59. Uncle Swamy and Me
Swamy Uncle has been such a part of our household that for a long time I had figured he was actually related to us. In fact, he knew all our relatives and in turn, or perhaps for reasons of symmetry, he made it a point to bring each one of his relatives to our house whenever they visited him. He lived barely five city blocks from my place in Madras, which facilitated his dropping in spontaneously. And when he dropped in, there was no telling when he might actually leave - it could be after the fourth coffee or after lunch. Or when they telecast cricket matches late in the night, he would stay on till the milk vans appeared on the street the next morning. Now that he is retired and my father too is retired, he practically lives in our house, going to his own home only for what seem like short breaks.
Swamy Uncle is a flabby human specimen with a face-ful of eyebrows. He would talk incessantly, unless he happened to be chewing his Banarasi paan. He is blessed with such a loud voice he could drown out some serious vacuum cleaner sounds. I always avoided crossing paths with him for fear of being bored to a violent death.
"I know your father when he was still in college, I say" he would tell us, for the umpteenth time "He was such a quiet fellow. No smoking. No drinking. Not even going to temples to sight-seeing nubile ladies" he would continue in his peculiar South Indian english. "Mahadevan goes to temple, Mahadevan only prays. And he prayed always. Always. Like that, you see. We would all tease him. Decent fellow he was. He still is".
Then he would pause to slurp his coffee. "I was one year senior to him in college. Then I left to join the government service after engineering and who do I see the next year - your father ! The same look, the same honest eyes. He too took up the Public Works Department job and we became colleagues. Brilliant fellow your father, although they didn't give him the rightful promotions."
Another pause to clean up the rest of the coffee. "Then one day your father tells me 'Swamy, I am going to my village' and I know why he was ! When he comes back, he has a wife, I say ! Your mother - a real fine lady. Which one was more shy, your father or your mother, I don't know. Then within one year you were born - totally unplanned - Those days 'Ramesh' was such a popular name your parents quickly named you that. Now you are so big and gone off to the States. But remember, Swamy Uncle was the one who carried you around when you were so small."
His stories would always converge on his pet theme. "You were such a mischievous fellow I don't know how come a quiet fellow like your father had you for a son. So much mischief, so much mischief - you were scared only of me. No one else. In fact, even when you were five years old, you would refuse to wear clothes. Always desiring to wander naked ! That is why I always called you 'Nanga Babu'"
At this point, I usually tune him out, because any further encouragement would only bring out even more personal and sillier childhood anecdotes of mine. To this day, he would only call me 'Babu', an abbreviation for his original nickname. And I hated it.
He himself got married a little late in life and his two daughters were quickly married off to some local guys who extended his family by one more generation. Even then, Swamy Uncle was always present at our house, spending his quality time in our company, rattling off his usual stories. When I went to study in Kanpur, he would always make it a point to come to the railway station to see me off - and also to chat with the push-cart vendors in the station. Then, when I went to the USA, he showed up at the airports as well, completely oblivious to the fact that his relentless presence around me was actually annoying me.
"Be nice to him." my father would tell me "He is like family. He is really very proud of you. Every time he talks to you it thrills him that you are in the USA and doing well."
One day when I called my parents in India, they handed the phone to him. I was expecting to be bored for the next ten minutes, when he surprised the hell out of me.
"Babu, guess what ?" he asked, as his loud voice got raspier "I am coming to the U. S. A next fortnight - for a month."
Although I felt like saying 'Oh no', I managed to mutter something like "Oh, that would be wonderful", hoping against hope that he would skip coming to Denver.
"Yes Babu" he continued "I am getting old and getting bored here. I want to see the world. What better time than now ? Even though I don't have relations in the USA, Babu, you are like my son. That's why I have decided to stay with you for a full one week."
My god ! "That is great Uncle" I replied, too stunned to say anything else.
"Auntie is not coming because she is in indifferent health" he continued "Besides, she doesn't like circling places. After Denver, I am visiting another friend in Oootah - Engineering College fellow only. Then Kullifornia for two weeks with another friend and seeing Disneyland and back. How many dollars do you think I should bring ? And Babu, can you do one thing ? Why don't you come to New York and receive me ?"
What ??! "Uncle, I would love to - but I live nearly two thousand miles from New York. You can always call me on my car phone from wherever you are and I will help you out in getting your connection flight."
"He he he he" he guffawed "Can't believe it. I am not knowing you are having a phone in your car. He hee hee. Babu, you have really grown up. Only yesterday you would go around running naked, refusing to put on clothes. You were more than five years of age then and I would call you Nanga Babu ....and now you have a phone in your car. I have to see all that and come back to tell your Amma and Appa. See you in two weeks. Ta ta. By the way, do you have a driver or do you do self-driving ?"
