Rajeev Desai came from a modest, lower-middle-class background, but that never kept him from dreaming. A true child of Mumbai, he knows that he alone is the one to make those lofty dreams come true. His ultimate goal is to move to the modern-day mecca for the financial industry, New York City. From his first days at school, Rajeev is an excellent student; on the day he receives a gold medal in economics from one of the top colleges in Mumbai, he knows that all of his young dreams are about to come true at last. Everything in his life is exactly as he had hoped: He has friends who are as precious as family. He's been accepted to grad school at some of the finest colleges in the world. His professors can't say enough about his academic achievements and potential. The world is his oyster. But then he is forced to learn one of his first lessons in finance: "Get the money . . . and you get to go to college" With his Father's death, his family's financial situation becomes shaky at best and Rajeev decides not to further burden his mother - the sole earning member in the family. So when a lucrative job opportunity presents itself in Kuwait, he's torn. Can he-an economics gold medalist-swallow his pride to drive a cab? Along the way, he'll receive some memorable lessons about friendship, family, professional relationships, and love. Now he must discover whether he and his dreams will survive on this strange, new path.

middle east calling

By srikanth ramaswamy

abbott press

Copyright © 2012 Srikanth Ramaswamy
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4582-0188-1

Chapter One

1st September 2010, The Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport – Mumbai

4:30 AM on a cold morning

The Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport in Mumbai is a beehive of nocturnal activity. Having said that, an eerie silence seemed to have enveloped waiting lounges 14 to 16 despite the fact that they were all teeming with passengers. Calm and peace with Mumbaiites around..well this seemed strange. Lounge 16 in particular seemed jam packed. Unlike the passengers in other waiting lounges, many of them here had put their bags down, spread a blanket on the floor and were catching up with sleep till it was time for their roll call. The sleeping passengers were more of the lot who couldn't afford nice beds and orthopaedic mattresses in their day today lives. They seemed content with the single blanket spread on the floor and the bare luxuries that the ground had to offer.

There were others (the more sophisticated lot!) who seemed to be busy glancing through pages of a magazine without much interest in its contents or busily keying away on their high end business phones. A majority of them in the latter category also seemed to be wearing gold jewellery with gusto with the men giving a decent competition to the ladies. Many of them wore latest edition swiss watches making them look more like the "Beau Monde" of Indian society.

All this was keenly being observed by one passenger seated in the adjacent lounge 15. He didn't seem a day older than 26. Well dressed and clean shaven, he was carrying a red Adidas bag which had his laptop and other bare minimal belongings. He carried a copy of Ayan Rand's "Fountain Head" in one hand but seemed to have put it off for in flight reading. The people in lounge 16 seemed to interest him more. His interest in their behaviour and mannerisms seemed to be a little more than a cursory one.

Suddenly, the eerie silence and calm was put to an end by a booming female voice which came over the Passenger Address System.

"Passengers travelling to Kuwait by KU301 are requested to proceed for Boarding from Gate number 16. Please keep your passports and boarding passes ready for inspection. Thank you!".

All of a sudden the place erupted into a Mumbaiish clamour. Getting onto a flight seemed nothing less than getting into a local train like it might leave any moment unannounced. All the passengers huddled into a queue and each one of them seemed to have a sense of purpose despite the grogginess in their eyes.

As the queue of passengers in Gate number 16 slowly started moving, the young lad in the adjacent lounge could not help but stare. His stare seemed to be taking him into the past, something that he could connect with. Deep inside, he could feel the one minded doggedness with which Indians moved abroad - In pursuit of wealth, happiness and a good life. But the road to achieving one's ambitions was never that straightforward. All of a sudden he could feel it all unfold right in front of his eyes – the toil, the hardships, the small joys of life and the big losses. A strange numbness seemed to envelop his mind. He was constantly asking himself "Is this the point from where there is no looking back?" The question played on and on, and suddenly he thought of his parents. The very thought brought back memories of his lower middle class life –the strictness at home, the emphasis on academic excellence, the love and affection his parents had showered on him as their only son and the loss of his father seven years ago. He had loved his father and had clung onto him like life itself and not letting go when he had died. The painful thought did the last bit of emotional draining and he felt tiny droplets trickle down his cheek onto his tee. He made no attempt to wipe his face clean.

He could feel his entire life staring at him and this whirlpool of emotions seemed to be relentlessly dragging him deeper. Just as he decided that he had enough and that prudence lay in engrossing himself in the "Fountain Head", a smartly dressed lady in a suit walked up to him. She seemed like an airline staff.

"Mr. Rajeev Desai?" she enquired, with a concerned look on her face.

"Yes" replied the young man.

"Sir, your flight to New York is ready to depart! We've almost made 5 announcements and were wondering where you were?"

"Uh uh! I am so sorry. I well eh.."

"Well no problem sir. Please let me have your boarding card and passport and I should be able to check you in"

"Thank you so much!" Rajeev muttered, putting up a sheepish smile which was then returned in kind.

Once inside the aircraft, Rajeev could see the crew work away efficiently. Most of the other passengers were already seated and it seemed like he was the last one to come on board. Two of the flight attendants smiled at him and said a "Hello" before helping him find his seat. He was immediately offered a wet tissue and a bottle of lemonade and was told not to hesitate to call them if he needed anything. Rajeev was impressed. Though this was one of the more expensive airlines, he had chosen this because the travel time was the shortest on this one. They would stop at Frankfurt and would then directly fly to JFK.

Boarding was completed and the initial safety announcements had begun and the aircraft started moving. Just when the announcements were over the flight had reached the runway, did a quick taxi and was airborne. Rajeev looked at his watch – Precisely 5:30 AM. He was now happy and content to be on the flight and the cabin crew and flight attendants had made him feel better. He had his lemonade and wiped his face clean with the wet wipe.

He felt fresh and no more drained but the thoughts that had led him to tears would take a long time to recede. They would keep coming to make him realize his true self and to keep him strongly rooted to the ground, to make him realize the value of money- how much every penny counted, to teach him how to keep himself together in the most adverse of situations and the foremost being how to spend every minute in the pursuit of his dreams and goals. These were lessons in life, by life, for life. The path he had taken to be on the flight to New York was no less than climbing a rugged cliff where he had bruised himself many a time but had gotten up every time, dusted himself and set off again until he had reached the top. His five year stint in Kuwait was something that he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Chapter Two

July 2005 – Around 9AM on a Saturday morning – Ganpat Rao Kadam Chawl in Worli

The months from June till September are called rainy season in Mumbai for no mean reason. It rains and rains and boy rains it does – By the day, by the noon, by the night, by the weekday, by the weekend - All through the three months. Mostly the rains are so heavy that one does not get to even hear the next person speak – literally!

But on the second floor of the chawl, Rajeev Desai was fast asleep oblivious to the roaring noise of the showers. Pretty typical of Mumbaiites. The rain does not bother them. Mumbai rains render rain coats, umbrellas and all other forms of prevention mechanisms useless and ensure that the whole city comes to a standstill for atleast one day of the rainy season every year. But for Mumbaiites who have made Mumbai their home – they can sleep without being disturbed by the loud rain, walk totally drenched on tracks if trains suddenly stopped midway, play football on slush filled...