Reflections: The Bonafide Certificate

As I felt my wallet getting lighter by almost three grands on that hot April afternoon, I was happy to finally have tickets to and from Delhi. It was third week of April, 2005 and the prep leave was staring down students at BIT, Mesra as the lull before the storm. For students from the 2k1 batch, it would have been the last storm before they get to stand up to the Vice Chancellor, on an elevated stage in a ceremony where the sheer number of people being awarded their degrees wears down those attending the function. Nonetheless, I had to brave another storm, one whose ominous clouds had been gathering on the horizon for quiet some time now in a far off land, Delhi.

In the preparation for my visa interview and the associated sanctioning of the loan by the State Bank of India, Ma had called me that uneventful afternoon wondering if it would be possible for me to come down to Delhi to sign some important papers and be present in person till the burden of the education loan is put on my shoulders for the next few years to come. As I quickly ran through the dates, I realized that I had enough attendance in all subjects to deny BIT the previlige of handing me a F* (which essentially meant repeating the class). Also, since the prep leave was just a couple of days away, it was not a bad idea to dash back home and come back in time for the final tyranny, the end semester exams.

As I walked into the canteen to break the good news to my gang, something struck me. It was almost 3 pm and I had another day to get a bonafide certificate needed for the loan. The certificate essentially stated that I was a student of BIT, Mesra and that I had been staying in hostel # 3 , yada..yada..yada..I almost froze. A cold sweat descended upon me. Anything to do with the administration in BIT was a pain in the @$.

Collecting my notebook from the table top, I bid adieu to my friends, not expecting to see them that evening. Walking in the high rise corridors, it was just another day at Mesra. Students walking out of classes, yearning to run to the canteen or the comfirts of their room. Teachers, dispassionate as ever, coming out with attendance registers in their hands with the borderline F* case students meandering around, pestering them to take a lenient view of the bunked classes. Girls, mostly shy, walked in groups chattering animatedly about how some professor looked at some not-so-worth-looking-girl during the lecture and giggled away. The ones with boyfriends, with an air of dominance around themselves, walked out as though the jailbreak plan was almost final when the siren thwarted their plan for freedom. All in all, nothing too different from a hot, sweaty summer afternoon in Mesra.

"Mji ka office yahi hai kya?", (Is this the office of Mr. M?),I asked the peon sitting outside .

To protect the identity of the concerned person, I would refer to him as 'M'.

Without looking up and paying scanth attention to my querry, he nodded in affirmation. Post 3'o clock in Mesra is time up for most of the administration. The peon was no different.

"Ka chahiye? Saahab beejee hain. Thori der me pata karna". ( What do you want? Sahab is busy, check out in some time).

I did not have the luxury of time on my side. It was thursday afternoon and my train left on Saturday. As I tried peeping through the curtain separating my view from the 'officer' who would issue me my certificate, I decided to let go the issue till Friday morning. After all, realistically speaking, I would not have gotten the certificate that day and my request would have anyways been pushed to the next working day. I walked off the main building cursing SBI for making me travel 1325 kms to Delhi just for a signature.

Friday morning was busy and I checked out Mr. M's office just before the lunch break. As I should have guessed, he was out. Anyways, I took the first step and filled in the application form with all my details which included the reason why I wanted the certificate.

Purpose: Visa Interview.

I walked off believing the certificate would be ready the next time I would walk in. Wrong again. At 1 pm, there was no sign of the elusive Mr. M. Infact, he had not shown up since morning. Bravo. I checked in at 1:30 pm again. No luck. At 2 pm, even the peon was gone. These were ominous signs of lurking trouble. It was Friday afternoon and I was leaving the next morning. At 3 pm, I was somehow sure that Mr. M would be in his office. And Bingo!! There he was. Since there is no reason for the administration to come on time or being receptive to the needs of the students, who end up coughing out a fortune for their salaries, Mr. M was relishing a small cup of tea with some 'guest' of his.

"Sir, I had applied for a bonafide certificate. I was hoping that it..."

"When did you apply?", he almost spat on my face cutting me short.

"This morning."

