I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THE EMAIL. IT ARRIVED WITH THE ITINERARY. EMIRATES AIRLINES. THE COLOR CODED LINES WITH FLIGHT NUMBERS, ARRIVAL AND DEPARTURE TIMES AND MY NAME JOSEPH TANJI GAVE ME A RUSH. BUT WAS IT CONFIRMED? YES. SEE THERE ON THE RIGHT. IT SAYS IT. “CONFIRMED.” I SHAKE MY HEAD IN DISBELIEF. IT DOESN’T EVEN SEEM REAL - REALLY, I’LL BELIEVE IT WHEN I’M ON THE PLANE IN TWO DAYS. WHAT WILL I EVEN DO IN TWO DAYS? PACK? BUY STUFF I NEED TO BRING WITH ME? ALL I REALLY NEED IS ONE OF THOSE TRAVEL WALLETS TO STASH MY PASSPORT AND MONEY IN. I’M NOT GONNA GET SHOTS. FUCK THAT- THOSE HURT MORE THAN PROTECT.
So it was happening . No more stops and starts. In wo days from today, i’d be up in the clouds. I started punching the aire in elation before falling back onto my bed and staring at the celing. It had been a long time since I had gone anywhere exciting. I was ready. “I’m gonna travel light,” I thought. More luggage more problems. Every one would call me crazy. “all you’re bringing is one backpack? I could’t live without my stuff!” The way I saw it, clothes were affordable in India- so was anything else you may need : toothpaste,shampoo. Hell, I don’t even need shampoo. I’d probably just shave my head. It was happening! But first there was someone very important I needed to call.
“Mom, I’m going. To India.”
“Congratulations, that’s great. I knew you were waiting on the that Visa.” She gave her motherly advi ce about being careful. My mind jumped ahead to a few things I needd to do. Like get a wallet/ passport holder at some sporting goods store where of course the salesman would upsell me on a portable water filter which eventually would become more of a paper weight as I couldn’t contemplate carrying it around with me to restaurants and the like. More tasks to complete: tennis and packing.
On the day of the flight my brother dropped me at third and heatherton from where I could get a golden gate transit to SF than take Bart to SFO. With just a backpack who knew I was even enroute to India?
My flight was at 445 and it was before noon. I had hours to kill. I promptly got into the Emirate line. I soon noticed a chaplinesque man of middle east descent, setting down a rugged suitcase in front of two men with turbans. Next thing I know he was gone. Than I see him standing with some other dude out side talking on his cell phone.
“what the hell is he doing”
He comes back and puts his suitcase over the line. It’s than right in back of me. Is it gonna blow up? Than he comes and stands by his bag right in back of me as if he had been there the whole time. The mild mannered crowd presented nobody inclined to do anything about this situation. Some looked slightly perturbed but not enought to actually do anything about it. I reckon to myself that security had relaxed latley. a few years ago if he’d left that bag unattended he’d have been arrsted. Now the TSa was too busy confiscating bottled water, toothpaste, and old laidies bras. I contemplated making a scene but opted instead to push headphones in my ear to hear Joe Strummer’s jolly vitriol vi combat rocks’atom tan in my ear. “The state office looked, it looked like hollywood- without make up bleeding- all over the cracks......”
The line went fast. Much faster than I’d expected actually. The music stopped. Because I had to put my phone through security screening. along w my belt, wallet, etc. and walk through biometrcis, waving arms in the air, getting the ok etc. Pretty soon it was 1 pm. I still had 3 and a half hours to kill and I was checked in already. I walked down the moving sidewalk trying to get past the crowds of people with their excess luggage. I thought about henry rollins spoken word speeche where he talks about people getting in the way on those things. It dawned on me that even though I had packed lightId be dodging around a lof of people who had not. If only others would follow my lead!
Soon I got near my gate and checked in my pocket for the bording passes. Before stuffing them into my wallet i gave them a quick glance to make sure I was going in the right direction. I’d be leaving at 445 pm and arriving 720 the next night in Dubai- than onto a 2 and a half hour layover before flying to Rajiv Ghandi airport arriving the followong morning around 3 am. I wondered what i’d be doing at 3 am. I’d received an email that a mr. Soupreet would be picking me up at 6 am. I doubted that it would take mre than an hour to recieve the guitar I’d checked.
at that point it didn’t really matter. I was getting out of the rat race. Or was I exchanging one for the other? Hard to say t this point. all i knew was now I was at the right gate, 3 hours early, and bloody tired. I closed my eyes and drifteed off to sleep. My thoughts turned to a previous trip to india it was years earlier when i was 19 years old. I rememberarriving in such a different kind of land which such a shock to the system that it served as an infrmal altered state and delivered me from a world of worries which had dogged my teenage brain. at the same time i was so young. Even though I was in a world of hope I was also had a hunger. My taste of chai for the first time in the cavern hafl way between chennai and pondicherri was just hot enought to where it didn’t burn my toungue yet i still had to sip slowly. The inneepers nodded with otherworldy politeness as an in american in my caravan explained that odd as it was, it would be common to have hot drinks in the hundred degree weather, somehow evening out the body temperature. I loved the taste of the chai and didn’t care that it was creating beads of sweat that were so dense that they poured off of me like rain drops onto the earthen ground.
“Section G, section G, please get ready to board.” I opened my eyes and pulled my ticket out. I was section F - I quickly bolted up and threw on my backpack. There was a throng of people in what was supposed to be a line. The elite 1st classes had already boarded leaving the anxious stragglers coljoing to get in. I figured the plane would be leaving at the same time and didn’t try too hard to get head. Children were throwing tantrums along with their baby siblings who were crying. I knew it was going to be a long journey but I didn’t nind.
I MERRILY CLIMBED ABOARD THE 777. THE PILOT GREETED ME AND A PRETTY SLOVENIAN STEWARDESS WEARING A RED CAP (ALL THE STEWARDESS WORE THESE) POINTED ME TOWRDS THE ISLE I WAS TO WALK DOWN. I MADE MY WAY THROUGH FIRST CLASS WHERE THE HAPY ELITE STRETCHED OUT THEIR LEGS, LAZILY LOUNGING ABOUT WITH LAPTOPS. ONE ALREADY WAS FALLING ASLEEP WITH HIS EYEPILLOW CLUMSILY ATTACHED TO HIS FACE, LOUDLY SNORING AND BLISSFULLY OBLIVOUS OF THE OTHER PASSENGERS.
When i came to my isle who wa sitting on the seat next to mine but the chaplinesque line hopper. While his attributes were definitely attributatble to the aforementioned silent era film star, he also shared a likelihood to john turturro with a tan. He flipped his newspaper anxiously and pretended not to notice me from the check in line.
