12 November 2014

Long Drive. Interrupted.

After finishing up my meetings around lunchtime in Philly, I hit the road to get to DC (about 3 hour drive) for some dinner meetings. I was cruising along I-95 when I crossed this beautiful river. I did not know the name – all I knew was I crossed state line (PA to MD) on the bridge. Out of a whim, took an exit immediately and found myself a state park by the river. Found out the name of the river is Susquehanna. Supposed to be a historic river in the context of the Civil war. In any case, quickly changed into running clothes and put in a 5K along the river stopping many times, to take in its beauty…

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12 November 2014

Coming to America: For here or to go?

Since I talked about Chito in my previous blog and all those early days of coming to America, I remembered a few events that was part of my baptism by fire that I can laugh about today.

Coming from India, food was the biggest adjustment I had to go thru. For whatever reason, Citibank had special ordered “Hindu meal” in the Lufthansa flight that brought me from Mumbai to US. And the Germans – mostly because they are Germans – took the instructions very seriously and had a load of green leaves on my plate that would make any cow back in India chew the cud for a month or so.

Well, Hindus eat far less raw vegetable leaves than any Germans or Americans do. That is a fact of life. So, you can only imagine how hungry I was when I landed in USA. The first thing we did (we being the few folks Citibank had transferred to USA) was hit the place we had heard a lot about – McDonalds.

When we landed up at the golden arches, all hell broke loose. First and foremost, why people were forming well defined queues was totally beyond us. See, back in India, we formed queues with the self discipline of a bunch of bees smelling honey. We certainly did not comprehend the reason to have about two feet of “personal space” between every participant in the queue. Back in India, we had people. Lots of them. Like 1.2 billion (with a “b”) of them. We did not have enough space to have “personal space”.

Then the next confusion point was the menu on the board. God!! Way too many choices. You know, we were used to “chicken” or “mutton” or “vegetarian”. That would not do for the most advanced country in the world. First there are ten choices. Neatly marked #1 thru #10. And that was merely the rows. Then there were the columns – small, big, really big or something like that. And then there were the fries option…. and drinks options. In India, those options were “Yes” or “No”. Here it was Sprite, Coke, Diet Coke, Hawaiian Punch, Lemonade… And when you were exhausted choosing one, came the next bombardment – “What size?”.

Eventually, we had nowhere to hide. We were face to face with this burly black guy whose face was the epitome of the word “disdain” and man, he kept on saying something. We saw his lips moving and there certainly was a non-zero decibel level associated with it – but we had not the faintest clue what he was saying.

One thing about us Indians. We might be idiots. But we will never let you understand that. Why do you think we put you on those endless waits on the call center calls? πŸ™‚ In this particular case, we just resorted to “point and shoot” mode. #3 somebody said, pointing to the board behind the guy, as if he knew what the hell he was ordering πŸ™‚ And the guy punched in some keys. #5, the next guy said. More punching.

Till Srini, the vegetarian from south India put in his order. “Burger. No meat. Please”. Of course, I was impressed that Srini remembered to say Please (in India, we had long foregone such niceties in life). The black guy, though, was fixated on something else. “What???? Burger without meat???? You want just buns??”. Srini, for the better or else, confirmed the order. Over the next five minutes, the guy fidgeted with his machine till he realized that even the sharpest programmers in McDonalds did not put in an option to price a burger without meat. So, he just gave up and gave Srini the buns free! “Smart dude, Srini”, we all agreed!!

And finally, just when we thought our whole pain was over the black gentleman asked another question. And when I say ‘asked a question’, I mean we had a general sense that some words were escaping thru the clenched teeth πŸ™‚ Here is the real problem. There stood, nary an Indian, that understood what he said, that day.

Eventually, I think some of the Ebonics – if that is even the right term – made an impression on one of our friends. We called him by his initials “RG”. He could decipher that he was asking us “For here or to go”? RG, while he understood the literal words, had no idea of the context.

His response was, and still is indelibly etched as one of the “Passing of Rites of Coming to this Country” for me.

“Sir, we will have it here and then go”, is what he said!

And that is how I had my first meal in the country that eventually became my own country.

11 November 2014

Rosauro Santos Ocampo!!!

Last week, right about now, I was in Atlanta airport (just like I am now). I was waiting to board my flight to St. Petersburg. I was also wondering what intersection point might be awaiting me. Looked up the map of St. Pete to check out the neighboring cities and ran a quick search thru my Contacts list. There was a possibility to meet this gentleman that I had not met in a long long time. I knew he had retired, therefore, I was not even sure if his phone numbers would work. The email id was of HSBC – surely that would not work.

Just as they started boarding us, I took a chance and dialed what I thought was his cell phone number. Nobody picked up and the voicemail was the default message – so could not figure out if it was his number still. Next, tried another number – which I thought was his Tampa home number. I was not even sure if he was in Tampa still. Again, went to voicemail. So, two voicemails later, I resigned to fate and snaked my way into the plane and settled down.