On hearing that a student expects things to be done within a few hours, as they should be, he almost jumped out of his rickety wooden chair. I had breached the invisible line of implicitly questioning the working of this man.

"What do you think of yourself? You think your work is the most important one in the world? Dont people have other issues to deal with?"

I was speechless. The lashing left me with nothing else to speak but to ask if I could expect it the same day. I explained to him how I had to catch the train the next day and why was it important for me to get the certificate. No use. He asked me to come the next day, raising my expectations with the sentence,"I shall see what I can do".

As I walked off despondently, it was another day lost. End of friday with nothing in hand. Saturday morning was my last bet in getting the certificate else my trip to Delhi would have been of no use. Instead of being filled with desparation, I was somehow determined to "extract" the certificate out of Mr. M.

Saturday morning. At 8:30 am I was standing outside Mr. M's office. My train was scheduled to depart from Ranchi at 2:30 pm and I had to leave Mesra by 1 pm at any cost. Going by Ranchi's traffic and roads, an hour is what it takes to travel 11 miles from Mesra to the station. (Looking back, I ride 11 miles now in not more than 10 minutes. Sighh!!).

M arrived at 10 am. I had already started to hate this name which somehow reminded me of stray dogs pouncing on unattentive passerbys. Hence the prefix 'Mr.' is dropped henceforth. As M took his seat, he was visibly unhappy to see me around first thing on his weekend 'morning'.

"What do you want now?", he barked.

Now what does one say to such a question? His tone pretended as though I 'needed' something from him which was not mine at the first place. Not trying to mess up, I clarified.

"Sir, the bonafide certificate."

"Oh yes. Why do you want one now?", the cracking tone growing even more restless.

Without thinking too much into his demeaning behaviour or tone, I went along. I had no choice.

"Sir. I am travelling to Delhi for some paper work needed for my visa. I need the certificate for my visa interview".

"Visa? What Visa? Where to? Where are you going?"

"America".

"Amrikka? Why?"

What why? To design fashion clothes for Paris Hilton. Didn't he know that? I was loosing it with his incessant barrage of apparently senseless questions.

"Sir, I am going there for higher studies. For my masters degree."

"Where are you going? How do I know you are going? Whats the proof that you have a visa interview?"

These are the moments when one feels like kicking the person sitting in front, casually sipping his tea and totally cut off from the needs of the moment.

"Sir. I have no proof of my visa interview, but I have a letter of acceptance from my university", I retorted back, raising my meak voice for the first time in the exchange.

That did not go down well with M. He shot back, "Get me the proof. Then I shall think about the certificate".

What was he thinking? Was he thinking he could get away with depriving me of my right as a student? Sometimes the best way to cross a river is to flow with it downstream and walk back along the shore. I decided to show him proof. As I ran back to my room to get my hands on a print out from State University of New York ( I was supposed to go there before Carnegie Mellon happened to me), I was aware of the fact that this might be my last chance at procuring the certificate. Saturday is half day working at Mesra and I had a window of 45 minutes to get through.

"Here it is!!", I spoke as I walked into M's office. He was a little taken aback by my belligerence but decided to look into the A4 sized paper I handed over to him. Adjusting his huge granny-style rusted spectacles, he read every line carefully. I was confident that there would be no pretext left after this for not handing over 'my' bonafide certificate. As I started imagining driving on the Brooklyn bridge, I was jolted back to reality.

"I dont have time right now. There are many applications which came before yours did. The certificate would not be issued today."

"What? What are you talking about? I am supposed to catch a train in sometime", I resisted.

"I am not responsible for your travelling or staying. Go out. Come on Monday".

There is an old adage in Hindi, "Jab ghee seedhi ungli se na nikle to ungli teri karni parti hai"(when its impossible to get work done the right way, hack!)

"Alright sir. I believe you. Just give me what you said in writing. That you shall not issue me a bonafide certificate even after 2 days and for no apparent reason except that your ego is too big. Please give it in writing so that I can ensure, through my means, that I get the certificate today."

Bombed. Numbed. Shocked. Speechless. Disillusioned. Melted. I dont know how to describe M's expression at my statement. He succumbed.