“hello sir, I believe I’m stting here. “
Without looking at me he got up and stepped in back of me, waited for me to sit, than went back to his newspapers. I wanted to ask him why he was in such a rush earlier where we had plenty of time for his flight but I was too distraced by the blonde stewardess in a british accent who brushed by me, her cute butt colliding with my elbow. I was happy to see a small sack with a zipper full of goodies waiting for me on my seat, along with a wimply pillow and some kind of scarf blanket given to keep us warm from the artificial frigidity that would soon be blowing down us via plastic sea anenome looking a/c portals.
How lovely to peek inside and snatch the contents within the little bag! a cool little toothbrush, with toothpaste in a tubular container, eyepillow, and a few other chachkes.
as a kid was moaning loudly to his mother I wondered why they didn’t include earplugs in the kit as well. Or perhaps earmuffs the likeness of what you use to shield your ears at a shooting range!
Well at least I had my clash mp3 uploaded. I could pump up the volume to hear joe strummer screaming at me louder than anybody. I know i was supposed to be listening to the airline safey presentation but instead my ears were basking in the sweet sensation of “white man at hammersmith palais.” The blonde stewardess wearily snapped her fake seat belts in the aire all the while probably dreaming of her last orgasm or martini in london, whichever was strongerst on her mind. I had a quick fantastical thought that maybe she could accompany me to a bar at dubai airport and keep me company between flights? Could not hurt to ask. Of course I knew she was probably hit on by at least half a dozen guys per flight so my brain began to scan for a fresh appeal. Soon we were off into the sky and the once loud baby was snoring peacefully, no, blissfully in mommy's arms. as blondie came by slinging a pack of nuts I asked her wheterher she was in SF often.
So it was happening . No more stops and starts. In wo days from today, i’d be up in the clouds. I started punching the aire in elation before falling back onto my bed and staring at the celing. It had been a long time since I had gone anywhere exciting. I was ready. “I’m gonna travel light,” I thought. More luggage more problems. Every one would call me crazy. “all you’re bringing is one backpack? I could’t live without my stuff!” The way I saw it, clothes were affordable in India- so was anything else you may need : toothpaste,shampoo. Hell, I don’t even need shampoo. I’d probably just shave my head. It was happening! But first there was someone very important I needed to call.
“Mom, I’m going. To India.”
“Congratulations, that’s great. I knew you were waiting on the that Visa.” She gave her motherly advi ce about being careful. My mind jumped ahead to a few things I needd to do. Like get a wallet/ passport holder at some sporting goods store where of course the salesman would upsell me on a portable water filter which eventually would become more of a paper weight as I couldn’t contemplate carrying it around with me to restaurants and the like. More tasks to complete: tennis and packing.
On the day of the flight my brother dropped me at third and heatherton from where I could get a golden gate transit to SF than take Bart to SFO. With just a backpack who knew I was even enroute to India?
My flight was at 445 and it was before noon. I had hours to kill. I promptly got into the Emirate line. I soon noticed a chaplinesque man of middle east descent, setting down a rugged suitcase in front of two men with turbans. Next thing I know he was gone. Than I see him standing with some other dude out side talking on his cell phone.
“what the hell is he doing”
He comes back and puts his suitcase over the line. It’s than right in back of me. Is it gonna blow up? Than he comes and stands by his bag right in back of me as if he had been there the whole time. The mild mannered crowd presented nobody inclined to do anything about this situation. Some looked slightly perturbed but not enought to actually do anything about it. I reckon to myself that security had relaxed latley. a few years ago if he’d left that bag unattended he’d have been arrsted. Now the TSa was too busy confiscating bottled water, toothpaste, and old laidies bras. I contemplated making a scene but opted instead to push headphones in my ear to hear Joe Strummer’s jolly vitriol vi combat rocks’atom tan in my ear. “The state office looked, it looked like hollywood- without make up bleeding- all over the cracks......”
The line went fast. Much faster than I’d expected actually. The music stopped. Because I had to put my phone through security screening. along w my belt, wallet, etc. and walk through biometrcis, waving arms in the air, getting the ok etc. Pretty soon it was 1 pm. I still had 3 and a half hours to kill and I was checked in already. I walked down the moving sidewalk trying to get past the crowds of people with their excess luggage. I thought about henry rollins spoken word speeche where he talks about people getting in the way on those things. It dawned on me that even though I had packed lightId be dodging around a lof of people who had not. If only others would follow my lead!
Soon I got near my gate and checked in my pocket for the bording passes. Before stuffing them into my wallet i gave them a quick glance to make sure I was going in the right direction. I’d be leaving at 445 pm and arriving 720 the next night in Dubai- than onto a 2 and a half hour layover before flying to Rajiv Ghandi airport arriving the followong morning around 3 am. I wondered what i’d be doing at 3 am. I’d received an email that a mr. Soupreet would be picking me up at 6 am. I doubted that it would take mre than an hour to recieve the guitar I’d checked.
at that point it didn’t really matter. I was getting out of the rat race. Or was I exchanging one for the other? Hard to say t this point. all i knew was now I was at the right gate, 3 hours early, and bloody tired. I closed my eyes and drifteed off to sleep. My thoughts turned to a previous trip to india it was years earlier when i was 19 years old. I rememberarriving in such a different kind of land which such a shock to the system that it served as an infrmal altered state and delivered me from a world of worries which had dogged my teenage brain. at the same time i was so young. Even though I was in a world of hope I was also had a hunger. My taste of chai for the first time in the cavern hafl way between chennai and pondicherri was just hot enought to where it didn’t burn my toungue yet i still had to sip slowly. The inneepers nodded with otherworldy politeness as an in american in my caravan explained that odd as it was, it would be common to have hot drinks in the hundred degree weather, somehow evening out the body temperature. I loved the taste of the chai and didn’t care that it was creating beads of sweat that were so dense that they poured off of me like rain drops onto the earthen ground.
“Section G, section G, please get ready to board.” I opened my eyes and pulled my ticket out. I was section F - I quickly bolted up and threw on my backpack. There was a throng of people in what was supposed to be a line. The elite 1st classes had already boarded leaving the anxious stragglers coljoing to get in. I figured the plane would be leaving at the same time and didn’t try too hard to get head. Children were throwing tantrums along with their baby siblings who were crying. I knew it was going to be a long journey but I didn’t nind.
I MERRILY CLIMBED ABOARD THE 777. THE PILOT GREETED ME AND A PRETTY SLOVENIAN STEWARDESS WEARING A RED CAP (ALL THE STEWARDESS WORE THESE) POINTED ME TOWRDS THE ISLE I WAS TO WALK DOWN. I MADE MY WAY THROUGH FIRST CLASS WHERE THE HAPY ELITE STRETCHED OUT THEIR LEGS, LAZILY LOUNGING ABOUT WITH LAPTOPS. ONE ALREADY WAS FALLING ASLEEP WITH HIS EYEPILLOW CLUMSILY ATTACHED TO HIS FACE, LOUDLY SNORING AND BLISSFULLY OBLIVOUS OF THE OTHER PASSENGERS.