And, finally, the one person who always sent people off at the airports and railway stations was himself going away ! He was sort of paid back in a fitting farewell ceremony at the airport. My father even inserted a 'bon voyage' advertisement in 'The Hindu'. It appeared on the third page, accompanied by an extremely smudged photo of Uncle - so smudged, the only way you could tell it was Uncle was from him bushy eyebrows sticking out.
When I picked him up at the airport, he seemed a shade jetlagged and shell shocked. But scarce five minutes had gone by, he was himself again - loud and garrulous and full of energy.
"Babu, come and give your uncle a hug" he beseeched me. "It is my dream to visit America and here I am finally. Your father is doing fine. But he is always worrying. I am telling him, 'Don't worry Mahadevan'. But my telling, your telling he doesn't listen. Where will they bring my suitcases ? These airports ! The Westerners are amazing ! Babu, did you ever see the JFK airport ? So big, from one terminal to another, you keep on going, keep on going. Very crowdy too. There was this hefty guy, with a 'face-cut' like cinema villain, looking tough and hassling all the 'going people'. He asked me, almost threateningly, 'where is your passport sir ?' They were customs fellows. Very scary, Babu. We are not accustomed to such big people. By the way, what car do you have ? A Subaru ? What name is it ? Sounds like Subbarao - Couldn't you get an Impala ?"
Even though I had expected Uncle to be a pain, I didn't think he would so thoroughly dominate my life and reduce me to a morose, witless zombie. In two days, his constant chatter overwhelmed me to the point I was going to buy a baby pacifier and stick it in his mouth. The man was meant to be on the airwaves to host a talkshow or something. I felt sorry for my dad for putting up with him all the time.
"Why don't you show your computer to me ? I can write a letter to your dad with the computer. That should surprise the poor fellow. Even in India, we have a lot of computers now. Babu, You come to India, and start an industry. The banks will lend you money. What, oh, you are turning the computer on, I see. Look at it say 'Please wait'. These Americans. Always so polite. Not rude like in India. Even the computers are made to say 'please'."
Uncle also had about twenty three very annoying personal habits that I hadn't hitherto noticed. And here I am not even including his fixation for watching the Weather Channel or his pathological addiction to sambhar and curd rice - he really needed to be enrolled in a detoxification program. He always orbitted within two feet of me and I could watch his spit develop into a misty spray replete with 'paan' molecules, which eventually became a jet plume across the room.
In the mornings, he would convert my bathroom into a torture chamber - sticking all kinds of things like a 'tongue cleaner', deep into his mouth and choking himself, producing dinosaur-like sounds. This would be followed by a series of earth-shattering gargles. His striped underwear and dirty banians were definitely bought in the previous century.
Exasperated, I stooped low and resorted to dirty tricks to dilute his effects - such as taking him to the grocery store and forcing him to catch up with me as I wheeled my cart through the confusing mazeway of the store. The fond hope was to lose him somewhere near the Deli section and pick him up some hours later. After all, it was supposed to be a 'super store' and I get lost there all the time. But the idea backfired. Uncle not only found my cart at each corner, but he was actually enjoying the whole experience like a kid in a toy store and personally examined every single item on the shelves.
"It is good you are living near a shopping center, Babu. This way you can go daily shopping." he blah-blahed away "Babu, where do they keep 'pulses' I say ? Oh, you don't know what pulses means ? Bengal gram dhal and other dhals...... What did you say they call 'lady's fingers' here... opra or is it okra ? Let us see, okra is one pound is two dollars and there are 2.2 pounds to a kilo and thirty rupees to a dollar and so ....and Babu, what do you mean you don't like apples. You must eat them because they are good for you. If suppose you get married tomorrow and your wife gives you apples, would you say 'no' ? Let us get this bag of apples. if any get left behind, I will take them to my Ootah friend."
He became even more energetic and talkative as we left the store. On the way out, he stopped by at the Salvation Army Santa Claus and told him "What ? Merry Christhmas ? Same to you. You see, we are Hindus. We don't actually celebrate Christhmas. Only Diwali." and gave the bored Santa a lecture on Hindu festivals. Enthused by so many things going on around him, he even deemed it appropriate to yell at a passing motorcyclist "Saar, your lights are on." I almost sank into the earth.
Day six and Uncle hadn't slowed down an inch. Nor was his verbal output diminishing. I thought I would quietly weather him out and avoid all my friends for the entire duration of his stay. But then, god disposes - and all my friends showed up at my doorstep on friday with their beers, unannounced.
Uncle was thrilled to bits. For the first time since he arrived, he was meeting 'other people' and in fact, special folks who happened to be his Babu's friends. He had been sort of getting tired of hanging around just me.
"So, Babu, these are your friends ? I thought in America, your friends will be all American fellows like Richard and Robert and Michael. I didn't know that you hung around mainly with Indians. That's also good. You won't forget our culture. What are your good names, fellows ?" he introduced himself,
In a matter of minutes, he was in his peak form, subjecting my friends to continous and irrelevant talk. It took them very little time to discover that Uncle was from another generation and another culture. In fact, they found his pronouncements downright hilarious and his english, utterly funny.
