Between the Lines : Chapter 2

We reached Fremont on Tuesday afternoon. It was a rainy day, and dad was late home for dinner. I had asked mom to be patient in disclosing my plans to dad. Mom made fresh chapatis on the cooker hob, while I sipped hot coffee at the table. Dad was at his sudoku. "So how was your holiday, did you have fun?", asked dad. "Yes kind of, I spent a lot of time at 'Adi', they do some great work. I was thinking I could probably apply for a position with a social enterprise after I complete my thesis. I don't mind working with them for a few years, I can always apply for teaching positions later", I replied.

Dad was off his sudoku. He was mostly engrossed in his own world when he was at home. But he was a kind and loving man except when he was angry. When he was angry, he was unapproachable. Silence was his choice of weapon and he would miraculously transform himself into a Buddhist monk. My mother's elder sister, who had passed away a few years ago, called him "bhutum", meaning serious faced in Bengali.

My relationship with my dad was kind of formal. I knew he loved me, but dad wasn't the kind of person who liked to display his emotions. When I was a child, I one day demanded the most expensive bicycle in the store. At that time, dad had a smaller job, and we had just enough money to pay the bills and the mortgage. And dad had other expenses to meet as well. He had to pay my grandmother's hospital bills, and help Nakul uncle financially on and off. 

I cried and shouted, singing melodiously "I want bicycle", I was seven I remember. Mom refused to accept any nonsense behavior from me, so she dragged me to the car, while I continued to howl. People in the vicinity stared at me, and my mom, slapping me twice to calm me down. One passerby even warned my mom, not to hit me. "That is not right lady. She is just a child", he told mom and gave my dad a stinking look. Later that evening, dad went back to the store and brought me the bicycle. Mom was furious and did not talk to us for two whole days!

Dad kept the newspaper down and remarked, "Social organizations don't pay Guno. It is meant for people who have spare money and spare time. You don't have either at this point in your life, A good salary package and a good university name can add loads of value to your resume. You can always work for social organizations later in life." I mused over dad's suggestions. "I can work for them on weekends and over holidays, and there are twenty-four hours in a day, I am sure I can manage it while still working in a full-time job", I said. "Well, that idea is not bad, if you are really so keen on it. But do make sure that you declare your associations with any non-profit organization to the employer before you sign a contract", said dad and then he went back to his sudoku. I reminded dad, "I don't know yet if I will find a job, the market is so unpredictable". Dad did not reply but just nodded his head.

Mom's chapatis were ready, She brought in plates for dad and herself. She commented, "I am positive you will find a good job Guno. Organizations that reject candidates like you, cannot go far". I reserved my reply for later. A proud mother is a dynamite, don't mess with her emotions, dad had once told me. "She is proud of you, and she deserves to be, after the years of hard work and time that she has invested in you. She could have chosen to pursue her career, but she chose you instead", dad had explained. I knew my parents had worked very hard to support my upbringing, and I knew I would always stand by them. Even though the smell of fresh chapatis made me hungry again, I refrained myself from the temptation. I was an early bird when it came to dinner time and always finished my dinner in the evening.

Gulping down his chapati and fish curry in rapid speed, dad said, "You mustn't drink coffee in the night, you will get insomnia." "I sleep like a log dad, I will never get insomnia, and you mustn't gulp down your food without tasting it, you know", I said. Dad smiled, and mom saw her chance. She dropped the bomb and made me nervous. "Maybe we should get her married, with kids her habit of drinking coffee before  bedtime, will automatically go away." "She is still young", my dad said quietly. "I was already escorting her to school when I was her age", mom argued. "Let's leave that decision to her", dad said. The bomb did not explode, thankfully. I gave a stern look at mom indicating my discomfort and made a firm attempt to change the topic. "Dad, do you think I could work for 'Adi' for the time being, just part-time I mean, nothing formal. They had inquired if I could, and I haven't replied to them yet", I said. "You should make that decision yourself. But my advice is, not to let your research work get impacted by it. 'Adi' is a genuine initiative, I know Rudra, He is very honest", dad replied. Rudra was the founder of 'Adi' and he had given up his high-flying career in journalism to start the initiative. "You are the best dad ever", I said and hugged my father tight. He gave a beaming smile. We were all so happy then!

The next morning, I drove to Berkley. Dad insisted on giving me some cash, but I refused. "I don't need it. I have a stipend, and I don't splurge like some of my friends", I told dad. I didn't tell him that I was almost broke, and did not have enough to pay my rental for the month. I would manage somehow, I thought. On my way to Uni that morning, I dropped in at the property agent's office. "Is there a way, I could waiver my rent for this month and carry it forward to the next month", I asked the girl at the counter. She replied, "I will have to check with your landlord, I will get back to you by tomorrow. We have noted your request".

