ACDIS Diaries - III

I leave Urbana-Champaign after three months. On board an Amtrex train to Chicago. Next to me is a pretty girl who works as a departmental store attendant at a town called Kankakee two stops before Chicago. She also turns out to be a student of Anthropology from North Carolina University and knows as much of Indian caste system as I do. Her brother is a truck driver and has traveled to over a dozen countries around the world on a truck driver’s income. If only a journalist’s salary could let me see half-a-dozen.

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Reach Chicago. The train was to arrive on platform one but arrives on five. So it is not just an Indian problem. Railways in America are privately run and train services are so inadequate that, to give an Indian comparison, a five hour journey from Ahmedabad to Surat might be via Indore, and take over 18-hours. Americans just prefer hitting the road. Despite the climate change buzz, their heavy cars – basically sofa sets on wheels – do not go more than 15 miles to a gallon. Essentially, Americans do not like anything that can reduce their carbon footprint. Whoever said practice what you preach!

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My introduction to Capone country happens right at the entrance. As I stand to get a cab, a black man gets going for me, hails one and promptly demands 5 dollars for the job. Denied, in comes sleet of abuses on India and Indians as I hurriedly put my bags and board. The Bangladeshi cabby claims that it could have turned violent and am lucky to have escaped without paying. But those five dollars have to go anyway. The cab drops me a block before my intended destination at Taylor and Racine. I decide to walk the distance. It is dark and both my hands have luggage. A boy comes again for help. "Sir, I can help," and before I react takes the suitcase and starts walking besides me. Am praying he does not run away. On reaching thanks is not good enough, am demanded money again. I proffer two one-dollar bills. "Sir, I am pregnant and hungry, this won’t even buy a burger." It turns out that the teenager is actually a girl and claims to be pregnant. I have no time or stomach to inquire so I give five dollars. A very different picture of America indeed.

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Trust Americans to make money even out of a bootlegger’s name. They have the chutzpah to sell both Lincoln and Capone with equal ease, sometimes even from same shelf. On way to Millennium Mile in a city bus. The smallest denomination bill in my pocket is 20 dollars. The ticket is for two dollars. Two women come forward with one dollar each and yo, I recover two of the five dollars I paid as alms. I have to change bus and the one to be boarded is just leaving its station. My driver rushes, overtakes, and with a gracious bow asks me to change. Who says Atithi Devo Bhava is only an Indian concept.