I had my bonafide certificate within the next 15 minutes. After much heckling, I had a piece of paper which would ensure I flew to America at the end of that summer. As the train started from Ranchi station that afternoon, I could almost smell the air in Central Park. At last, I was on my way...

The Letter

After losing the game of foos ball, I walked back to my seat wondering when my ticket to India would be booked. It was second week of August and high time that I got a ticket booked sooner than later. As I approached my desk, I found a white envelop kept carefully on top of my Thinkpad.

As is the case when I pick up the mail everytime in America, I noticed the absence of Gandhi's face from the face of the colourful stamp. The mail, stamped with stars and stripes, had been sent by someone from Los Angeles, CA on the 1st of this month. Hmm..I wondered. Los Angeles. I know no one there. And that too on my official address, which I would vacate this weekend. My first instinct would have been catagorizing it as a letter from a Verisign detective who was probing the circumstances in which Manish was injured on the Volleyball court. He had called me a couple of times and we had exchanged some emails last week. But the envelop did not have a Verisign logo and my name was carefully hand written by someone who identified himself as Marvin A Menjivar. This was a departure from the printed mails I am used to receiving here. As my brain searched for this unknown name within my repository, I could not place Marvin. Cutting the chase, I decided to open the letter and find out for myself.

The crisp white A4 sheet of paper was folded with much care. Also, the paper used was of superior quality and was not the normal sheet one uses in office for printouts. As I managed to open the folds one by one, my eyes read the following:

"Dear Ujjwal Moitra,

I want to let you know that I have received my digital camera and am a very happy individual right now. I want to stress how thankful I am for what you did. Not many people would find the need to see through a package incorrectly delivered to their address be delivered to its rightful owner. In the fast paced, impersonal, and anonymous world that we live in your deed stands out in my mind as something this world desparately needs more of today. I recently returned from Iraq after a year with the U.S. Army there and have come back with a tendency to distrust and not give people the benifit of the doubt. But every now and then someone comes along and shows you that humanity and the caring for the well being of others is alive and well. It is only through these hospitable deeds that the world can start being a better place. To prove my point, I am not thanking a huge corporation like Panasonic for me receiving my camera intact and on a timely maner but a complete stranger three thousand miles away who took the time to care when he was under no obligation to do so. I guess I just want to say thank you.

Sincerely,

Marvin A Menjivar"

The story dates back to end of June. As I returned from office, I saw a UPS notice on my door stating that a package for me had been delivered to the housing community office. I promptly went there and collected the box delivered by Bigston Corporation. Bigston handles all the repairs for Panasonic cameras and since I was expecting mine back, I was happy that I finally had my machine. But as I read on my way back, neither the name nor the telephone number printed on the box were mine. The address was, strangely enough, correct. Assuming it to be a case of mistaken delivery, and a little concerned about the fate of my camera, I dialed the number of someone called Marvin while climbing the stairs. It went to the voicemail and I left a message asking the person to give me a call back.

Fast forward to the last week of July. Sitting in the annual celebratory meeting of Verisign-taking-over-iDefense, I felt a little vibration in my left pocket. The phonebook did not identify the calling number and hence the call was let die a natural death. After the meeting, as I returned the call, I felt as though I had seen the number before.

"Hi. This is Marvin", came a voice from the other side.

"Hi. I just got a missed call from this number. Do you..."

"Oh yeah", he spoke cutting me short, "you left me a voice message last month. Sorry, I was away from the country. So you said you had some package of mine?"

I called? Last month? Package? What was going on?

Oh yes. The package. The camera. The picture was becoming clearer now.

"Yes Marvin. I have a package meant for you. How do I send it back? Whats your address?"

There was silence for a couple of seconds. I checked my phone. The call was on. Cursing T-Mobile for the problem, I walked towards the window from where I had a clear view of the lake and hopefully, a better reception.

"I am so thankful to you, Sir. I cant imagine someone would do this at all."

Feeling a little embarressed and sceptical of people standing close and listening to my conversation at the end of the party, I spoke softly.

"Thats not a problem Marvin. Let me call you in a couple of minutes."

