A few nights later, while Mr. Gilreath was getting his ACHA certification, I stood in line with Mrs. Gilreath for a steak dinner and rodeo show. We wore name tags on our wrists, and as we handed our tickets to the woman sitting at the ticket table, she looked at Mrs. Gilreath and asked, “Where is Mr. Gilreath?”
Mrs. Gilreath gestured to me and said, “I am with him.”
The lady glanced at my name tag, which clearly said, “Krishan Bedi.”
Mrs. Gilreath repeated with a smile, “I’m with him.” Then, linking her arm through mine, she gave a little laugh.
The lady looked confused and finally threw her hands up in the air. “Whatever you say, honey. If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me!” Mrs. Gilreath and I grinned at the lady’s reaction, and I was amused that Mrs. Gilreath was so comfortable with the notion.
Once back in Covington, Walter Albrink talked constantly about Mo and the Body Shop and the “good time” he gave us. Everyone had plenty of laughs from that week in Houston and thanked me for finding Mo.
Chapter 12
In August 1970, I received my green card, the permanent residency visa I applied for while I was at the Vanderbilt University Hospital. I wrote to my parents right away: “I am making plans to come to India in a few weeks,” I said. “Please start looking for a suitable girl.”
My parents wrote back immediately, overjoyed to know I was finally coming. They said that once I arrived they would put an ad in the Tribune regarding a suitable girl.
I wrote back that I would not have that much time, so they should have the ad prepared by my brother-in-law, Vijay Kaura, and put it in the newspaper before my arrival so the girls’ parents could send their biodatas, which were a simple description of the girl’s personal and family background. Then my father could go through the biodatas and pick the ones most suitable for us. Once I arrived in India, we would send my biodata to the parents of the most suitable girls and go from there.
My father liked the idea. He and my brother-in-law prepared the ad. It said: “We require suitable match for handsome, smart Kshatriya boy. Master’s degree from the US, good-paying job as director. Girl should be educated, willing to travel to US, from a respectable family. Send biodata to P.O. Box XYX Tribune.”
While my excitement grew, Mr. Gilreath called me to his office to let me know he felt uneasy that I would be taking time off so soon. He wanted to know if I would be submitting my final report and recommendations for the laundry study before leaving. I assured him I would.
Not knowing if he approved of my leaving three months after joining his hospital had weighed on my mind. Mr. Gilreath indicated as long as I finished the laundry project, he was fine with my taking time off. In the end, my report showed a savings of $40,000 per year in the processing of laundry following my recommendations. Mr. Gilreath was pleased with the results.
The list of items to take to India grew long as my departure date approached. The general impression in India was that money hangs on the trees in the US. You just shake the tree and gather the fallen money. Through my letters, I communicated that this was not the case. But the perception of easy money in the US was so strong that if I did convince my relatives that I didn’t have this kind of money, they would say I might not have found the right tree. People would say that so-and-so has sent lakhs (hundreds of thousands) of rupees, and so-and-so has constructed a huge house with money sent by his son in the US. True, there are such cases where some Indians in the US might have sent significant amounts of money, but people in India do not know what kind of lifestyle those Indians are living in the US.
Although I tried to convince my parents that money didn’t fall from trees, I did not want to give them the impression that I did not have any money. Because I had worked for almost two years after receiving my degree, I should have saved plenty of money. In reality, I did not put money in my savings account, although I was living a good life with a good-paying, respectable job, nice clothes, a good place to live, and a healthy social life. I justified to myself that although I did not save much money, I had worked hard during all those summer jobs and the tough first year at UT. I deserved to live a good life. I wasn’t spending lavishly or throwing money away on foolish items, but I was living comfortably, and that much I thought I deserved.
Included in the list of items, my parents asked me to bring clothing for my nieces and nephews. My father wrote, asking for a two-in-one, which was popular in the seventies because it was a radio that also contained a tape recorder. One day I received another letter from my father, stating, “Please purchase a .32 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver for your brother. It is popular item among a somewhat elite group of people.”
Not thinking much of it, I left the letter on the table and went about my usual business. Then my brother pleaded again through my father’s letter: “Your brother says he
