Immigrant Bengalis

It was an April morning at the University of Michigan a couple of years after my arrival from India for graduate studies in 1984. The daffodils and crocuses were announcing the beginning of Spring across from the Student Center. I had adjusted well and loved every bit of my student life with one ambivalent exception. During semester breaks the campus became unusually sedate. There was hardly anybody on the streets; and the library and stores were either shuttered or open for limited hours. A semester break was coming, and I knew the campus was about to empty out. Much like the entire student body, I was longing to get away too. I stood staring at the bulletin board inside the Student Center. It had handwritten ads on index cards for ride shares to distant cities. These were the students who were part of the exodus at breaks -- visiting their parents. As I browsed the ads, there it was! A guy named Raj - an Indian! -- was looking for someone to share the cost of gas to Chicago. My classmate from India was doing his PhD at the University of Chicago. And his professor had just received the Nobel prize in Physics! I was excited at the idea of visiting my friend and the prospect of seeing the labs of a Nobel Laureate.

A few weeks passed and it was the morning of our drive to Chicago. Raj pulled up by my on-campus apartment in his little blue sedan and we set off. He seemed unfriendly as I started to make small talk. To my disappointment, all I got back were single-word replies……. Yes…No…ok…sure. The ride bore an air of unusual coolness and silence. Funnily enough, a few days earlier I had heard about ABCDs when I described a scene from another day of campus life to some Bengali friends. Three of us were walking in the campus when three pretty Indian girls were coming from the opposite direction. Our hearts made music as we were passing them, when they muttered “Three more” when they passed us. Later my Bengali friends told me they were ABCDs, and I should think nothing ill of them. ABCDs for American born confused Deshi’s. So, I concluded this student driver was such an ABCD and settled in for a l-o-n-g four hours to Chicago in his tiny box on wheels. I was going to soon reunite with my good friend, so nothing could cloud my mood! A clear blue sky was above us, and before long the waters of Lake Michigan -- sparkling like a thousand diamonds -- almost made up for the indifference inside the car.

Not long afterwards, I saw the exit sign for the University of Chicago but, to my utter surprise, we went past it! I turned to Raj but before I could ask, he answered, “University of Chicago is not in a safe area. There is a lot of crime and a very high black population.” He flatly announced that he would not go there. He would drop me in downtown instead. “You can take a train from there”. The words hit me like a ton of bricks!  Prior to the ride-share arrangement, we had already AGREED that I shall be staying with my friend on campus at the University of Chicago!!

During the prior semester break, I had visited Columbia University which sat very near Harlem in New York. That was a black area, and I was fine! I felt terrible about his reneging on our agreement and being utterly irrational! I had no plan B, so I tried to reason with him. But it was like speaking to a wall. I sat in stunned disbelief. He kept driving and told me that he would drop me off near a train station in downtown Chicago. He gave me no guidance on how to meander through the maze that must be the train system. Soon the car stopped. I grabbed my stuff and got out, bracing against the chilly Chicago wind. The taillights on his sedan disappeared in the distance along with my excitement for the day.

I wandered around for some time until I found the Amtrak station. It was HUGE and there were no signs to tell me which train I needed to take. I called my friend from a payphone. But he had no clue how to help me. In contrast to my adventurous nature, he had never ventured outside the campus. He promised to stay near his phone so we could communicate as needed. I was starting to get worried now.

The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows, and my day was turning dark. I tried telling myself 'Come on, you can do this!' Just then, a police car drove up by the station entrance. I signaled for help. The officer stopped and rolled down his window. He was white, in his 50s and wore a pleasant smile. I felt a small surge of relief – perhaps things would be ok now. But instead, he said the university is in the southside which is a black area with a lot of crime. “Murders… It’s the crime capital… If I were you, I wouldn’t go there at night!” With that he drove off and for the 2nd time in a few hours, I was looking at the disappearing taillights of a car with growing despair. How was I going to make it to U of Chicago that night?!