Hmm. Now did Marvin think that I had changed my mind? That it was some expensive camera that was supposed to be fixed. Did I want to keep another camera just for the heck of it. I dont know. Actually, since it was delievered to the corporate housing I was staying at, I had passed on the package to Lisa, the office assistant, saying that it was not mine. I had to check with her if she had not returned the same to UPS.

"Lisa. The package that I gave you about the wrong delivery, is it still there?". As I explained to her what had happened, I was hoping she would say yes and that I wont have to cut a sorry figure to Marvin.

"Yes. Ask him to email me his address and I shall mail it back to him."

As I called Marvin back and gave him the news, he still sounded as though it was some unbelievable event was unfolding around him. We was thanking me profusely for what I was doing and promised to pay me back any cost I incurred in posting back the package.

Done. Package sent. Episode forgotten. And then it all came back with the letter yesterday. I guess he got the office address from my email signature. But it brings bigger questions to the surface. Questions which I dont feel comfirtable answering. Questions which are better left untinkered with, because the answers to them include challenging and questioning a part of one's faith, upbringing and culture.

• If every religion and culture in the world teaches its desciples to be good, caring and helpful then why are people pleasantly surprised when someone tries to walk the talk? Moreover, why is the world itching closer to WW3?
  
• Is it really the upbringing or just the individual? Or rather the circumstances? Last night, I lied to a friend pretending I had to go to bed and that I shall talk to him the next morning. Another friend, who was driving the car besides me, asked me a question to which I had no answer, "How difficult is it to tell the truth when you know that it wont hurt the other person?". He has spent 18 years of his life in India and the rest 6 in the United States. Upbringing? Individual? Circumstances? Any answers?
• Why dont people in India send more letters or cards like these? Again, is it the culture? I remember when I sent a 'sorry card' to one of my crushes in college. It created a furore. I stopped sending cards or letters after that.
  

I guess I am rather pleased with the response to what I thought was the natural thing to do. I am unhappy that camera company wanted me to pay close to $600 to get it fixed. I refused and they have sent me back the junk now. I wonder, was it right to deny myself a camera when no one would have questioned? There are instances when one questions the basic values that are drilled into us since childhood. One tries to question God as to what he/she has gained by walking the path shown by him. I have not won a million dollar lottery just because God decided to encash my good-deeds account. Neither will I, ever. But I am sure there is a reason behind why our ancestors have left us with the knowledge of being good human beings. I dont see the reason in its entirity now, but I am sure thats the way it should be. To the question my friend asked me last night, I shall try to figure out the answer to it, and hopefully be a more truthful person in the future.

Rules of Engagement

(Fur: Night of July 22, 2006)

Just as I finished my last sip of beer standing on my balcony a minute before I started writing this post, watching the calm blue water of the swimming pool right beneath reflecting the shiny glass door gym, I heard someone shreak. It wasn't one of those which would alert somebody, but rather a short low pitch squeel. Thoughts of going to bed early vanished. The pattern was now continuous and I could clearly hear the lady either in the upper or the apartment below mine being pounded by her mate before another week of busy work.

It has been 11 weeks that I have been in Sterling for my internship and certainly I have had a good time learning a thing or two about the "weekends". As someone said yesterday, "Dude, the best thing to happen to me during my internship was that I discovered something great: WEEKENDS".

The weekends. They have been blessed. Most of the first part of my internship weekends were either spent home, visiting the museums in DC or just hanging out and eating good food. The latter half has been the one more interesting to talk about. I, alongwith a bunch of other enthusiasts, have visited every club and bar we heard of in the region. Sterling, Fairfax, DC: you name it and chances are we have hopped onto the best bar in the area. From Ned Devine in Sterling to Fur in DC, from Clarendon Ballroom in Arlington to Georgetown and Adam's Morgan. It has been high spirited, high voltage weekends. While the details of engagement should be withheld from a public blog, I shall try and recapitulate some of the worth-remembering-moments during the last few weekends.

