“Here’s your room.” My new friend Jim ushered me into the large bedroom where one of Jim’s housemates stood up from his desk in the corner and shook my hand, flashing me a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you Kris,” he said. “Sorry we don’t have an extra room, but I don’t mind sharing.”
I had met Jim while standing in line for registration for the winter quarter of 1967, and in addition to noticing his unique New Jersey accent, I learned he was an undergrad majoring in math. He lived with three other guys from New Jersey, and I got the sense that he was a studious person, someone I would be wise to associate with if I wanted to do well in my classes at UT. Sewa Singh, although a great friend and roommate, liked to socialize often, and I could never say no to a good party either. I knew that moving in with Jim and his friends would be a good decision.
While I was excited to stay with American students and observe their study habits, Jim was excited for a math teaching assistant to live in his rented house. He was sure I’d be able to help him. I didn’t mention I’d received Ds in my math courses and was repeating them for better grades.
Jim was a serious student. With his parents divorced, he lived with his mother when he came home from school. He wanted to finish his degree so he could find a good job and provide for himself and his mother. Paul Kehir, an anthropology major, was a friendly guy with a girlfriend named Arlene, who worked as a nurse back in New Jersey.
Ray Eisenberg and Dan Bryant lived upstairs. Ray reminded me of Larisa, because he was Jewish. Dan was the son of song-writers Felice and Boudleaux Bryant. His parents worked as a team to write popular songs for famous singers such as the Everly Brothers, Roy Orbison, and Buddy Holly. They wrote “Wake up Little Suzie” and “Bye Bye Love” for the Everly Brothers. Later on in the 70s, they even wrote hits for Simon and Garfunkel, The Grateful Dead, and Bob Dylan.
Living with the New Jersey guys, I learned more slang to add to my vocabulary. For instance, if Dan came home with exciting news about a girl, Jim would say, “Hey, do you have a dime?”
Dan would answer, “Yeah, why?”
Jim would say, “Go call someone who cares.”
At first I didn’t know what they meant about the dime until they explained it cost a dime to make a call from the phone booth. Now, whenever I came home with exciting news about getting a good grade or talking to a cute girl or anything else, they would flatten me with, “Do you have a dime?” No need to say more.
Whenever we sat around drinking beer, the conversation usually turned to girls. I thought it was funny that when a relationship didn’t continue with one of the guys, he would say, “Eh, she bit the dust.” I used the phrase every chance I could.
“Kris is learning,” my roommates said with a laugh.
On the last day before spring break, as soon as I finished taking my exams and posted the grades for my assistant teaching class, I hopped into my Ford Galaxy and drove to Chicago to be with Larisa. At 4:00 a.m., I arrived at Jasbir Mann’s apartment, where I slept restlessly, hardly able to wait until 9:00 a.m., when I would see her.
Larisa and I spent our days together, and occasional evenings when she didn’t have to go to synagogue or when her family didn’t expect her at home. Most of the time, we drove to Lakeshore Drive and walked along the sandy beach. A few times we visited Old Town, a center for hippy counterculture on Clark and North Avenue. During the day and on weekends, many street vendors sold peace signs, psychedelic print tee-shirts, and bead necklaces. Artists filled the sidewalks with their paintings for sale. Larisa, an artsy, eclectic type, enjoyed the color and creativity that surrounded us at Old Town.
During our walks through Old Town, we discussed our relationship. Should we continue seeing each other? If we did and we got married, what would be the religion of our children? I was a Hindu and did not believe in conversion. Larisa, an Orthodox Jewish girl and the daughter of a rabbi, wondered how we would raise our children because conversion was not an option for her either.
We also discussed other cultural differences. Mine was a strict lifestyle with tremendous social and societal pressure and no divorce, whereas in the US, it was easy to get a divorce, and there was much more emphasis on independence. We had each been brought up very differently. My parents expected to arrange my wedding. They would choose a girl for me based on her educational background, her parents’ social status, and whether she was from the same caste as I was.
After thinking through the practicalities of getting married, we decided it would be too difficult. There would be problems with her parents from the beginning, and on top of that, I had not yet received my master’s degree, nor did I have a professional job to afford a decent lifestyle. Also, how would my parents feel when Larisa and I visited them in India? In the end, we decided to go our separate ways. Although I