When i came to my isle who wa sitting on the seat next to mine but the chaplinesque line hopper. While his attributes were definitely attributatble to the aforementioned silent era film star, he also shared a likelihood to john turturro with a tan. He flipped his newspaper anxiously and pretended not to notice me from the check in line.
“hello sir, I believe I’m stting here. “
Without looking at me he got up and stepped in back of me, waited for me to sit, than went back to his newspapers. I wanted to ask him why he was in such a rush earlier where we had plenty of time for his flight but I was too distraced by the blonde stewardess in a british accent who brushed by me, her cute butt colliding with my elbow. I was happy to see a small sack with a zipper full of goodies waiting for me on my seat, along with a wimply pillow and some kind of scarf blanket given to keep us warm from the artificial frigidity that would soon be blowing down us via plastic sea anenome looking a/c portals.
How lovely to peek inside and snatch the contents within the little bag! a cool little toothbrush, with toothpaste in a tubular container, eyepillow, and a few other chachkes.
as a kid was moaning loudly to his mother I wondered why they didn’t include earplugs in the kit as well. Or perhaps earmuffs the likeness of what you use to shield your ears at a shooting range!
Well at least I had my clash mp3 uploaded. I could pump up the volume to hear joe strummer screaming at me louder than anybody. I know i was supposed to be listening to the airline safey presentation but instead my ears were basking in the sweet sensation of “white man at hammersmith palais.” The blonde stewardess wearily snapped her fake seat belts in the aire all the while probably dreaming of her last orgasm or martini in london, whichever was strongerst on her mind. I had a quick fantastical thought that maybe she could accompany me to a bar at dubai airport and keep me company between flights? Could not hurt to ask. Of course I knew she was probably hit on by at least half a dozen guys per flight so my brain began to scan for a fresh appeal. Soon we were off into the sky and the once loud baby was snoring peacefully, no, blissfully in mommy's arms. as blondie came by slinging a pack of nuts I asked her wheterher she was in SF often.
"all the time, but usually all I have time for s to sleep."
She flashed an 18 carrat diamond ring into my face quickly and uninvasively as possible keeping her
Than she resumed slogging her peanuts up and down the aisle.
Charlie Turturro Chaplin turned to me.
“Good try,” he said, eyes beaming. Than he leaned into me conspiratorially.
“Just because there is a goalie, no mean you can’t score.”
“Thanks man, I don’t go for married women. I’m Joe, by the way.”
“Zydstra.” He said, firmly shaking my hand. “But you just call me Syd.” I let a moment slip by, than I felt courage grab me by the balls.
“So why, when we were in line,”I said,”were you in such a rush?”
“I wasn’t in A rush, as you say.”
“But you jumped the line, putting your bags down, hopping around, cutting cures, etc.” He flashed a smile.
“It was a bet.”
“Yeah?” I was confused/ intrigued.
“I bet my brother. He’s to afraid to fly. He says because we’re foreigners, we could get detained anytime. But I fly all the time. We run import/ export business. I had to prove my point! He said ‘ever if you put down your bag they will think it’s a bomb..’ So what did I do? I put down the bags and watched with my fearful but lovely brother for five minutes. So I won the bet and he gave me a thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars? And that wasn’t good enough? You still had to jump the cue?” I replied.
“Well that - I was just showing off at that point. You no have older brother? He’s my older brother so I like to impress him. I said, ‘watch this, my brother, I’m going to cut the line!’ and he said, ‘no you are not!’ ‘yes I am, too,’ I said, ‘And, if I get away with it , you’re going to Dubai for our next meeting of business, and I’m staying right in burlingame with my wife.’ So guess who will be on this flight next month!”
“So I take it you don’t like to fly?”
“Are you kidding? Trapped in like sardines here like this? Every month moving across hemispheres?”
“But don’t you think it’s fun to travel?”
“Why do I need to travel? I have everything I need in my United States. I have my Costco club card, my Mcdonalds, my movie theater and bowling alley. I have no need of travel anymore.” Than he looked over at the pretty brit on the peanut slog. “I did like it when I was younger for purposes of......” He pointed over towards blondie and than back over to the hot Slovenian who was on the other end of the aisle. “But now I am married! And as your brilliant hollywood star Mr. Paul Newman said about his wife, ‘why go out for the burgers when I have the steak here at home?’ I love my wife! I don’t look forward to being away from home.”
“Why don’t you bring her with?”
“She takes care of the kids! Plus she no like to travel either!”
It all seemed so crazy to me. I was always wanted to get the fuck out of here, so somewhere new. All this guy wanted to do was stay within his 5 mile radius! Different strokes for different folks, I guess.
“The thing about getting older,” He said, “is you begin to love routine. Everything in it’s place. In fact, always at this time, on this particular flight,” he peered at his watch, “I take a nap. I nap 2 hours, Than I watch 1 movie. Than I eat. Than we can talk for 20 minutes if you are up. Than I watch another movie.”
“You’re pretty organized. I’m getting pretty tired- I think I’m gonna nap some myself.” But he beat me to the punch. I couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not,but by the time I looked back over at him, he had an eye pillow strapped to his face and was already snoring. I had never in my life seen anyone go to sleep that fast. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but thoughts ran back to my meeting with Ravi.
I thought about my friend, the unapologetic Maharjah, his majesty, the Mikado, mogul monarch, and my new overlord the sovereign sultan of swing Ramesh Ravi Rarankar. The guy who starred in cricket games through college yet was still able to make time for straight A’s and Karaoke. We had become fast friends in our teens in the early 90’s - our earnest yet smart ass senses of humor, our equal interests in philosophy, political science and international affairs drew us together like curry on rice.
I had come over as a volunteer for a three week campaign to plant trees and tidy up villages in Tamil Nadu as an act of goodwill partially and partially as an act of “I wanted to get the heck out of where I was,” a similar sentiment to the way I had feeling about things right now! He had since than earned a master’s degree and was the CEO of an Application Development Company based out of Hyderabad. I was still chasing girls and banging on my guitar. From what I’d gathered, he’d been keeping up on my song releases and blog entries. He felt I may have something to offer his company in the form of marketing, advertising, maybe even writing jingles. At least that was what I had gathered from our initial phone conversation.
“Tomorrow I’ll be passing through Los Angeles on my way to Las Vegas, I’ll have a couple hours if you’d like, we could meet for a drink or two at the Sheraton.”
