My desire to travel to America began several weeks earlier when my father told me about my two cousins who traveled to America, or “Amrika,” as most Indians pronounced it.
“We just received news from your cousin Ved who went to Amrika two years ago,” he said. “In 1959 I believe. He is getting his Master’s in Business Administration at the University of Tennessee. Very successful boy! Did you also know that another one of your cousins traveled to Amrika in 1955? He earned a PhD in Chemistry at a university in Michigan.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yes, it seems that traveling to Amrika is becoming popular. It offers much more opportunity, and if someone has a degree from the US, they can get any job they want. Think of all the money they must be making over there!”
Making tons of money sounded good to me. It seemed the people with the most money were also the most respected in India.
A few days later, I ran into a friend from the Vishvakarma Institute in Ludhiana.
“Do you have a job yet?” he asked. He knew about my dream to work as an overseer so I could become an SDO.
I shook my head sadly. “No. I had to take an examination in Nilokheri, but I didn’t pass.”“That’s too bad,” my friend said.
“But did you know there’s another way to become an SDO? It is much quicker too. There are engineering programs in the US. You can go there and earn your bachelor’s degree in two years since you have completed your Diploma in Civil Engineering. Then all you need to do is remain in the US for eighteen months of practical training, and when you return to India you can get the post of Sub-Divisional Officer right away!”
That night, I spoke to my father about going to the US for further studies. He seemed reluctant for me to go so far, and my mother also felt it was too far away.
“Krishan, find something here,” my mother told me. “You are so helpful to me, and I will miss you so much.”
Regardless of my parents’ discouraging opinions, I wrote a letter to my cousin Ved Bedi in New York City, asking him to help me get admission at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He asked the Dean’s Office of Admission to send me the admission forms, and my brother-in-law Vijay Kaura helped me complete them so I could send them back as soon as possible. My father was still not enthusiastic about the idea, but he did not try to stop me. Part of him felt having a son living in the US sounded prestigious and would impress his friends. He neither discouraged nor encouraged me.
Toward the end of April 1961, I received a letter of admission from the University of Tennessee. Soon after receiving the letter, I set out to procure my passport, currency exchange permit, and visa to come to the States. However, to qualify for an exchange permit, my father needed 14,000 rupees ($2,950) in his bank account to prove he would be able to support me and pay my university expenses while I lived overseas. My father did not have this kind of money. In the last eighteen months, he had paid the expenses of three weddings. My two sisters had married six months apart, and my brother had married six months afterwards. My sisters’ dowries had drained my father’s cash savings that he kept tucked away in a small tin box at our house. Now he had nothing left to offer me. Still wanting to help, he talked to his friends and our local relatives, but no one had that kind of money either. My dream of becoming an SDO skidded to a halt.
Chapter 2
“Krishan! Pay attention, Son!” my father called from the other side of the shop. “I need your help over here.” I shook my head from a cloud of daydreams and trudged over to him. With no money, I felt trapped in the village while my mind longed to go on to bigger things. I wanted to reach out and grab what I wanted in life, but that was like plucking a star from the sky. Unfortunately, money did not grow on trees in India, not like it did in America.
I would live in Malaudh the rest of my life, working in my father’s shop, folding cloth, and serving customers. I moped around the shop. Customers came and went. They haggled over prices. I served them tea or lemonade and watched my father negotiate. He sent each customer off with a smile and a blessing. I sprinkled water on the dirt in front of the shop, and sometimes when business was slow, I sat on the ground outside and watched the women and girls walk by in their bright-colored saris.
I did not smile, and I rarely talked if I did not need to.
My father ordered me around. “Krishan, sweep the floor. Fold this cloth. Bring the customers tea.”
I slowly obeyed his orders with a grave expression on my face. Perhaps my father thought my dark mood would pass. He hoped I would get over it eventually and accept my role in Malaudh. But when a week passed and I still had not cheered up, he finally told me about a friend in Ludhiana, the owner of a large spinning mill. “Maybe he will lend us money,” he said.
“Is this true, Bai Ji? Will you take me there?”
“Yes,” my father said. My eyes cleared and a smile brightened my face.
I hugged him and ran out of the shop to tell my mother the good news.
The next day, we visited the mill owner, and my father’s friend agreed to transfer fourteen thousand rupees to my father’s account. Once again, I felt that my life was about to truly begin.
Over the next few months, I worked