July 22, Fur, Washington DC:

• "You have tinted glasses. Dont worry! The cops wont see the chicks when we get them back in the HUMMER": My friend trying to convince me to drive the Hummer to DC. It was scary to say the least. DC has narrow roads definitely not big enough for parallel parking with a Hummer. As I learnt the hard way, parking is expensive in a big nosed town like DC: $20 minimum. (Rule: Dont drive a big car to into a big city. You end up creating a big hole in your pocket)
  
• "What the hell are you doing here?": A CMU pass out on sighting me in the long queue outside the club. "Oh, of course, I came here to hear Nelson Mandela talk about world peace", I wondered. What the f*#k was he thinking? (Rule: Dont be ashamed of being spotted at odd places. The person spotting you is at the same place too)
  
• "Can I borrow a cigarette from you tonight?": A smashed, shit faced white fat lady to me. "Sure. Where do you want us to go?". I know, that was cheesy. I was drunk too. (Rule: Flirt!)
  
• "Hi. My name is Ujjwal...Ujjwal...Ujj--wal...Ooj..wall...alright...you can call me Uj": This has happened n number of times with loud music and drunk bitches. (Rule: My name is not easy for a person with Caucasian origins. Just say Uj)
  
• "No.": Innumerable girls to me. I dont know how many times though. It was a tough night. (Rule: In Hindi, they say,"Sau sunar ki ek lohar ki". In essence, wait for the right chance)
  
• "Is he gonna ask you out or just feast with his eyes, dumbass!": I overheard the girlfriend of the chick I was 'technically' dancing with. I mean, we were looking at each other and smiling but I was a new bee to clubbing. Shit, I so badly needed a wingman that night. (Rule: Take a wingman with you. If a girl is passing glances, be the MAN and let the wingman handle the other woman for you.)
  
• "Dont even think about her": A friend whispered when I looked with awe at another friend's sister and her bunch of girlfriends. (Rule: Family flirt is not a good idea)
  
• "Dude, she is looking at you. Go for her": Me telling one of my friends when one of the chicks from the Russian troop we were dancing with smiled at her. He asked her for a dance. "No. I'd prefer dancing alone." I dont get it. Why do girls dance alone and pass a smile? (Rule: Russian babes are over valued. Keep that in mind).
  
• "What the f*#k is that?": My friend commenting on my style of dancing. "Its called Bhangra. Come on, I'll teach you some steps". The steps are a hit now. (Rule: It does not matter how and what you dance as long as you end up enjoying yourself).
  
• "Dude. Dont worry. Three out of the five people in the car are virgins. We shall do something next weekend and you definitely are not going back the same way to Pittsburgh". Stuff being discussed on the way back. (Rule: Dont watch too much of American Pie :)).
  

July 23, Ned Devine, Sterling:

• "There is a bachelorate party going on inside": My friend, gasping for air, coming out of the club while we waited in the Hummer outside. (Rule: If you want to take your friends somewhere they dont wanna go, thats the golden line).
  
• "Hey! You dance good! From India?": Fishing. Bait not accepted. (Rule: Dont get local in the first shot. Stay global, talk English)
  
• "....mundian tu bachke rahee...": Me, shouting. The moment I went bezerk when the same song was played. Thats when a couple of chicks noticed my bhangra, as I would like to believe. As I danced, I did not have to speak. Just extended my hand to one beautiful babe standing at the corner and she came. My first one-on-one dance that night. (Rule: Actions speak louder than words).
• "Lets get out of here": Couple of chicks I wanted to dance with. Apparently I scared them with my huge-swing-of-the-arm-dance. (Rule: Dont overdo the bhangra. Take it easy. You are in America).
• "Will you buy me a drink? Ok. Let me finish this one.": Pre condition for me dancing with another one. (Rule: You have to spend some bucks. Think about it later in the week).
• "Oh, I am so drunk. Are you too? Want a cigarette?": A Persian chick dancing with me, falling on me rather, while lighting her cig. (Rule: Try not behaving as a drunk. Stay away from the lighted cig).
• "My friend can drop you in the Hummer. If you dont like that, I can drive you in the beamer.": My friend trying to hook up with some chick and her friends. This was the statement of the evening. I saw at least four heads turn at the same time when the Hummer and the Beamer were named in the same breath. (Rule: If you have IT, flaunt IT).
• "We...gooottaaa...geeeett..laiiddd...": 3 people almost rhiming and puking in my restroom. (Rule: Show the way to the toilet to your drunk friends).

