“Promise me that you won’t become a Yankee fan” he said. As Ted Sullivan laughed at his own joke, Rohan was not sure if he was serious or whether he was joking. Ted was from Boston as he told him later. A manifestation of a deep-rooted rivalry, Ted did not want to be the recruitment officer for the rival camp. Rohan did quip guardedly, “I am a soccer fan and I am not much into baseball. So, I guess I will not be a Yankee fan.” As Ted proceeded to stamp the visa and told Rohan about the amazing times he had had in New York City, Rohan realized that he was two more stamps away from the big apple.
Rohan had never doubted the fact that he would get the visa. He had been to the US before, travelling to New York and Los Angeles for work. That was a fun trip. He work hard and partied hard. While most of his brethren thought of spending frugally in the US, Rohan had gone all out. This time it was going to different. He was in pursuit of his dreams; something he had dreamt of every night for the past two years.
Picture Source: NYU WebpagesThe tie came off, as did the jacket. As awesome that he felt, it was a hot June afternoon in Mumbai and the sweat was slowly trickling down his forehead. Realizing that he would soon miss the small things in life back home, he stopped for a cold glass of sugarcane juice. One glass quickly turned to three as sudden pang of hunger made him realize that he had not eaten since morning. As he sauntered down the street in search of a taxi, his mind wandered again. Rohan could see a bagel with cream cheese in front of his eyes. He wondered whether it was the heat, the hunger or the call of the City.
He still had two months to go, but Rohan was already thinking as though he had to leave the following night. He decided to make the most of the next few days. The first stop was a roadside vendor where he picked a couple of
wada pavs to fill himself up. The juice had left him pretty full, but he coaxed himself into gobbling them down. It was almost as if this was his last chance to appreciate the staple fast food of the city. The city that he had come to call home for three eventful years.
Picture Source: George KoshyA few blocks further down the road, Rohan found that elusive taxi. Torn between taking the taxi all the way and hopping onto the train, he knew he had lost it when he mumbled to the driver, “
Bhaiya, Mahalaxmi
chalenge?” Mahalaxmi was the closest train station to the American Consulate. While the trains would not be crowded at this hour, it was not exactly wise to travel suited up. The crowds, the heat, the humidity and the ensuing sweltering feeling were not entirely conducive for the formally dressed traveler. Rohan stood at the door, half to beat the heat and half to feel the wind in his face. And as he felt the cold breeze rustle his previously well-kempt hair, he could not help but wonder whether these were the winds of change…
This is a pilot for the book: Down to Business