I suddenly remembered an older Bengali friend who had moved to Chicago from Ann Arbor a few months earlier with a job transfer. In the short time we had interacted in Ann Arbor, we had the most pleasant of times, sharing stories and foods from our distant land. He was a most exceptionally generous and kind person, often spending time with us young students every weekend, despite being newly married. Considering I was struggling as the evening lights were casting longer shadows on the streets lining the Union Station, I dialed this friend from the payphone. I was shocked, however, at how uncharacteristically cold and distant he sounded. I couldn’t even bring myself to ask for help. Many years later when I reconnected with my friend, he told me this was an unbearably difficult time in his life. At the time I had called him from the station that day, he was cradling his newborn daughter, while feeling alienated and tortured in his own house as his wife and his mother-in-law were building up towards what followed - a bitter divorce!

By this point in time, my stress had reached its peak. I was a new immigrant AND a student, so a hotel stay was out of the question. The station bench looked like the only option – a really scary option. I began to pace frenetically outside the station. The street was suddenly empty, and my eyes fell on a man, seemingly walking toward me. He had a sort of ‘halo’ around his head…was I hallucinating? He came closer, and I realized the ‘halo’ was in fact a head of golden blonde hair. The setting sun behind him was making it glow. Next thing I knew he was standing right in front of me. He was tall, good looking, well-dressed, young and white. There was a warmth about him, his smile was kind. “You look a little lost. How can I help?” I was intrigued that a stranger could sense my trouble so well from a distance. I told him my whole sorry tale…my Indian ride abandoning me, the white cop earlier scaring me about the Southside at night. He listened patiently, then shook his head, almost as if he was trying to shake off the cop’s words. “I wouldn't believe everything you hear about Black people, my friend,” he said with a wry smile. “My girlfriend is black, and I've been to the Southside many times. I'm still here, aren't I?" With that, he took me by my elbow and walked me away from the station… “You’re at the wrong place! Trains to the University of Chicago ply from the local train station…” he said.

He gave me meticulous instructions on how to board, where to get off and then…he handed me a train ticket! I had seen him buy a ticket but had not realized that it was for me! I instantly reached for my wallet and pulled out some bills but when I looked up…he was nowhere! I frantically looked near and far but ….it was like he had vanished! I didn't even get to thank him. It was surreal!

My head was spinning. I heard rumbles of the train pulling in, and I hurriedly got on it, still hoping I would catch a glimpse of him, but to no avail. The doors closed and I took a deep breath to steady myself. What a day! When I looked around, I saw that everyone in the compartment was black. Suddenly, all the fears that had been planted in my head - by Raj, by the white police officer – came rushing back. I tried to calm myself down... It’d be ok, I told myself. But still, I could feel that my entire body was tense. My eyes went to a man pointing to an empty seat next to him. He must have thought me odd - – disheveled, sweaty, scared even. But I did sit down. There was something about the man that made me begin to relax slowly. He smiled at me, and that warmth broke through my anxiety. I smiled back.

Then I sat back and for the first time, really looked at the people around me. Two men chatting and laughing loudly, someone listening to music on their Walkman, another person reading, a young girl at the end of the compartment asleep with her head on the shoulder of her mother. No one was even looking at me, let alone threaten me. It took me back to the crowded local train rides in India. I finally began to relax and enjoy my ride. A few folks near me made small talk with me even though I might not have appeared remotely talkative; my heart was still fluttering. I was anxiously waiting to set my sights on the familiar face of my classmate at the train station. At the point, I had not seen my friend in over one or two years. Our reunion would certainly be a most joyous time, I felt, as we would share stories from our life's disfferent paths in the intervening time. Time indeed passed rapidly and, in an hour or so, I saw the yellow station lights illuminating the signs of my stop. I gently waved to a few folks beside my seat and stepped off. I had my first smile of the day upon seeing my friend waiting for me. As the doors of the train closed, I glanced at the man who had been sitting next to me. I smiled at him, and waved goodbye.

It was a wonderful week after that day, visiting Nobel Laureate Prof Chandrasekhar’s lab where my friend conducted research. We visited the Art Institute of Chicago, enjoyed the magnificent Lake Shore Drive, and quietly reflected on our days since IIT Kanpur -- one of us in Michigan, the other in Chicago. The worries of that day vanished, much like the disappearance of the golden-hair gentleman after he had made sure I had the train ticket in my hand for the University of Chicago.

A Surreal Encounter
Ashish Saha

(Posted July 20, 2024)

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