Memories of a traveller

The following was written for a young age India audience so please excuse the explanation for basics in US.

Memories of a traveller

It was August 1970. There were no mobiles, no ISD, no internet and most importantly no Google. So when I landed at New York’s John F Kennedy International Airport, I knew nothing about USA except what I had seen in Hollywood movies.

As a 20-year-old first time outside India, my heart wasn’t going dhak dhak but ka-boom ka-boom! I was sweating, nervous and jittery. I looked up at every face in the visitors’ gallery to see if our distant relatives had come to receive me. I got more nervous when I couldn’t spot them. Fortunately, the signage was clear and I landed up at the customs desk. My baggage had all kinds of Indian food items and my specially stitched clothes. More about the clothes later. The customs officer asked me in his strange accent for my x-ray. Yes, we had to carry a chest x-ray with us, and it was inspected in customs. He held it towards light and nodded. And I thought to myself, does every customs officer have to be a Pulmonologist in USA? The officer saw me sweating in the air-conditioned hall and immediately suspected I had something to hide. He made me open all my bags, and started rifling through them. His face lit up when he came upon a brown paper bag (Remember we had no plastic bags then) with some grainy powder inside. He carefully opened the bag and was shocked to see black powder in it. He was sure he had caught a drug smuggler (Or at least his mule or carrier). Those were the days of peak use of marijuana, LSD etc. and India was known for its laissez-faire attitude to drugs. All this while I was only thinking where do I go once I get out of the airport, if no one has come to receive me. It was only when the officer asked me in a loud voice what the powder was that I realised something was wrong. I took one look and told him “Its tea powder”. The officer had probably never seen tea powder outside a tea bag and maybe not even seen a tea bag (Tea was a ladies’ drink in USA. “Real men drink black coffee”) doubted me and went off looking for someone to consult. He probably went looking for the office secretary, who would be the only woman in Customs Dept in those days. In the meanwhile, I was still looking for Mr Karkhanis in the gallery and finally spotted one Indian frantically waving at me. He had not met me earlier and later he told me that he recognised me because I looked like my cousin whom he knew!

Anyway, the officer came back after some time and told me I was cleared to go. I heaved a sigh of relief, packed my bags in a hurry and went out to meet Karkhanis. But let me rewind to a day earlier. I left Bombay by Czechoslovak State Airlines (CSA Airlines) in a Russian Illyusin Il-62. Why CSA you

ask? Because they had the cheapest Bombay- New York ticket. During the flight, a lot of us asked for water to drink. This totally shocked the stewardesses. They didn’t know that water could be used for drinking. In Europe they only drank beer or wine. They had to get some water from the sink for us to drink.

Now this aircraft had limited flying range. So we took off from Bombay and landed in some middle eastern airport for refuelling. Maybe it was Istambul. There we were asked to disembark and go to the terminal building because they could not refuel while passengers were inside. It was considered too dangerous.

After taking another halt and change of planes in Prague, we were on our way to USA!

In US, the Karkhanis family was very hospitable and the father asked his sons to show me New York. I did some rubbernecking in Manhattan and saw an impressive show in Radio City Music Hall. What is rubbernecking you ask? Well that’s what locals call tourists because the tourists stand on the footpath (Sidewalk to Americans) and keep looking up at the tall skyscrapers blocking the commuters who are in a hurry. Until today, I don’t know if the Karkhanis family was extra hospitable to me because they had a marriageable age daughter or because it was their way of treating any relative visiting New York.

My next leg of journey was New York to Columbia, Missouri where my grad school was (my Post Graduate college in Indian English). The New York – St Louis flight was uneventful but the St Louis – Columbia flight was on a 12-seater propeller aircraft. Navigation was simple. The pilot just followed the highway.

Now came another tension filled time. After landing at Columbia airport, which was smaller than any of our village S.T. stands, I didn’t know where to go. So I looked around, saw a car with a Taxi sign on top, hopped in and told the driver to take me to some hotel in Columbia. He dropped me at a decent place and zoomed off. That was another moment of reckoning for me. Apart from the bank draft for my first semester’s expenses, I had exactly a total of $80 in cash on me. After paying the cab driver, I had $70 left with me. I had no idea how much a hotel would cost and how many days I will have to stay there.

After taking the help of a reluctant desk clerk in getting my room door open, as I didn’t know how to open the door, I looked for a phone directory. In it, I looked for a Kulkarni, Deshmukh or Deshpande and to my surprise, I found a Deshpande! Even bigger surprise was his reaction when I told him I had just arrived and was staying in xyz hotel. He said o man are you crazy? That hotel is expensive! Pack your bags we are coming to pick you up. In half an hour my doorbell rang, and in walked a stout Deshpande and his wife. He arranged temporary accommodation for me with some bachelor friends and on that welcome note I ended my journey to USA and started my journey in USA!

By the way about the clothes. My Dad had spent a lot of hard earned money in stitching me 3-4 suits, Nehru jacket etc. which I never got to use as I saw everyone on the streets wearing shorts in August!