammed shut and Vijay heard the metallic click of the lock.
Vijay walked into the kitchenette and opened the lower cupboard next to the sink. He took out a large pot for the rice, and noticed the two dead moths in it. Vijay unceremoniously dumped the moths into the sink, turned on the hot water, and reached for a sponge.
"Aaaaaaaahhh!"
The bloodcurdling scream came from the bathroom and Vijay immediately shut off the tap.
"Kya hua? Are you okay?" Vijay shouted. Stupid. He hadn't had to worry about running the water before, but now that he had a roommate, he'd have to be more careful and take note of when he was in the shower. "Sorry! Are you okay?"
Lakshminarayanan shouted back through the bathroom door. "Very cold, very cold!"
Vijay stood outside the door and knocked.
"No worries, no worries, I am fine!" Lakshminarayanan reassured his friend, and satisfied, Vijay returned to the kitchenette.
Twenty minutes later, Lakshminarayanan emerged from the bathroom, warm tentacles of steam uncurling behind him and floating into the living room. Vijay had been cooking, and he could smell the pungent odor of tomato, garlic, and onion. A sudden loneliness descended over Lakshminarayanan, his heart heavy with thoughts of home. Growing up in Sivakasi, he knew from an early age that he would probably have to work in the match making factories like the other kids. It was a matter of survival, as most families desperately needed the income, and the factories needed small, quick hands that would work for little pay. Lakshminarayanan's family was no different, and for a while, they all worked in the factory. But his parents had aspirations for him before he was even born, and by naming him after the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity, they'd hoped that fate would acquiesce to their will and determination, and look favorably upon their son. Eventually Lakshminarayanan was able to attend school, and his parents worked hard and saved whatever they could so that he could focus on his studies. Every day on his way home from school, Lakshminarayanan would hope that his family had been able to buy some food that his mother could cook. Some days they ate only the leftover scraps his mother had obtained by begging, but on good days, his parents were able to bring home a little bit of food that his mother could cook
. Out of necessity, she had become a talented chef who knew how to embellish the staples they did have. Perhaps more than anything else, it was the aroma of his mother's cooking that always reminded Lakshminarayanan of the sacrifices his family had made for him. Now that he was in America, thousands of miles from home and smelling the meal that his roommate had prepared, he could only hope that he could prove himself worthy of his family's efforts.
Lakshminarayanan reached into his backpack and took out a nondescript container with a tight lid and a small statue of the goddess Lakshmi. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and began to pray. After a few minutes, he opened the container and dipped a finger inside, then smudged the dark, sooty ashes on his forehead. Wiping his hands, he returned the container and the statue to his bag and then stood up to see Vijay turning off the burner on the stove.
"Do you need help?" Lakshminarayanan offered.
"No. I'm done. I was just waiting for you. Can you please grab dishes from the drawers?" Vijay requested.
Vijay spread a set of newspapers on the floor, and Lakshminarayanan placed the dishes on the perimeter of their makeshift dining area. Vijay then brought out the two small pots from the stove and set them down in the center.
"I didn't have much time. So I just made rice and dal," Vijay said apologetically as both men lowered themselves to the floor into a typical cross-legged Indian position.
"Oh, that is my favorite!" Lakshminarayanan said.
"Do you eat meat?" Vijay asked as he scooped out some dal and rice and piled it on his plate.
"No," Lakshminarayanan replied, but quickly added, "I am okay if you want to eat."
"I only eat it on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?because the gods of Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays don't like meat!" Vijay laughed.
Lakshminarayanan nodded his head in understanding. "Do you drink or smoke?" he countered, as he concentrated on mixing the dal and rice with his fork.
"No. Do you?" Vijay replied.
A small snort escaped from Lakshminarayanan's nose, a couple grains of rice shooting out of his mouth. "We did not have money to eat. Where would I get money for all that?" Lucky continued, "My family was so poor that sometimes we used to take turns for eating."
Vijay was shocked, but he quickly recovered and adopted what he hoped was a neutral expression before Lakshminarayanan noticed. "Hmm. Do you have brothers and sisters?"
"I have one younger sister, Padma. In two, three years, she will be eighteen! I need to make lot of money for her marriage."
Vijay's countenance darkened. He needed to change the topic of conversation. "You can use your hands for eating, if you want," Vijay said as Lakshminarayanan struggled with the utensils.
"Oh, thank you!" Lakshminarayanan sighed, visibly relieved that Vijay didn't find his usual way of eating with his hands to be crude or ill mannered. "I am hungry and I do not get the taste of food with fork and spoon," he replied as he placed a handful of rice and dal into his mouth. "Tell me about your family?"
"Well, I am the only child," Vijay answered. "My mother is a teacher and lives in Bombay."
"And your dad?"
"Hmm?He died in 1993's Hindu-Muslim riots in Bombay." Vijay cleared his throat, and his thick, dark lashes partially hid the tears whose presence still surprised him after all these years.
"Really?" Lakshminarayanan hesitated momentarily before continuing. "I heard about the riots. It was very bad. But?can I ask, how did you lose your father?"
Vijay looked up at Lakshminarayanan. There was no pity on his face, only a look of concern. Reassured, Vijay continued. "After the demolition of Babri Masjid, Bombay was burning in flames of hatred between Hindus and Muslims. Muslims were decapitating the statues of Hindu gods, demolishing temples, and in return, Hindus were setting mosques on fire. People were stabbing each other, slitting each other's throats, and setting people on fire, just because they belonged to another religion. Communal rioting and violence were at their peak. Police couldn't control the mobs on either side of the conflict, and the police were being attacked by both communities.