“Of course,” I said, “I’ll be there.” I was excited. Not only was Ravi successful but he was my friend from way back. I had known him for two decades and felt eager to catch up. It had been a while since I’ve seen him, or even talked to him for that matter. I was looking forward to catching up with him. I got off the bus, and walked a few blocks down Sepulveda Blvd. We were so close to the airport that the planes were flying low enough to the ground to where you were praying they’d be ok. And there he was- like a regal sultan in a button down shirt with a briefcase. He motioned me to a table by the bar and sat me down.
“You want a beer?”
“Guinness,” I said.
“So predictable you frickin Irish Leprecaun.” Than to the bartender, “Guinness and Sierra.” He sat down at the chair across from me. “I’d love to tell you that this meeting is being composed because of my need to soak in your American charm and healthy wit. While that’s only partially true, if I didn’t actually like you as a person, I wouldn’t inquire about hiring you and having you on on our team, Joe.”
“Hiring me?”
“Well, based on a contingency.....”
“What does that mean?”
“”The company I work for, or shall I say, run.....is not getting any smaller. There is great demand for men of your persuasion who have a certain command over the western vernacular. We have a lot of of web applications that we are and will be developing with business partners here in the states. And not just here, Clients all over the western hemisphere, Europe, etc.”
The bartender put down our beers. We each took sips of ours and than he continued.
“ A lot of our employees are brilliant engineers, project managers, developers, quality assurance specialists. Graphic designers, marketers with business degrees.”
“Than why do you want to hire me? I’m not smart like you!”
“Au contrare, my friend. I’m not that smart Joe! I just know how to talk!! Why do I think I’ve called my company yappsalot?” He than pointed towards his mouth. “This yapper or mouth as you’d have it is what got me through college, NOT my brains.” Than he pointed up at his head. I suddenly noticed this wasn’t his first beer today. “Joe! Just because you didn’t go to an Ivy League College doesn’t mean you’re not just as smart and maybe more even, and oh yeah, did I ever tell you I beLIEVE in you?”
I was a little bit awestruck. Maybe I’d been hungry for compliments lately. My last decade had been spent as a struggling musician in los angeles of all places. Grovelling for beer at bars playng for tips on the pier with side jobs or no jobs, not having enough money for a car or a decent place to stay. Not even having a significant other to cuddle up to and yet Ravi Rarankar believes in me! What did I do to deserve that?
“Remember we were in Pondi in the 90s?” He said. “Nobody wanted to do the ACTUAL labor. Oh, they wanted to come in for the PHOTO OPP!” He nearly spit out his beer and began to laugh raucously.” “They wanted to come to mother India for a vacation, more like it, and lean on a shovel while the cameras were snapping snaps.” Snaps! I hadn’t heard that word in a while - it was slang for pictures. “But while they were leaning on shovels do you remember what you were doing? With your shovel? That’s right! You, my friend, were digging holes! The only one actually digging holes with your shovel! Digging holes!”
“To plant trees in!” I interrupted purposefully.
“That’s right! You were! Planting trees for mother india. Back than, they were merely seedlings. I watched you do the work. Yes even me, the natural born hypocrite who thought Americans were the most god awful spoiled-”
“Well we are, sometimes”
“The land of the bloated- But I watched YOU get your hands dirty. I watched YOU carry buckets of water. I watched you toil in MY country. And now I’m here in your country. In your state, in your city. This lovely land I call home for the parts of the year that are the most convenient for me. Yes, we have offices here in the city of angels.”
“Really, where?”
“Beverly Hills, Toluca Lake.”
“Cool! I can take the 704 bus down to Beverly hills if you want me to work there,” I said.
“Take the bus?” He replied incredulously, waving his hand. “And of course, ladies and gentleman, he rides the bus. Not only is he Superman but he’s helping to improve his carbon footprint.”
“Cars are expensive,” I said sheepishly. I wasn’t looking for a prize.
“He looked at me nonsensically. “Everyone in LA drives! Haven’t you heard the song “Nobody walks in LA? I don’t know a single person here who rides the bus. Except, now, you. Anyways, I , uh, I was going to offer you a job- but not here, not in L.A.”
“You want me to come to San Jose? I could try it out, I guess. My bass player is moving to Miami and my drummer has been to busy to play anyways.”
“Or-how would you like to come back and see how the trees are doing?”
“The trees?”
“You know- the ones you planted.... in India. They’re all grown now! Maybe it’s time to go back and pay your friends a visit!”
“India!” Now there was a thought. I’ve been wanting to travel for years. “I’d love to go back there. But I could never afford it. The downside of being a starving musician is not being able to travel as much as I’d like to.”
“Don’t be a dummy! You may be broke but we’re not. We’ll cover the costs! In other words, the company. You just get your passport and a tourist visa. It’s too much of a mess to get an employee visa- would take forever. Besides, you’ll be working as an intern at first. Trust me- just tell the BLS you’re going for pleasure! Otherwise they’ll give you a runaround. We’ll put you up and give you a stipend for food and entertainment. After that, it’s up to you. If anything, it’s a chance to get the hell out of dodge as they put it out here.” He looked around and wildly waved his arm. “I mean, what are you doing here that you can’t miss out on a few months? Give it a try at least!”
I thought about it. Yeah, there were a couple of gigs I had scheduled. Not very important ones. My rock band was in shambles. Things hadn’t really panned out the way I wanted them to. Maybe it WAS time for a new beginning.
“So how’s the wife?”
“She’s fine. I’ll show you some snaps.” I laughed silently. I always thought that was a funny word for pics.
“You still call em that, snaps. I always thought that was funny. Snaps,” I said again.
“That’s what they are. You snap the damn thing and out comes these.” He showed me some pics on his iphone of him and his wife. He looked happy, and she was pretty. I was glad for him. “Yeah, my parents finally got their daughter in law. Now they want grandkids! Luckily my sister is expecting- that’ll buy me a couple more years.” He looked up at me. “Who knows, maybe you’ll meet a girl if you come to India.”
“Oh, there’s no maybe about that, Ravi. If I come to India, I’m meeting not just one but tons of girls.”
“Ah, don’t be so cocky- for the most part they aren’t like that. They’re mainly quite conservative- you practically gotta marry them before you even kiss. Anyways, I’m sure you’ll meet your lucky girl. I feel like now it’s not if you’re coming to India, but when. I’d advise you to get your passport and visa ASAP.”
“OK.”
“I’m having another meeting here next week before I go to Chicago. How about we meet here next Thursday at five?”
“Sounds good.”
“OK my friend. I’m going to catch my plane. Come with me to the airport?”
“Sure.” He had an Uber car waiting for him. I saw him off to American Airlines and than I walked out of the airport past the Radisson on Sepulveda. I walked a few blocks north and caught the green #6 bus. The trip passed very slowly. I recognized a girl I had known in the past. Someone who had worked at a venue I used to play music at. I nodded at her but she didn’t remember me.
