At the same time, my cousin Ved Bedi had said, “Krishan, you should think twice before moving back to India. It’s not going to be easy. Things are not the same here. Like they say, the grass looks greener on the other side.”
Since Ved had lived in the US, earned his master’s degree, and worked there for a couple of years before moving back to India to settle with his parents, he could tell me that the adjustment was not easy.
On the other hand, Satish responded differently. “Bedi Saheb, it would be great if you moved. Once the hospital is built, this will be a great position. Every important person in New Delhi will be approaching you, wanting to have good relations with you because it is difficult to be admitted to a good hospital or get a medical consultation when you need it.”
At that time, there were no private hospitals in New Delhi, and there was a great need for good facilities throughout India.
Another issue on my mind was Rajan and his health. I spoke to Dr. Redmond about it, and he seemed to think it might be good for Rajan to move to India. One, he should be drinking goat milk, and two, a more vegetarian diet might be better for him because of his less than normally functioning kidneys. I also questioned whether or not growth hormone would be available in India, since Rajan was going to start that treatment soon. He was much smaller than other kids his age, and we hoped this treatment would help him to catch up. Dr. Redmond inquired about the growth hormone medication and found that it was available in England and could be shipped to us.
So Raj and I discussed all these factors, especially those concerning Rajan’s health, but in the end, Raj was not in favor of moving back. “Why are we moving?” she would ask.
My answer was, “To help the poor and to provide good healthcare.”
In the back of my mind, I thought Raj also might be happy since she would be close to her parents and siblings. However, she seemed reluctant. Since Subhash was twelve years old and well settled at the school, I shared my thoughts of moving to India with him.
“Why?” he asked, a sad look on his face. I did not have a good answer, simply stating it was a new job.
At the end of April, I decided to accept the position. I would join them by mid-November after finishing my projects at Providence Hospital and resigning, as well as selling my house, the apartment buildings, the rental house, and our two cars. For several weeks, the environment at the hospital was subdued with everyone processing the news that Mr. Bedi would be leaving them. Most of them hoped Mr. Gilreath would convince me to stay. Even though I had decided to leave, I worked as hard as ever and assured Mr. Gilreath I would continue doing my best for Providence.
Mr. Gilreath nodded. “I have no doubt, Kris. I have full confidence in you. After all these years I have known you, you have done so much for Providence.”
In a way, our relationship remained the same, and over the following months, we continued working together as normal. However, deep down in his heart, Mr. Gilreath did not want me to leave.
Chapter 21
I arrived in New Delhi on November 13, 1983. Raj and the boys had moved to India in July so the kids could start school at the beginning of the school year. Rajan was in first grade, Christopher was in fourth grade, and Subhash was just starting middle school. They attended Delhi Public School, a school with a good reputation. The Goels helped get them accepted on such short notice.
The car driven by our chauffeur brought Raj and the kids to the airport to meet me. Raj hugged me tightly, and the kids jumped up and down, wrapping me with hugs and shouting out loud. I hugged each of them, but to Rajan, I gave the biggest hug of all, lifting him off the ground and holding him in my arms.
Being so far from my family the past four months had been a trial. During that time, I struggled to sell my properties, finding it necessary to sell them for much less than their worth before my departure to India. Losing these investments and watching my money go down the drain was almost more than I could handle. On top of it, my cousin Raj Dev Bedi called after he returned from a visit to India with the news that my entire family had contracted malaria. “Why are you in the US and not in India taking care of your family?” my cousin chided. My wife, not wanting me to worry, had not said a word about it.
I broke down and cried that day. Shutting myself in my bedroom, I fell to my knees and cried out to God in anguish. At one time, my net worth had been $125,000, and now, although I still had $30,000 in a 401K plan, I had barely $3000 in cash. My properties were not selling for the prices I had hoped for, and now I feared for my family, knowing it was my fault they were in India, instead of in America where malaria was not a threat.
I would wake up every morning, drag myself to the pictures of my Guruji and Lord Krishna set up on a table, and fall to my knees, crying out to God. Tears of desperation flowed down my cheeks, and for the next fifteen minutes, I wept. Please God, please help me, I said over and over in my heart. After saying the Gayatri
