Life was tough in India. School was difficult at times. The boys did not know the language, culture, or living amenities, and because they grew up in the US, they were different from the other Indian students. Coming to India for a visit was one thing, but living in India was a culture shock. Christopher came home from school one day and told us the teacher slapped him on the cheek. Also, the kids sometimes bullied the boys, especially Rajan, because of his short stature. These were situations unknown to them from their experience of school in the US. Then, there was the constant heat and now this electrical fire. We were thankful we were safe and the fire had not caused any structural damage, but it put one more damper on our experience in India. Staying calm and wearing a cheerful face was the only way I knew to instill a sense of equilibrium in our lives.
In the meantime, I received word that Z.M. Goel had completely washed his hands of the hospital project. G.B. Goel took over, and during meetings, he would insult the colonel, calling him a dummy and other names. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I disliked the way G.B. Goel was overseeing the project and conducting meetings in his office. The colonel also became fed up with his behavior. He had held a high-level construction managerial position in Sri Lanka, and now here he was on a dead-end project being called names. One day, he finally turned in his thirty-day notice.
The summer of 1985, I experienced a new challenge. During a much needed vacation to the US with my family, I experienced a herniated disc in my lower back. At the time, I was having so much fun visiting old friends across the country that I didn’t realize the physical stress our travels put on my body. At first, I didn’t know why pain was radiating down my leg. On our way back to India, our flight landed in London, and my friend Mr. Luthra introduced me to several individuals who claimed they could heal my “slipped disc.” Blinded by the pain, I naively went along with their methods, hoping it would be so simple. One older man used a tall stick to balance himself as he walked across my back. Another man brushed my back with a bundle of peacock feathers while chanting mantras. Yet another friend of Mr. Luthra’s told me to tie a string to my big toe while sitting cross-legged in a chair. Desperate to be rid of the pain before leaving London, I complied with each suggestion, but to no avail. The pain was relentless and ruthless as a hot poker sticking me again and again. On the flight back to India, I lay down in the back of the plane, the only position that gave any relief. To my great irritation, a stewardess scolded me for lying down when the plane ran into some turbulence. I refused to sit up and put on my seat-belt, even when she threatened to tell the captain.
Back at our home in India, I spent the next few months undergoing traction therapy with the guidance of my sister-in-law, Usha, and a trusted doctor. The traction, using bricks tied to a rope which was tied to my waist over a pulley, would lengthen my spine and allow the disc to slip back into place. Since the hospital project was at a standstill until the Goels provided more funds, it did not matter if I lay in bed all day. Standing even for a few minutes to brush my teeth, shower, or go to the bathroom was too painful. Raj tended to my needs, and our servant placed the bricks throughout the day, alternately increasing and decreasing the weight as instructed by the doctor. At one time, our servant tied ten bricks tied to the rope. In this way, my body slowly returned to normal over a four-month period.
After three months of bed rest, getting up only to use the bathroom and do physiotherapy exercises my doctor prescribed me, we began reducing the number of bricks little by little according to the doctor’s recommendations.
During this time, the Goels continued to pay me, and they also paid for my medical expenses. Once I began feeling better, I was able to socialize, enjoying a drink and a good meal with relatives and friends. It took me almost four months to rehabilitate myself and get on my feet again.
Before leaving for India, I had put the contract for the sale of the Boudnot apartment complex property in the care of Mr. Jones, a lawyer referred to me by Mr. Gilreath. One evening, I called him to see if he had collected the money owed to me according to the contract the buyers had signed, agreeing to pay the full amount at the end of five years. Now, five and a half years later, and I looked forward to good news. My share was seventy percent and totaled $85,000. R.P. Singh, my limited partner, would receive the other thirty percent.
To my surprise, when I inquired in late 1988, Mr. Jones informed me that the men had not made any payments because they knew I was out of the country. I was in shock. How could they go against the contract like that? Just because I was thousands of miles away didn’t mean I wouldn’t do anything about it. Remembering that one of the men was a doctor who would not want his reputation ruined, I instructed Mr. Jones to prepare legal action against the men.
Mr. Jones informed me I needed to pay him $3,000 up front before he would do anything. Not having this money on hand, I called R.P. Singh and persuaded him to help out with this amount. After all, if we didn’t do anything, we both would be out of