I felt lost in the vast city- an organism out of it’s element. About 40 minutes later the bus stopped at Santa Monica and Sepulveda at a business park across the street from a strip mall. I thought about how I had walked this whole city. Bussed it, biked it, driven through it. I remembered happily sauntering through the alley ways of Venice beach between Clubhouse and Thornton, dreaming I was talking to the ghost of Jim Morrison. Maybe I was. I remembered playing bass for a band at the whisky in Hollywood. Eating sandwiches backstage and dreaming it was the Hollywood Bowl. I remembered meeting lead singers and actresses on film sets, jamming and recording with famous guitar players. But I never got famous. Instead I got paid in beer at Canter’s Kibitz room. This city gave me a lot of memories. But my wallet was empty. Who was I fooling? Just because a few people tell you how talented you are, that didn’t make me a success. I couldn’t even afford to take a date out to dinner. What kind of man was I becoming? Maybe I could make something of myself in another land. Disappear and come back stronger like Robert Johnson after his great meeting at the crossroads. Only I wouldn’t be selling my soul. I’d be gettin’ it back.
The next day began like a lot of days had. I was a student of a small computer school in Glendale. I was learning various modules and programs at a trade school that I got to go to for free through Hollywood Worksource. I had to talk with Julio, my counselor.
“I may have to leave school early,” I said.
“No way,” he said, “you got a job?!”
“Possibly.”
“Funny,” he replied shaking his head slowly. “It’s always the poor students that get the jobs first. You all got more hustle than the smart ones!”
“Don’t insult me Julio!” I knew he was half joking.
“I’m not insulting you! It’s a fact! And a compliment. You don’t need to be confined to the rules. Use this place than move on. So where you gonna be working?”
“India.”
“Get out!”
“Seriously.”
“Doing what?”
“Working for some App startup.” I told him the actual name of it and he pulled up the website on his mac.
“Wow, pretty impressive. They have some big accounts!! Their main office is in Hyderabad. That’s where Satya’s from!”
“Who?”
“Ceo of microsoft.”
“Oh. Hey, I gotta leave early to get my passport.”
“You mean apply for it. It’ll take you a few weeks to get it, at least.”
“Yeah. I gotta figure out a few things like if I’m going to sublet my apartment of just move out.”
“What are they paying you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? you’re just gonna take a job and not know how much money you’re gonna make? Man, you really ARE a musician.”
“They’re buying my ticket and putting me up. Besides, I’m not that qualified.”
“They gotta give you SOME money!”
“I’m new to this field! I’m lucky to even get a job in this!”
“So what! Get money anyways. Or don’t go. Get it in writing.”
“I don’t know, I don’t want to push it. Most of the people there have like masters degrees, phd’s. I’m just fortunate to get to try something new.”
“Don’t be stupid! Look at me. Get some money. You’re obviously worth something or that dude wouldn’t have hired you.”
“I guess you’re right. You’re A pretty smart man, Julio.”
Julio had rights to talk about things in a way others didn’t. Other people didn’t survive nearly getting gunned down as a teenager in Nicaragua to come “make it” in America and be dumb.
“Oh- and, one more thing. When you get your feet planted firmly in the door, have them hire me too. I’m sick of this place. But I need to stay out here. I have children.”
“OK.”
The passport biz didn’t go as smooth as I wanted it to. Got some pics taken than the guy at the post office in k town said the background in the pic wasn’t white enough. and that the office would send it back.
“Might as well do it right the first time.” couldn’t argue with that. So I went to a studio down the street and had it done. Than I went back to the same guy. He eyeballed the pictures carefully than back at me. “That’ll do. Should arrive in a few weeks.”
I figured I’d continue going to school the next few weeks, and work my weekend job as a bicycle taxi in Santa Monica.
A darkly lit room in Chandigarh, Punjab, India. 1995
“Nothing happens haphazard,” said Dr. Singh as he sat stoutly yet humble in a chair. His turban was drenched from sweat due to the extreme heat. He was dressed all in white. “You came here to us for a reason. This, I’m sure of. As sure as the sun is above us right now.”
Heinrich Miller, his son in law, spoke in a German accent.
“You are lucky. You getting the highest initiation there is. Nowhere else in the world can you find it.”
“You may get this spiritual contact and forget about it. But it can never leave you,” said an older woman whose eyes flickered about like locusts. Mr Singh continued.
“I am going to say the golden words to you. They all mean the same thing. You are never to utter them out loud. Not to anyone. But keep them in here.” He pointed to my forehead. “Let them dwell in here forever more. Now shut your eyes. Gaze through your forehead. I will now tell you the 5 words. But spend time gazing into the light.”
I closed my eyes and I did see a light- but I couldn’t tell if it was because I was meaning to see it or if it was some kind of spiritual entity.
“In this dark room, in this dark world of chaos, you are surrounded by light. This is the light of god.”
Back on the Plane, 2014.
The baby was shrieking. What is it with the little ones? Did I shriek like that once? And why was I dreaming of the past again! Dreams were surely not meant to be autobiographies! But they were pleasant memories. I remember I got back from India the 19 year old know it all. Telling everybody their diversions were unhealthy.
“Why do you need to drink beer when god is inside you, you’re just trying to fill up what is empty inside.” How insufferable I was - I thought I was so touched by the divine - my friends and family were beginning to feel I was touched by madness. At that point I’d even had enough with playing music- because it may take me away from the ‘inner music.’ but what now? Well all I can say is I always went back to my music. It was the glue that held my life together. It just took me a long time to realize that I could develop both the inner and the outer music.
“I still can’t believe you don’t have a car.” Me and Ravi were back at the Ramada 6 days after our first meeting. He was seated at the same table as before. “See the thing is obviously, I believe in your talents. I have talked to the guys in India. They want to meet you. You got your passport?”
“I submitted the application last week- it’ll take a few more.”
“Soon as it comes get your visa. I recommend going straight to the BLS office in San Francisco and paying extra to get it same day so you don’t have to wait. The place is a trainwreck but interesting, in a DMV kind of way.”
“I can’t wait to go, but I can’t afford the ticket.”
“We got that taken care of. Just handle the passport and visa, and we’ll settle the plane ticket and a place for you.”
“Sounds great man,” I said excitedly.
“I’ve been working nonstop all week. Let’s go get something to eat.”
We ubered downtown to Sushigen. Our driver was quite talkative. She was an actress- musician who kept repeating that she refuses to pick anyone up in Beverly Hills.
“I won’t stand for it. I don’t need the bad reviews!” She had known an acquaintance of mine who had been in a band with me. ‘You were in the dirty shirts? Wow, you guys rocked! You really put on a great show!” Ravi looked impressed at least.
