Cocktail Bigots

Under the porch of a lofty building, Ms. 'Internalization of Pain' and I stood in rain-drenched clothes, waving at the cab driver who had halted to drop off his passengers at the riverfront. One glance at a pair of recoiled soaked cats against the wall under the porch and another at the ruthlessness of the downpour, the passengers seemed reluctant to step out. We were disappointed and didn't care to rush for the cab.

A couple came running from behind and ran towards the cab, leaving us even more dimwitted as the indecisive passengers made up their mind to dare the rain, in the spur of the moment. A one armed man along with a female bag of bones, dressed in a diaphanous strapless long evening gown, emerged from the cab and hurtled towards us. We were sulking over our obtuseness when the same cab driver gestured at us to cross the Line of Rain Control. A new lease on life in such a bad weather - of course we jumped at the offer! Very kind of him, we thought. The cabbie suggested a deal that he would drop off the other passengers first and he would charge us at a discounted rate. We all agreed.

....He looks and sounds like an Indian, probably a Punjabi Sikh in his 60s....

While sitting next to him, I gauged from the cap he was wearing....Very much like an American Sikh who hides his small bouffant on the frontal lobe of the head under the visor and trims his grey beard to look chic and quite integrated in the society.... A silver bangle in his right arm seemed to confirm my imagination. He pulled over at the first stop, took his money from the passengers and looked across the street- A gentleman was holding his briefcase over his head to shield himself vainly from the unsparing rain. Jump in, the cab driver asked him and 'Internalization of Pain' made space for the new passenger.

...He didn't ask us for our approval. Ah well! He is just being kind to stranded people in this nasty rain....

"Can first I drop him?"
No, I said instantly.

....I don't like this man, he is getting much bolder than I expect....

I have to take a flight out of the Capital, I argued.

"How much time long you take at hotel?"

.....I don't want to go with this cabbie; he is probably an Indian thug. I should rather use the good services of a thing called Lie.....

It will take me half an hour at the hotel, I need to pack things, I replied.

"Alright, then now I first drop you two first."

It was too cold. As I changed the direction of the air conditioning vent to his side, he began, "If you ate meat, no cold."

I am a meat eater, I said.

"Then you eat lots lots of nuts, very very good. Feel no cold then. Where you from?"
India.

"Oh, India is a beautiful country, I lived in Calcutta and other places," the American at the back seat, told my friend.

The old cabbie went on, "But very very strange. Indians eat no meat eating. Where in India from?"

Kashmir.

"Oh, very very old fight between India and Pakistan. Pakistan want Kashmir but you people say no, you people very problems."

I immediately looked at the fuel sheet lying near the gear box, displaying his name, Mr. Zaidi.

....Oh not an Indian perhaps!....

Are you from Pakistan?

"Yes."

What is your personal interest in Kashmir?

"Because all Kashmiri wants Pakistan, because Indians kills Kashmiri. Murder many, torture many, rape many, very very bad for our brothers in Kashmir."

I sniggered and so did 'Internalization of Pain'. We are Kashmiris too, we don't want Pakistan, I chuckled.

"No, I talk the other Kashmiris, the real, the many many Kashmiris, our Muslim brothers," Mr. Zyaada Azadi retorted.

"You have a misperception. Kashmiris don't want Pakistan and you must pay a visit to Kashmir to know who is killing whom," my friend spoke.

The American gentleman sniffed at the sensitivity of the issue, “I don't want you Indians and Pakistanis fight again. Kashmiris want independence."

The meter rolled the receipt out amid the debate and Mr. American Politeness immediately offered to pay on our behalf as well. We refused the courtesy.

"Sir, you let these miser Indians pay. Penny-pinchers Indians, very very tight on the money," Mr. Too much under the cap, under the Topi, Topizaidi- Capizaidi pleaded.

'Internalization of Pain' handed over the dollars to Zaidi. There was no discount. She paid the penalty instead, twice the due bill. The previous passengers had paid the full amount too!

"I keep all money. No? You fine, I keep your all money. Yes you fine," he looked at me.
Please, do.

I stepped out even before my friend was finished with the business of reconciling to zip up her fleeced wallet and concluding her discussion with the American. I waited there under the open sky, under the relieving shower of rain.

Something needed to be washed away. Since morning, the heat of the sun, the creepiness of the deserted streets and the noise of cocktail conversations and silences had gotten under my skin. By Indian standards, it was not very hot. Nevertheless, at 9 in the morning, I just didn't like the gnawing brightness of the sun on the deserted streets of Farragut Square. Perhaps I was bothered by the ghosts of Iraq war having a gala time in broad sunlight at the backyard of the White House. Or was it their absence that peeved me, knowing that here were the Americans – all of them in the arms of Morpheus till late mornings of slack Sundays with sweet hangovers from last night and of a comfortable living in the US?

….hah…as if I don’t love sleeping till late mornings of the weekends…as if I give up my sleep for the misery of the world…none of us do really…Perhaps I am no different than the rest of these Americans….it is just that I am awake today while the rest are still in their beds! “Alright! But I am awake today and surely I am not one among the perpetrators of the suffering in Iraq. ” 

It was perhaps the sheer irritation that the ghosts of Iraq war were letting Americans rest in peace while the people in Iraq had lost track of time and bodies! Bush has been in a perpetual sleep, the deserted streets around the Constitutional Avenue echoed loudly.