"Go ahead, fellows, drink beer if you want. You too Babu. I won't tell your parents. You have to be modern in outlook too. Go ahead. Pass me a beer too. Don't look at Uncle like that Babu, I used to be a Sharabi too."
As the evening proceeded, even the one or two guys who were initially asking Uncle polite questions, joined in and started pulling his leg. Uncle had no clue and in fact, egged on by the response, his voice got even louder.
"Oh, India is going to dogs. All these political buggars are rogues." he declared "Thugs ! In India, the only way out is to shoot all these political goondas. All
good-for-nothing-fellows. What economic reforms ? The poor fellows are still poor fellows. Some places in India are so backward that if Emperor Ashoka came back from his grave and walked around he wouldn't notice any change... Who listens to Gandhian principles these days ? Only scandals. How about one more beer for Uncle ?"
By the time he consumed his third beer, he was treading dangerous grounds.
"You see there is a difference between Indian girls and American girls. I think so the Indian women are more supple. And the US women lack 'femininity'. If you marry them, it may be good for 'show', but they will divorce you and go. And my young friend, what about your marriage ? Are you waiting for a big dowry or do you already have several girlfriends ?...."
By now, Uncle was totally drunk and was already reduced to a total joke in my living room. And I was beyond feeling any pain or embarrassment and tried to pretend as if he was someone else's uncle. And finally, Uncle loaded the camel with the last straw.
"Whether getting college scholarship ?" he turned around and asked someone, still figuring that everyone around him was enjoying his conversational skills.
"Pardon me, sir ?"
"I asked whether you were getting any scholarship for your education ? If not, how much per month is your daddy sending you ?"
That was it ! For six days, I had been a patient man. But now I had to put a stop to the whole thing. "Uncle, maybe you should stop asking such personal questions. He is probably embarrassed ...."
"What do you mean, Babu. I am like a father to him. So I can ask. I am only finding information. Tomorrow my grandson might come here for studies. No, no fellows, I am not harsh at your friend. I always take liberties with Babu, Right Babu ? I am such a close family friend. I am knowing Ramesh when he was a mere child. Ramesh was a pest of a child, you know, a real mischief. In fact, he would run around naked all over the house even when he was about five years old. Refusing to wear knickers even when we tell him . That's why I named him 'Nanga Babu' and call him Babu. Isn't that right, Babu ?"
The next morning, it was like the calm after the storm. Uncle finished his morning rituals and wandered into the kitchen as I was brewing coffee. Oddly, he was very quiet. I wished him a good morning. He nodded.
"Ramesh, I think I owe you an apology. I really embarrassed you last night in front of your friends, didn't I ?"
"What are you talking about, Uncle ? Of course not. I thought we all had a good time. I am sure all my friends think you are fun and friendly."
"No, no, son. You are just being nice - just like your father. But I know. Sometimes I get carried away. I thought being a college educated fellow and a high government official in India, I would automatically fit into your crowd of students and engineers. I simply got drunk too much and ruined your evening. Besides, I talk too much. This has always been my problem...."
"No, Uncle, you are being hard on yourself. My friends actually enjoyed talking to you. It is not often they meet people of your experience here. And by the way, you can always call me Babu, that doesn't bother me. In fact, I insist you call me that. Come on, Uncle, lets us not fret over silly things."
Uncle sat there at the dining table, feeling quite miserable and guilty. I really wasn't prepared for Uncle's overnight catharsis. For the first time since he arrived, and perhaps for the first time in my life, I felt a strange kinship and bonding with him. Yes, I am no longer the 'Nanga Babu' - but he is still my Uncle ! God, how far have I come ? From Uncle's world of natural, old fashioned, almost rustic ways of relating to people to a structured, cliched, put-on lifestyle of a neo-yuppie. I felt quite guilty myself for being so condescending to him.
"Say what Uncle - let us change topics. Lets forget about yesterday. How about let us doing some shopping ? You seem to like it. There is a store here called the K Mart. They sell goods very cheap. Quite popular with Indians in this country. It is a good place to buy gifts for your grandkids."
Uncle sat thinking for a few seconds. Then he brightened up, flashing his discolored teeth. It didn't take him much to be back to normal.
"Oh yes, maybe that's what we ought to be doing, Babu. The eleven year old - you know now my grandson Vijay - Hema's son - is almost eleven. He only listens to MTV and Baba Sehgal. He is growing up fast. That kid wants a good pair of canvas shoes - what are they called, Air Jordan or something..blah blah blah...."
For The .signature Files:
"Pretty soon, the national language of India is going to be C++"
---Anand Kumar Kannurpatti.
From a 'Boy Wanted' ad in India Abroad: "....for a beautiful Indian girl, a suitable match wanted from among doctors, engineers and computers...."