“You know his band?”
“Of course! I used to see them play every weekend!”
“Pretty cool man,” he said looking at me proudly. “You have fans!” It was a nice coincidence that our driver knew who I was. Of all the drivers in LA!
At Sushi Gen I gave up on the chopsticks and picked up my fork. I didn’t want my Salmon Teriyaki getting cold. “I’m usually a veg, but once and a while I have some fish.”
“You don’t eat meat? How do you get any protein?”
“I manage. I promised my guru I wouldn’t eat meat when I was 18- I break my promises sometimes.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I was 18.”
“You were 19 when you took the vows.”
“Good memory.”
“Shut up and try this.” He had a piece of beef in between 2 chopsticks, held right in front of my hungry face. It did look good to me- this was always how I fell off the veggie wagon. At the same time that I’d feel protein deficient, someone would offer a tasty morsel such as this and I’d indulge. That was why I could never call myself a 100% vegetarian. I snagged the meat and chomped it down.
“I love making Americans break their phony spiritual vows,” Ravi said tauntingly with a grin. “Now lets find you a chick.” I had a faux hawk and he pulled on the tale of it. “I’ll make a man of you yet, if it’s the last thing I do. Your GOD sure hasn’t yet. First thing in order of operations,” he began, “is you need to put down that damn guitar already!”
“Hey you of all people were impressed that our driver knew who I was!”
“Well, so what if you’re well known, you’ve got no dollars! That’s like having a ferrari with no keys to drive it!”
“I do OK.”
“Joe, can I be honest with you,” he asked. I nodded my head. “You’re the only adult in LA I know who does NOT have a car. That is NOT OK.”
“In my humble opinion, Ravi, if you measure people by these kind of yardsticks, nobody is doing OK.”
“What do ya mean?”
“The CEO of a bank has a screenplay he is dying for someone to read. The Attorney hates practicing law. The coder swears he could’ve been a concert pianist. Believe me, giving up your dreams is more painful than taking a bus.”
“But nobody walks in LA!.... Seriously though. I’m not just working for the Happapp- I’m the CEO! Of the whole damn company! Which means I could hire you for something. I mean, I was actually thinking about it. You may not be that educated, but you ARE smart. I think you never really had a REAL job.”
I felt offended. Trying not to blush or sound too angry, I retorted. “What’s a real job?”
“Well, something where you make enough money to live COMFORTABLY on.”
“What’s comfortably? You’re from India of all places- you should no that no matter how inconvenient my life here seems that are millions, if not billions of people who have a much harder life than I do.”
“Why do you love to suffer so? You guys always looking for enlightenment- the great light! The light is energy, don’t you get it? Money is ENERGY. Get that down on paper, son! Quit loving your struggle so fucking much!”
“Well, I guess it appears as if I’ve been so lazy that I’ve become trapped into a difficult life.”
“You’re not lazy. Just ...... undisciplined. You don’t know what it means to carry tasks out to completion!”
“I just released a new song last week...... on itunes!”
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. But I AM offering you an opportunity of a lifetime, to work at a growing company startup company which has unlimited growth potentials.”
“But what would my position be?”
“Are you good at sales?”
“If I believe in the product.”
“Bad answer.” He shook his head. “That won’t do. Marketing? No. If you were a good marketer- you’d be famous- because you ARE damn talented.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be famous, but thanks anyways for the compliment.” His compliments reminded my of my late grandmother. She had an inability to grant complete praise to anyone. I think she felt it would be bad luck and whoever was the receiver of such praise would get such a big head that they wouldn’t fit through the door of her apartment any more and therefore would be no longer able to come to dinner. I think the sum of my grandmother’s worries could have been voiced into a single quote:
“What if no one comes over for dinner?” I continued my train of thought.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just underqualified to come and work at your company.”
“Don’t be a dufus. Most of what you learn on a job you can’t learn in school anyways. Have a little belief in yourself!” Than he stopped for a minute. “For fucks sake! I just realized what you’d be good at. You’re a damn good yapper! Just like me! Can you draw up a flow chart?” I scanned my brain to think about if I could do that. I didn’t even know if I could or not, to tell you the truth. “You may make a damn good project developer.” He pulled out a pen and paper and set it in front of me. “Here- draw me a flow chart.”
“What? Of what?” I felt confused.
“How about a song?”
“OK.”
Than he started rocking in his seat excitedly. Although he didn’t think I should go into music professionally, he seemed to always bring up HIS favorite rock bands.
“Take me down to the paradise city!” He said as if that were the answer on a game show.
“Oh, you had to pick that one.”
“Ok,” he clapped his hands together-”so, draw a box at the top middle of the page.”
“OK.”
“Now write Paradise City at the top.”
“Ok.” I did so. “This can’t be too hard,”I thought to myself after writing in the box.
“Now draw an arrow and box under that! What’s the first thing that happens in the song?” He was getting way too excited about this.
“Guitar introduction,”I said, playing along.
“Ok. Than write “Slash’s intro.” At this point I was beginning to feel like a meat puppet but it was kind of fun. “Ok, same thing- another arrow- now - a box. And what’s next?”
“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty-”
“Ok, so draw 1st VERSE.” I drew 1st VERSE in the box. “But you skipped something. On that guitar intro box, draw a line and write “drums” under it. Remember? Because when it starts it’s just guitar- but than the drums come in a couple bars later, right? Pay attention to DETAILS! SWEAT THE small stuff! “
“OK Anthony Robbins., right right,” I nodded.
“I’m more into Robin Sharma for that kind of stuff, anyways, so what I’m basically trying to show you is many things at this job, if you decide to take it, will have a logic to them that you can learn. It won’t be as simple as a song, though.”
“Not all songs are simple- you ever heard ‘Kashmir?’”
“No, but my dad is from there. And I’ve been there. You should check it out some time.”
“Touche. Last time I was in India, people told me I shouldn’t go there, that it was dangerous.”
“Paranoids!” He said dissmissively. “It’s much better now. Not that it was ever really THAT bad. Anyways, songs are great. I’m not dismissing your art form. But we are designing Apps, which are very complicated and expensive. I don’t even take a call unless somebody has 6 figures to invest. But I’ll give you an easy one to start on- in fact, I need you to make this one easy- it’s an App for the elderly. And the encroaching few baby boomers who never learned the art of technology. Some chap out of beverly hills created it- it’s called gold n bold. We’ll make you project developer on it. It’ll be your first!” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“That sounds cool,” I said. India was sounding appetizing again. I could taste the hot chai on the tip of my tounge. The cardomom, the sugar. My mouth began to water.
“If you do good on it, it could turn into a career. If you fuck up, I’ll have to fire you and maybe you’ll never speak to me again! I don’t think that’ll happen though.”