I was busy watching all the passengers coming into the plane when the phone rang. It was from the home number! I was half expecting it to be somebody who would say “Who is this? I had a call at my number from this number”. As luck would have it, it was indeed the gentleman I was looking for. In short order, we set up a dinner engagement for the following day.

And that is how I got to meet once again the gentleman who was a big influence in my life when I came to this country. Chito (Rosauro Santos Ocampo) was my first boss in this country. I worked in his team in Citibank in Pompano Beach. That is when I lived in Coral Springs (yes, in the same apartment building as my other friend from high school junior year, as it turned out – but you probably have read that story on my blog already).

There were a few of us – young technology folks that were transferred from Mumbai to this location. Not having gone thru college here (unlike most Indians in this country at that time), it was baptism by fire. Picking up local culture, ethos while reporting to work full time and learning new stuff altogether could be unnerving at times. Driving on the other side of the road turned out to be surprisingly less daunting. I guess those medians helped. But there were other aspects that completely blew us away. Someday I will tell you how confusing a salad dressing can be to an unsuspecting fresh off the boat Indian πŸ™‚

Chito (and his wife Malou) and Sharmila and myself grew up to get to be very close to each other. They were always very kind in helping us get accustomed to a whole new country. They themselves came from the Philippines. The whole team then got transferred to Dallas. That is how all of us landed in Dallas. And then eventually we went our own ways. Chito went back to Florida, switched to HSBC and then retired.

I was marveling at his terrific memory that evening. He remembered each and every person in our office from those days (I am talking 1993) and enquired about them. Fortunately, I am in touch with all of them and therefore was able to get him up to speed quickly. Some of the details he remembered was very impressive.

Eventually, I asked him – “how is post retirement life treating you”?
“Very good. I work at Lowe’s”, he said!
“Consulting? I did not know Lowe had a big office here”.
“Oh! no! I work at the retail store”
And I was like “What????”

Turns out Chito always loved tools, hardware, fixing things and such. As he told me, he could be left at a hardware store in the morning and picked up in the evening – and he would happily go around the store the whole day. (I know a woman like that in my house who behaves like that in dress stores πŸ™‚ ). Turns out he goes and works there because he loves being around tools and stuff. Additionally, because of all the walking and lifting, he is getting a terrific exercise.

His incredible sense of humor is still intact. I distinctly remember he came to office one day, walked to my cube and said he got a ticket while driving thru the side road in Dallas Fort Worth airport. I enquired about his speed when he got caught. He explained that the speed limit was 35 mph. But cops usually allowed a tolerance of 10 mph above it, he said. And he claimed he was within a 10 mph deviation. Looking at my surprised face, he gestured his finger upwards and clarified that he meant deviation from the upper tolerance limit that we was talking about!! He was clocked at 55!!

Speaking of his hand gestures, that was another thing about him. His hands and facial expressions would do as much talking as his mouth (my brother is the same way; sometimes I make my brother sit on his hands and then talk; it results in hilarious situations). So, there was this day, right next to the main office door in our Pompano Beach office, Chito was agitatedly explaining something. The details completely escape me but I remember that he made the comment “It is like he almost washed his hands off it”. And as he said that, his hands smoothly made gestures as if his hands were under a tap and then he washed his hands off literally! And that is not all! As he went off to his next line, you could see him pulling his hands to the side and absentmindedly wipe them off each other – as if they had become really wet!! I could not help but laugh aloud!!

We caught up on his late father, his family in the Philippines, his two old dogs and the physical challenges he went thru ten years back that he had to will himself thru.

He has lost weight, looked great and seemed very happy! He most certainly deserves to be.

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11 November 2014

USPS has been hacked!!

CNN reported about Congress being informed that hackers have hacked into the US Postal Service. http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/10/politics/postal-service-security-breach/index.html

In a related news, global hacking has been reported to have been unusually low for a few days.

No doubt, the hackers are busy sorting through all those junk mail πŸ™‚

8 November 2014

This one is dedicated to the pursuers of the OH-molecule…

Poem was originally written by the twentieth century poet Abdul Hameed Adam. Born in undivided India, he moved to Iraq, married an Iraqi girl, moved back to India and was eventually transferred (he had a military job) to Pakistan during the separation of India. Died when I was in my ninth grade.

The poet is urging his unwilling partner to indulge in drinking…. quoting a few lines of the poem only…

fasl-e-gul hai sharaab pii leejiye
zid na keejiye janaab pii leejiye
….
aage chal kar hisaab honaa hai
is liye be-hisaab pii leejiye
….
jo piye chhup ke vo munaafiq hai
be-takalluf sharaab pii leejiye

dil kaa shiisha hai aur khuluus ki mai
ab to aalii-janaab pii leejiye

Roughly translated…

’tis the season of blooming flowers, ’tis the season of drinking wine
Do not try to be stubborn, go ahead and have a glass of wine

Someday in future, on our day of reckoning, we all have to account for everything
Today, therefore, is the day to drink without keeping any accounts

(S)he who drinks on the sly, is a total hypocrite
Therefore, you should drink without giving it a second thought

If our heart is of glass, then faith is the wine in that glass
Keeping that faith, now you need to drink with me