"We used to live in Jogeshwari, a western suburb of Bombay. My father was a fire lieutenant in the same area. That whole month of January was very busy for him. Almost every minute, they would get called to another fire. For him, the differences between Hindus and Muslims did not matter. He just wanted to save lives. On the second Friday in January 1993, my father's firehouse got an urgent call about a fire at a Hindu chawl. Some of the residences had been locked from the outside and set on fire by a mob. When the fire truck arrived on scene, the mob created roadblocks to prevent the firefighters from reaching the fire.
"My father's crew came to know that there were around ten people trapped in the fire, including one physically disabled girl. My father left his crew to deal with the mob and somehow made his way to the fire location. But he never came back. In the morning, several bodies were found. They were burned so badly that no one could distinguish which body was which. My mother was able to identify my father's body from the remnants of his fire gear. They didn't even let me see my father for the last time, it was so brutal. I was twelve when I cremated my father. He always wanted me to become a scientist. My mom worked really hard to raise me, to educate me?just to fulfill my dad's dreams," Vijay concluded.
Lakshminarayanan hadn't taken a bite of his food since Vijay began his story. He had wanted to know about Vijay's family, but he now he felt terrible for making him relive such painful memories. "I am sorry for your loss," Lakshminarayanan offered, regretting how insignificant and hollow his words sounded the minute he had spoken them. Vijay nodded his head, and in unspoken agreement, the two stopped talking for a long while and concentrated on their dinners that were getting cold.
When they finished, Lakshminarayanan took the plates to the kitchen and began to wash them.
"Hey! Don't worry about it. I'll do it. You must be very tired," Vijay said.
"No. You cooked, so I will clean everything. Do not worry. I am very tough guy."
Vijay wadded up the newspapers and threw them in the garbage. He then went to the kitchen, grabbed an old rag from under the sink, and waited until Lakshminarayanan had finished rinsing the dal pot before running the rag under the faucet. Vijay wiped their dining area with the rag, making sure none of their spilled food had soaked through the paper. He picked up the thick blanket he kept neatly folded on top of his suitcase and spread it out on the floor. Grabbing a pillow and a thin bed sheet from his bags with one hand and his laptop with the other, he sat down with his back against the wall. By this time, Lakshminarayanan had finished the dishes.
"Where should I sleep?" Lakshminarayanan looked around the small room.
"We don't have many choices," Vijay smiled. Lakshminarayanan also pulled a blanket, pillow, and sheet from his bags. Vijay noticed that his blanket was basically a thick, handmade pile of discarded cloths, but he pretended not to notice.
"Which laptop is that?" Lakshminarayanan asked while he was arranging his bed just a few feet from Vijay.
"It's a Dell Latitude. My professor gave it to me for research purposes," Vijay answered.
"Nice! You know?I never saw a laptop in my life," Lakshminarayanan admitted as he sat down on the blanket.
"Do you want to see it?" Vijay offered.
"Are you sure? I do not want to disturb you," Lucky said.
"No. It's fine. I'm sleepy anyways. Take it," Vijay said as he held out the computer.
Lakshminarayanan placed the machine in his lap and ran his hands over the smooth plastic case, noticing the shiny silver Dell logo on the lid. He touched the screen and saw the oily mark his finger left, and then opened the combo drive. He pushed it back in and tentatively tapped a few keys on the keyboard. Everything felt solid, and yet Lakshminarayanan couldn't believe how light the computer was.
"Are you coming to the University tomorrow? Or you are going to rest at home?" Vijay asked
.
"Of course I will come to University tomorrow. I did not travel so far for resting," Lakshminarayanan replied.
Vijay turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. "Okay. Do you mind sharing the Metrocard with me?"
"What do you mean?"
"If we buy an unlimited monthly Metrocard and arrange our time for going to school, we can share the cost. You can swipe the same Metrocard every ten or fifteen minutes, and get in at no additional cost," Vijay explained.
"Oh, sure! That is great idea! Every penny means a lot to me, Vijay," Lakshminarayanan admitted.
"Okay. Let's sleep then. I have to be in the lab at 9 am," Vijay said.
Lakshminarayanan set the laptop down and got up to turn off the overhead light. Feeling his way back to the blanket in the semi-darkness, he sat down and took a long, deep breath. He'd been so nervous about coming to the U.S., and on the long flight from India, he'd had plenty of time to imagine worst-case scenarios about everything - the country, the school, his new roommate. He hadn't been to the school yet, and he hadn't seen much of the U.S. aside from the train and the bus that took him from JFK to his new home, so it was too soon to tell whether all of his worries were unfounded. He looked over at Vijay's silhouette, and thought about the story he had shared about his father over dinner - a dinner that Vijay had made for him without any complaint, despite the fact that Lakshminarayanan had lied to him about being a great cook who would take over all the cooking duties. After only a few hours in this new country, he already knew that if nothing else good came from his time here, surely the gods had looked favorably upon him when they placed his new friend in his path. Lakshminarayanan smiled in the dark, fluffed his flat pillow as much as he could, and pulled his sheet up to his chin.
"Good night, Vijay. And thank you for everything."
"No thanks necessary. Good night," Vijay replied, his voice already slow and thick with impending sleep.
Namaste New York: A Novel Page 4