I smiled, just as I realized that the walk from the subway to my destination was over. I was at the door steps of 'Internalization of Pain'. I had often wondered how she had immersed herself into a selfless mission of helping Kashmiri Muslim victims of violence while dysphoria had been for long, striving to consume her personally. "I am a Hindu by birth but I am a Buddhist, a Sufi and a Sikh by my disposition. I know nothing other than love," her eyes would glitter; her smile shine and her voice sweeten – that has been the answer to my awe!

With the same unspoken response, she gave a tireless audience to Mr. Know-All- Contractor. "Oh, I am on a contract – but not to kill! " he introduced himself at the breakfast table immediately puffing his chest out, "I am proud of my military background though." Forget the official designations, one could simply say that he was a contractor to disseminate knowledge.

Knowledge it indeed was- just that it was a garrulous encyclopedia with half the pages painted in Red- the Indian equivalent of Saffron.“Oh lots of Chinese who come to the US from their Godless country find Christianity very appealing and illuminating. They like the way we offer prayers, light candles in the Church and above all they find it non-clumsy as against some religious practices in their native land.”

‘Internalization of Pain’ and I exchanged glances and unasked questions... Ah, this is what 'Internalization of Pain' was referring to the day before. She was right to say that Mr. Know All Contractor knows too much. More than we need to know, more than we need to respond to, more than we need to react to. Just like the cabbie Mr. Capizaidi. But Shall I tell him I am Godless too? How would he react? ...Quite titillating but the only danger here is that his ‘Mrs. Bates’ shall hold me for the rest of the day! I forced the fork into the sausage and watched it closely while he kept drifting from Churches to Mosques, from Mosques to American Presidents and from Presidents to the towns named after Kings of England.
"You see, once a Muslim American lauded the American constitution, it’s every single word, every single amendment saying that it was the best document in the world, except that Americans need to make one major amendment – Instead of Bill of Rights it should be Allah’s Bill! The Preamble, he said should look like this: We the People of Allah, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Allah to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish Allah’s Constitution for the United States of America and the rest of the world.” These Muslims, he went on, you see, need reform and America is working hard to reform them.

“But who are you to make any reform. Any reform must take place internally,” my self-control failed me. Yes, yes, very right, he fumbled and suddenly entered into another realm of his cross word thinking as Mrs. Bates would. “American presidents should at least have some Defense background, like that of McCain, the soldier boasted. But you see, I am neither a Democrat nor a Republic," Mr Know All Contractor of the Republicans kept denying even as his Bullish Bullshit Bushist Republicanism kept overflowing in his long narrations of Southern history, the American faith "In God we Trust" and the American culture.

I thought of the contractor, but I could not locate him among the New Yorkers sitting at the Bryant Park. He may have been playing chess, or reading books, or boozing, or working on his computer, or just sitting there watching the passersby and the green grass carefully, just as the rest were. Instead a salesman stood out!

Mr. 'Le Rêve Français' had warned me of the Langotiwala Bodhiwala as he was approaching us. 'Langoti-bodhiwala' -the chef turned ascetic, in a loin cloth, with his small pigtail hanging at the back of his tonsured head. Blasphemy, blasphemy – not the pigtail – 'cow-tail' perhaps would be a better word as my dictionary fails me to find the exact word for 'bodhi'. Cow-tail might be too long for his small plait but I am sure he won't mind it as long as it is not associated with the pigs.

The ISKON salesman, the Super-Consciousness Himself, the Divinity Himself, the Messenger of the God Himself, had walked up to us, greeted us in His Holy style, 'Hare Krishna' and began disseminating the Supreme Knowledge. Just like Mr.Contractor-But-Not-To-Kill! The lion-clothed, cow tailed, squint-eyed salesman was contracted by Hare Krishna himself, not George Bush, to sell His books, His unadulterated vegetarian recipe books, His health books to Americans. "What is America, haan… what is Iraq, haan…this all you see, haan…was India haan…once upon a time! We all, haan…are His creation haan!"

I can laugh loud here...there are no sausages and no forks... but precisely because this one is on an open mission....no, perhaps because he is not a foreigner....perhaps because I feel a right to laugh at him on his face.

"Geography can't get better than this," I giggled looking into his one eye that appeared to be at the righter angle than the other one. He laughed too and then pulled a chair to sit right across. Mr. 'Le Rêve Français' engaged himself in leafing through his sales material, quietly. I engaged the ascetic in his personal story . He claimed he had worked as a chef in three and four star hotels in India. He used to smoke and cook non-vegetarian food before he joined ISKON. His family had abandoned non-vegetarian food after he became the Divine Preacher.

"It is not good for health...haan, meat eating is bad, very very bad…. haan, when there is so much to eat from the nature around, why kill animals, haan…and of course, it is a sin to kill cow, haan..Cow is the mother, haan…cow feeds all of us...haan… in all we have seven mothers haan….and we respect the beings that suckle us..haan," he declared. He went on and on about the breast feeding and suckling, his squinted eyes squinting even more, perhaps at the thoughts of the same.... Poor celibate vegetarian priest! He has missed everything Mr. Cap-tap-i-Zaidi has enjoyed, for the sake of disseminating divine knowledge. But he has missed everything that Mr. Contractor has enjoyed even though both have the same mission!