Just before noon, I dropped in at Prof's office, to let him know that I had returned from my holiday. I handed him the small handicraft gift that I had brought for him from India. "Good to see you back, Ghunoou. Let's discuss your revision early tomorrow morning, say 9:30 am, and thank you for the gift", he said, tapping the gift packet. Professor Sedin was a loud big man with an even louder laugh. You could hear him from miles away. When he entered the department, we could hear him from outside the door. Meeting room doors could be left open if you were having a discussion with him, as everyone had most likely overheard the entire discussion anyway. He walked across the desks greeting everyone in the office, one by one, every day in the morning. And while the greeting session was on, no one could concentrate on their work, as all we could hear was the loud jingling of his Hellos. He was now repeating "Right, Right" as he tapped on his desk, and I knew he meant, 'discussion is over'.

I thanked him and rushed to the Graduate Lounge, a floor below, to take a quick look at my emails. Carrying my laptop on one shoulder, my large bag on the other, I kind of pushed everyone left and right while entering the lift. Next, I went to the cafeteria to meet Hubert. We had a drink and some fries. I loved french fries, surprisingly I hate them now! I had no idea, they were Belgian until Hubert told me about their origin. Hubert was a man of few words. He patiently heard me most of the times, and I tried to fill in our conversations by my constant chattering. Vishesh had said I was a shy, quiet Indian girl. I was surprised to know his opinion of me, as I was certainly the most talkative girl in school. But then I realized, it was probably Hubert's company that had left me wise, and had taught me to choose my words with care, or was it? I still put my foot in my mouth more often than not. 

Hubert talked to me about his research, he was absolutely engulfed by it. He had studied biochemistry, and his research focussed on molecular genetics and its association with cancer. His mother was a cancer survivor, and Hubert wanted to develop a vaccine to prevent cancer. Some of his ideas were absolutely wild, and I wasn't often sure on how to react to them.But I did not want to demoralize him. Hubert was a brilliant student, the brightest I had met. He had a razor-sharp memory and could fix anything. Once he fixed my recorder, that I had taken to a repair shop, and failed to get fixed. "I am making your favorite 'luuchi' for dinner today. Should I pick you after school?", he asked. He did not ask me about my holiday or my India trip! But that was Hubert, always patient and calm. "I will drop my things in my apartment and then come over for dinner. By the way, you did not ask me about my holiday", I questioned. "I know you will tell me about it when you want to", he said and sipped his coke. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again," I went to my father's house for two days as well, last weekend". "Wow, you didn't tell me", I said, a bit irritated. "Well, I didn't realize you would want to know. Anyways, I flew on Friday evening, and came back Sunday afternoon", he said. "So you just spent a day with them?", I queried. "Actually, half a day, Saturday first half, I went to visit a lady in our town who runs her own research firm. But I had dinner at home that day with my parents", he replied. "Wow", I gasped. Hubert stared blankly at me. We were quiet for the next few minutes. I suddenly spotted Hannah at the drinks counter, I had to inquire with her about my drama submission for the annual arts festival. I squeezed Hubert's hand and said, "I need to rush, sweety pie, I will meet you for dinner". He held my hand and lingered. We did not kiss, we had not disclosed about our relationship to our friends in the Uni yet, and I was a private person. 

Hannah was the coordinator of the drama club in the Uni, and she informed me that my plot for the drama had been accepted. I was overjoyed. She told me that the guy who usually sent out the emails to everyone was on leave, and I would be notified in a day or two. Meanwhile, she advised me to edit the dialogues a bit, to make it more intimate for the audience and add a dash of humor to my acts. "For example, you can make Ruth's dialogues a bit louder, and add a few slang words and even abusive language to make it sound authentic. A cleaning lady does not speak our language. You know what I mean. same for her partner, an alcoholic does not say, 'never mind' when he is unhappy. He says 'bloody shit'. It can be made more authentic, that is my only input. The overall plot is excellent, and that's what made us vote for it, over twelve other submissions", she concluded. I thanked her for her feedback and then went to the atm to check my account balance. I had three hundred and fifty dollars in my account, and another week to spend, before my stipend for August would be debited to my account. My car was almost out of petrol, I remembered. 

I drove to my apartment, a one bedroom suite in an apartment complex in the industrial part of the town. The nearest shop was about 3 miles away, but thankfully there was a cigarette shop in the complex, where I could buy noodles, bread, and eggs, and an occasional packet of chips. The apartment itself was clean and spacious, spacious enough for a single person that is. It had one bedroom with an attached bathroom and a living area. The living area had a small kitchenette and just enough space for a small dining table and a sofa. My television was mounted on the wall. My single door closet was messy and full of clothes that I never wore. The ones I wore hung neatly on the rack beside my bed. I took a quick shower and got dressed for the evening. As I rushed out, I grabbed my Dior lipstick and added a dash of bright pink to my otherwise black getup. A friend had gifted me the lipstick and it was one of my prized possessions. 

I honked at the car that stood lazily at the exit gate, blinking its tail lights furiously. It moved forward, and I whizzed past. I reached Hubert's place in less than ten minutes. I rang the bell, twice. I almost noticed my bare finger before he opened the door. I still had my ring in my purse!