The next morning, I woke up at around 9:00 a.m. with a pounding headache. We all waited for Maelie to come out of her room, but after more than an hour, she did not appear. Finally, we went in and saw the room empty and the bed made.
We could not believe it.
“Hey Kris, what is this?” Randy said. “Your fiancé left you here.”
Dulari, new to the culture and customs of America, was surprised and teased me, “Hey Kris, your girlfriend has run away from you. What did you do?”
Completely embarrassed by Maelie’s behavior, I couldn’t even speak. The rest of the day, Randy, Dulari, and I enjoyed ourselves, and I began to feel better about the situation. Hopefully this is over, I thought.
After spending all of Saturday and Sunday morning with the Chopras, I took a bus to Nashville, feeling upset, relieved, and confused all at once. Monday evening, Mrs. Olsen apologized, saying Maelie had rushed back in a frenzy. She was not used to seeing me drink and told her mother I was a completely different person when I was not at the Executive House.
“It was not Kris,” she kept saying. “That was not the Kris I know.”
I could not tell Mrs. Olsen the real reason I drank glass after glass so quickly. Maelie was in her room, lying in bed, so I did not see her. Frankly, I did not want to see her. But Mrs. Olsen looked on the verge of tears, and I tried to console her.
“Mrs. Olsen, it is okay this has happened,” I said in a calm voice.
Then, Mrs. Olsen started crying, and I comforted her as best I could.
“It is fine,” I said. “It is okay with me. Perhaps this is best for both of us.”
Mrs. Olsen only cried harder and apologized again.
“I wish Maelie very well,” I said, finally.
I returned to my apartment and stared at the bare walls. Maelie had taken all of her belongings from my apartment before I returned, and she never exchanged any words with me, either to apologize or to tell me the engagement was off. Regardless of the way the situation ended, I felt a sudden freedom. For some inexplicable reason, I could never say no to Mrs. Olsen. She was a picture of kindness and generosity toward me. Now I did not need to worry about hurting her feelings. Feeling like a new person, I put the kettle on the stove and made myself a cup of tea.
Chapter 11
In January 1970, I started thinking about when I would return to India. As much as I wanted to see my family again, I realized I had become comfortable in America. What if going back to India, marrying there, and settling down did not work out so well? Not wanting to turn my back on my new American lifestyle, I thought it would be a good idea to bring my wife to the US once I married, so she could experience the culture. After she became familiar with it, we could both go back to India.
In order for that to work, I needed a permanent visa to return to the US. As I also needed my employer to sponsor me, I approached Mr. Clark and told him I would like to apply for a permanent visa; otherwise, I would have to leave in six months. Mr. Clark agreed to help, and after filling out the required documents, I wrote to my parents and told them that as soon as I received my permanent visa, I would come to see them. The excitement started building. After eight years, I expected to find many changes. In my absence, my brother’s wife had given birth to five sons and one daughter, and my elder sister had two daughters and one son, all under the age of nine. I couldn’t wait to see my nieces and nephews for the first time and to start searching for my own wife.
Toward the end of January, I received a letter from my parents. “Good news,” they wrote. “There is going to be a telephone installed in Malaudh at the post office.”
Most houses did not own a telephone because not only must you apply to the government with a deposit of one thousand rupees ($175 in the 1960s), but it might take a year or two to get the phone and a connection. Usually, the phone service was set up through a telephone exchange for the entire city, and until that point, it had been possible only in big cities.
My Indian friends warned me it was complicated to make a phone call to India, but I decided to surprise my parents anyway. First, I subscribed to AT&T—the only phone service at the time—for international calling, which required an extra monthly fee. Next I booked a call with the international operator in New Jersey. Since the time difference between India and the US is about eleven hours, I booked the call for the evening, so I could reach my family during daytime hours.
Indeed, as my friends warned, telephoning my parents in India seemed to be nearly as difficult as earning a master’s degree. Just as at one point I thought I would never finish college, I now thought I might never speak to my parents on the telephone.
For three nights I tried, but the operator continually failed to make a connection. Frustrated, I spoke to the supervisor who explained that the New Jersey operator must call the New Delhi main telephone exchange. Then the New Delhi operator would call the exchange in Ludhiana city. From