“Alright, fuck it, I’ll give it a go.”
“Got yer passport?”
“Yeah.”
“How soon can you go?” I looked at my watch.
“Well, it’s 5 p.m. I can go around 9!”
“Seriously bro?! Come on! You haven’t even got your visa yet! Go get your visa! It should take like a week. Than I’ll close the deal on a flight for you.”
“Deal.” I couldn’t believe I was actually committing to this.”And I was kidding, I’m still waiting for my passport.”
“You should’ve got it expedited! Ok, ok no worries. Just try to get it done as fast as you can. And just remember, at first you’re going to be considered an intern. That way there won’t be any SNAFUs with the Visa process. It will be like a paid audition.”
“What you gonna pay me?”
“Enough for you to live very comfortably in India, but not enough to hurt our wallet.”
“So not much.”
“Or you can stay here and keep driving your bicycle taxi.” Ouch.
“Ok, I’ll come.”
“And playing that rock and roll.”
“Ok ok, just shut up already.”
“Oh, and quit the slob act. Cut the stupid pony tail.”
“It’s not a pony tail, it’s called a faux hawk.”
“Whatever,” he said slightly arrogantly. “It’s gauche. Cut it, and get some new shoes.” He pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill. “Here’s an advance- now go clean yourself up a bit- i gotta run to Vegas, unfortunately. I’d love to sit here and chat all night. Dip shits booked me 1st class for a one hour flight - what a WASTE of company cheese.”
“I’ve never known anyone to get annoyed over something like that”
“If the company spends money on stupid things, we’re headed for a fall. I’ll be conversing with my guy about it. Anyways, lets close this meeting. I’ve got a plane to catch.” He paid the bill and shook my hand. “See you soon,” he said. There was a certain earnestness to his tone that was in contrast to his constant jokemaking. He really DID want to help ME. I wondered if I could meet his expectations. So as not to finish the meeting heavily, I let out some humor.
“So, I’m only going if you book me one of those first class flights with the beds......”
“Not on your life buddy! Though make for quite a smoothe flight.” He left me alone to finish my bowl of miso and dissapeared into a waiting UBER car. I felt excited about the opportunity. Without being able to fully grasp what would become of me, having lost so many jobs in the past. Whether quit, fired, mutually decided it was the wrong fit, etc. What if it wouldn’t work out? Well, who the fuck cared? I needed a break. Bye bye, Los Angeles. Nobody walks in LA- except me.
Free Bird.
Though I’d love to say I was on my way to India immediately, the passport and visa process were a bit more cumbersome than I thought they would be. I decided to go up to SF, partly to see my folks, and partly because there’s no Indian consulate in Los Angeles. I’d had my passport sent to their address. As soon as it arrived I took a poorman’s redeye, in other words, an all night greyhound bus trip from Los Angeles to San Francisco. I stopped off at the consulate off of Geary Blvd, about a mile from my birthplace at the Kaiser on Geary and Baker. They directed me to the BLS, which was about 6 blocks west. I remembered Ravi talking about that place. I was told if I paid the additional fee of a hundred bucks I could get my passport stamped with the visa the same day- but that was only if I’d got there by 11 Am- Oh, but I had to go down to kinkos and print the application, they didn’t have it there. Than I’d have to fill it out, go across the street and get pictures done. Needless to say, I didn’t make the deadline. So I figured I’d just pay the regular 60 bucks and head out to my folks house and wait a few days. Anyways, i’d rather not get on the whole story but I should let you know dear reader that I had to sign an afidavit to assure them I was no journalist and would not write articles about their country. (It didn’t say, however, that I couldn’t write a book.) Anyways, let your imagination fill in the details of my waiting process.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I was 18.”
“You were 19 when you took the vows.”
“Good memory.”
“Shut up and try this.” He had a piece of beef in between 2 chopsticks, held right in front of my hungry face. It did look good to me- this was always how I fell off the veggie wagon. At the same time that I’d feel protein deficient, someone would offer a tasty morsel such as this and I’d indulge. That was why I could never call myself a 100% vegetarian. I snagged the meat and chomped it down.
“I love making Americans break their phony spiritual vows,” Ravi said tauntingly with a grin. “Now lets find you a chick.” I had a faux hawk and he pulled on the tale of it. “I’ll make a man of you yet, if it’s the last thing I do. Your GOD sure hasn’t yet. First thing in order of operations,” he began, “is you need to put down that damn guitar already!”
“Hey you of all people were impressed that our driver knew who I was!”
“Well, so what if you’re well known, you’ve got no dollars! That’s like having a ferrari with no keys to drive it!”
“I do OK.”
“Joe, can I be honest with you,” he asked. I nodded my head. “You’re the only adult in LA I know who does NOT have a car. That is NOT OK.”
“In my humble opinion, Ravi, if you measure people by these kind of yardsticks, nobody is doing OK.”
“What do ya mean?”
“The CEO of a bank has a screenplay he is dying for someone to read. The Attorney hates practicing law. The coder swears he could’ve been a concert pianist. Believe me, giving up your dreams is more painful than taking a bus.”
“But nobody walks in LA!.... Seriously though. I’m not just working for the Happapp- I’m the CEO! Of the whole damn company! Which means I could hire you for something. I mean, I was actually thinking about it. You may not be that educated, but you ARE smart. I think you never really had a REAL job.”
I felt offended. Trying not to blush or sound too angry, I retorted. “What’s a real job?”
“Well, something where you make enough money to live COMFORTABLY on.”
“What’s comfortably? You’re from India of all places- you should no that no matter how inconvenient my life here seems that are millions, if not billions of people who have a much harder life than I do.”
“Why do you love to suffer so? You guys always looking for enlightenment- the great light! The light is energy, don’t you get it? Money is ENERGY. Get that down on paper, son! Quit loving your struggle so fucking much!”
“Well, I guess it appears as if I’ve been so lazy that I’ve become trapped into a difficult life.”
“You’re not lazy. Just ...... undisciplined. You don’t know what it means to carry tasks out to completion!”
“I just released a new song last week...... on itunes!”
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. But I AM offering you an opportunity of a lifetime, to work at a growing company startup company which has unlimited growth potentials.”
“But what would my position be?”
“Are you good at sales?”
“If I believe in the product.”
“Bad answer.” He shook his head. “That won’t do. Marketing? No. If you were a good marketer- you’d be famous- because you ARE damn talented.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be famous, but thanks anyways for the compliment.” His compliments reminded my of my late grandmother. She had an inability to grant complete praise to anyone. I think she felt it would be bad luck and whoever was the receiver of such praise would get such a big head that they wouldn’t fit through the door of her apartment any more and therefore would be no longer able to come to dinner. I think the sum of my grandmother’s worries could have been voiced into a single quote:
“What if no one comes over for dinner?” I continued my train of thought.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just underqualified to come and work at your company.”
