“Hey, Santa Claus,” the guys taunted. “Why you look like Santa Claus?”
Sewa kept walking, but the guys continued following him down the street.
“Didn’t know there was an Indian Santa Claus,” someone said.
Sewa asked them to leave him alone several times, but they wouldn’t. Instead, they walked in front of him, blocking his way and teasing him about his appearance. Fed up with them, Sewa took his briefcase in both hands and swung it, knocking one of the guys down.
“Whoa, this guy is strong,” the others said, backing away.
Sewa continued on his way undisturbed.
A year went by before Sewa finally shaved his beard, cut his long hair, and stopped wearing his turban. I was living with a group of American guys by then, and when Sewa came over for the first time after changing his appearance, all my house-mates complimented him, saying, “Oh, you look so handsome.” My friend certainly looked younger and more boyish. After that, Sewa became even more popular with the girls.
Somehow I did not think graduate course work would be more difficult than undergraduate studies, but it was. The math courses were abstract and required a deep understanding of theory and subject matter. I hoped, due to my status as a teaching assistant, my professors would not give me a grade below a C. Although I tried to stick to my study schedule as much as I could, sometimes Sewa Singh wanted to talk or go out. Of course, I would chat with him or we’d go to a friend’s place.
Also, while I tried to adjust to the new routine, one thing stayed on my mind: Larisa. I constantly thought about her and the time we spent together. She wrote daily, and I read and reread her letters at every spare moment. Although I had learned to study hard at Knoxville College, I could not concentrate on my studies at UT. My mind was not in Knoxville. It was in Chicago with Larisa.
That fall I received a C in Materials Handling, and in my two math courses I received Ds. I felt the professors expected me to earn higher grades, but at that point, there was not much I could do. As soon as the semester ended, I drove to Chicago to see Larisa. By the time I left Knoxville at nine p.m., I forgot about my grades. I drove the entire four hundred miles in one night, arriving in Chicago at 5:00 a.m. and stayed with my old friend Jasbir Singh Mann in his hotel room. When Jasbir traveled to Chicago in the summer of 1965 to find a job, he decided to stay there. His experience of the US was not pleasant, and his undergraduate studies at UT were tough. No matter how hard I tried to persuade him to go back to his studies in Knoxville, there was nothing I could say to change his mind.
The next day, I met up with Larisa, and we walked around Chicago. Larisa loved art, and we often went to the Art Institute of Chicago and The Field museum in a different part of the city. We studied the paintings in the different rooms while we talked about life, our plans and hopes, and our experiences in college. Larisa, possessing an eye for beauty, enjoyed creating with a paintbrush and canvas. She wished she could show me some of her work, but if we wanted our relationship to continue, it was not possible for me to go to her house.
Not long into my stay at Jasbir’s hotel room, I convinced him to get away from the hotel life. First, the room was too small, and I could not bring Larisa back so I could cook for her. Second, it simply was not a good environment for Jasbir. He worked during the day, and in the evening, he spent most of his time drinking at the bar before going back to the room to sleep. It was the same routine day in and day out. With Larisa’s help, I found him a one-bedroom apartment a few blocks away from downtown Chicago. It would be cheaper and hopefully save him money so he could continue his studies. As we bought groceries and a set of pots and pans, Jasbir kept saying, “Bedi, it’s costing us so much money to buy all these pots and pans. How are we saving money?”
“The initial cost of fifty to seventy dollars will save you money in the long run,” I replied. “Instead of eating out at restaurants every day, you can cook your own food.”
Jasbir just laughed. “You’re always thinking about how to save money,” he said.
One day, Larisa met Jasbir. She found him interesting, and they discussed their different views of lifestyle and culture in the US.
“I hate it when someone replies ‘I don’t care’ to a question,” Jasbir explained. “What do they mean? I say, ‘Would you like to have a beer?’ And they say, ‘I don’t care.’ Well, do you or don’t you? It is so frustrating!”
Overall, Jasbir thought life here moved too fast. “People have no time to chit-chat,” he said, frustrated that he could not make any new, sincere friends. On a lighter note, he knew poetry and enjoyed singing classical Punjabi songs. He spoke fondly of Punjab.
Two weeks went by fast. Knowing I would have to leave soon, Larisa and I became closer. “I love you,” she said one afternoon as we walked along Lakeshore Drive. She had started saying this to me often. I didn’t know what to think. I liked her a lot, but with school to focus on, our relationship couldn’t get more serious until I finished my engineering degree. Besides, her parents would