“Don’t be a dufus. Most of what you learn on a job you can’t learn in school anyways. Have a little belief in yourself!” Than he stopped for a minute. “For fucks sake! I just realized what you’d be good at. You’re a damn good yapper! Just like me! Can you draw up a flow chart?” I scanned my brain to think about if I could do that. I didn’t even know if I could or not, to tell you the truth. “You may make a damn good project developer.” He pulled out a pen and paper and set it in front of me. “Here- draw me a flow chart.”
“What? Of what?” I felt confused.
“How about a song?”
“OK.”
Than he started rocking in his seat excitedly. Although he didn’t think I should go into music professionally, he seemed to always bring up HIS favorite rock bands.
“Take me down to the paradise city!” He said as if that were the answer on a game show.
“Oh, you had to pick that one.”
“Ok,” he clapped his hands together-”so, draw a box at the top middle of the page.”
“OK.”
“Now write Paradise City at the top.”
“Ok.” I did so. “This can’t be too hard,”I thought to myself after writing in the box.
“Now draw an arrow and box under that! What’s the first thing that happens in the song?” He was getting way too excited about this.
“Guitar introduction,”I said, playing along.
“Ok. Than write “Slash’s intro.” At this point I was beginning to feel like a meat puppet but it was kind of fun. “Ok, same thing- another arrow- now - a box. And what’s next?”
“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty-”
“Ok, so draw 1st VERSE.” I drew 1st VERSE in the box. “But you skipped something. On that guitar intro box, draw a line and write “drums” under it. Remember? Because when it starts it’s just guitar- but than the drums come in a couple bars later, right? Pay attention to DETAILS! SWEAT THE small stuff! “
“OK Anthony Robbins., right right,” I nodded.
“I’m more into Robin Sharma for that kind of stuff, anyways, so what I’m basically trying to show you is many things at this job, if you decide to take it, will have a logic to them that you can learn. It won’t be as simple as a song, though.”
“Not all songs are simple- you ever heard ‘Kashmir?’”
“No, but my dad is from there. And I’ve been there. You should check it out some time.”
“Touche. Last time I was in India, people told me I shouldn’t go there, that it was dangerous.”
“Paranoids!” He said dissmissively. “It’s much better now. Not that it was ever really THAT bad. Anyways, songs are great. I’m not dismissing your art form. But we are designing Apps, which are very complicated and expensive. I don’t even take a call unless somebody has 6 figures to invest. But I’ll give you an easy one to start on- in fact, I need you to make this one easy- it’s an App for the elderly. And the encroaching few baby boomers who never learned the art of technology. Some chap out of beverly hills created it- it’s called gold n bold. We’ll make you project developer on it. It’ll be your first!” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“That sounds cool,” I said. India was sounding appetizing again. I could taste the hot chai on the tip of my tounge. The cardomom, the sugar. My mouth began to water.
“If you do good on it, it could turn into a career. If you fuck up, I’ll have to fire you and maybe you’ll never speak to me again! I don’t think that’ll happen though.”
“Alright, fuck it, I’ll give it a go.”
“Got yer passport?”
“Yeah.”
“How soon can you go?” I looked at my watch.
“Well, it’s 5 p.m. I can go around 9!”
“Seriously bro?! Come on! You haven’t even got your visa yet! Go get your visa! It should take like a week. Than I’ll close the deal on a flight for you.”
“Deal.” I couldn’t believe I was actually committing to this.”And I was kidding, I’m still waiting for my passport.”
“You should’ve got it expedited! Ok, ok no worries. Just try to get it done as fast as you can. And just remember, at first you’re going to be considered an intern. That way there won’t be any SNAFUs with the Visa process. It will be like a paid audition.”
“What you gonna pay me?”
“Enough for you to live very comfortably in India, but not enough to hurt our wallet.”
“So not much.”
“Or you can stay here and keep driving your bicycle taxi.” Ouch.
“Ok, I’ll come.”
“And playing that rock and roll.”
“Ok ok, just shut up already.”
“Oh, and quit the slob act. Cut the stupid pony tail.”
“It’s not a pony tail, it’s called a faux hawk.”
“Whatever,” he said slightly arrogantly. “It’s gauche. Cut it, and get some new shoes.” He pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill. “Here’s an advance- now go clean yourself up a bit- i gotta run to Vegas, unfortunately. I’d love to sit here and chat all night. Dip shits booked me 1st class for a one hour flight - what a WASTE of company cheese.”
“I’ve never known anyone to get annoyed over something like that”
“If the company spends money on stupid things, we’re headed for a fall. I’ll be conversing with my guy about it. Anyways, lets close this meeting. I’ve got a plane to catch.” He paid the bill and shook my hand. “See you soon,” he said. There was a certain earnestness to his tone that was in contrast to his constant jokemaking. He really DID want to help ME. I wondered if I could meet his expectations. So as not to finish the meeting heavily, I let out some humor.
“So, I’m only going if you book me one of those first class flights with the beds......”
“Not on your life buddy! Though make for quite a smoothe flight.” He left me alone to finish my bowl of miso and dissapeared into a waiting UBER car. I felt excited about the opportunity. Without being able to fully grasp what would become of me, having lost so many jobs in the past. Whether quit, fired, mutually decided it was the wrong fit, etc. What if it wouldn’t work out? Well, who the fuck cared? I needed a break. Bye bye, Los Angeles. Nobody walks in LA- except me.
Free Bird.
Though I’d love to say I was on my way to India immediately, the passport and visa process were a bit more cumbersome than I thought they would be. I decided to go up to SF, partly to see my folks, and partly because there’s no Indian consulate in Los Angeles. I’d had my passport sent to their address. As soon as it arrived I took a poorman’s redeye, in other words, an all night greyhound bus trip from Los Angeles to San Francisco. I stopped off at the consulate off of Geary Blvd, about a mile from my birthplace at the Kaiser on Geary and Baker. They directed me to the BLS, which was about 6 blocks west. I remembered Ravi talking about that place. I was told if I paid the additional fee of a hundred bucks I could get my passport stamped with the visa the same day- but that was only if I’d got there by 11 Am- Oh, but I had to go down to kinkos and print the application, they didn’t have it there. Than I’d have to fill it out, go across the street and get pictures done. Needless to say, I didn’t make the deadline. So I figured I’d just pay the regular 60 bucks and head out to my folks house and wait a few days. Anyways, i’d rather not get on the whole story but I should let you know dear reader that I had to sign an afidavit to assure them I was no journalist and would not write articles about their country. (It didn’t say, however, that I couldn’t write a book.) Anyways, let your imagination fill in the details of my waiting process.
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