July 30, Clarandon Ballroom, Arlington

• "Chance pe dance karo miyan"
: A friendly advice to make the most of the night. (Rule: Talk less. Think. Act more).
• "Let me have atleast two drinks, that will get me talking smoothly":
Me telling the same friend when he was pushing me to go for an Indian chick. Didn't work out. They walked out before I could approach them (Rule: Be spontaneous and dont make up stuff to boost your confidence. You either have it in you or you dont).
• "Hey. Would you like to join me on the dancefloor":
It worked remarkably well. I danced with this blonde for 3 hours thereafter. (Rule: Be direct. Be simple. Never underestimate the power of destiny. I could never have imagined myself dancing with such a beauty for that long. As they say, "Try and try again till you suceed").
• "Your ear rings are beautiful. I am Uj": Lesson learnt. No 'Ujjwal'. (Rule: Praise the girl. Dont be unrealistic).
• "You dance so well. Where are you from?" : Fishing. Bait accepted. (Rule: Talk sense. Talk easy. Though its hard to pretend for men, try not thinking too much about the big prize at the beginning of the conversation).
• "India is a beautiful country. It is a land where the people, color, language, topology, vegetation: everything changes every 300 kms. Its also the land of the Kamasutra. You should visit it once.": My cliched statement describing India. Its been the same since last August. (Rule: Mystify the place you are from. Create an air around you).
• "I have never dated an American girl hence I dont know when is she expecting to be kissed. So, let me know when you are ready.": Me to her. (Rule: Be honest. Be bold. Dont be uncomfirtably aggresive though).
• "Dont worry. She is perfectly safe dancing with me.": I tried convincing some of her other friends who were concerned about her dancing with me. (Rule: Make her feel safe)
• "If you feel uncomfirtable by what I am doing, let me know. Turn to the other side when I say so": My line to make her at ease with what we were upto on the dancefloor. No details. (Rule: Let her know that you are a decent guy and move onto the next sentence. Dont think too much into what she might be thinking about you, though, have a good presence of mind).
• "You are such a gentleman": Her sentence before the kiss. (Rule: None. You learn kissing with experience :)).
  
• "Would you like to see the Udvar Hazy Air and Space Museum? Its got the SR 71 lined up there. Here, this is my card. Gimme a call if you'd like to hangout sometime in the next two weeks. Whats your number?": Self explainatory. (Rule: There is no point investing time in somebody if you dont exchange phone numbers).
• "I'll dance with him. See you later": No. That was not for me. She told this to another guy who was wanting to dance with her when I went to get a drink for her. It felt great at that moment. (Rule: Keep the drinks flowing).
  
• "So you have a boyfriend in San Diego. I guess distance relationships are tough. I know how it feels": KLPD. She had a BF. But as long as she was in my arms, I was perfectly fine with it. (Rule: Associate with every feeling of her. 'I know, thats right, true, awesome, sounds like a plan, i can understand...'. Keep these on your tongue).
• "I wish you all the best, and yeah, gimme a call sometime": The parting line. (Rule: Always end on a happy and optimistic note).
• "Man. She flowed. She was awesome. Did you see me with her?": Thoughts on the way back. (Rule: Do not think too much about one chick you met when she was drunk. They come and go. Sad, but true).
  

July 31, Georgetown

• "You want to place a $20 bet?":
The person I challenged in the club for a game of pool. (Rule: Challenge drunk people for games before you get drunk. I won).
• "Oh you are so cute.":
A white girl squeezing my right....hmm........mmm......... cheek :). She was drunk and fell on my back while I was playing. (Rule: Let the girl touch you whenever she wants to).
• "I am from India too. Muuuaaaahhh!!":
A free peck on the cheek. The same girl, saying she was from India (Mumbai). Imagine, she was that drunk. She even got an Indian looking ABCD who said she worked in Mumbai for 6 months on some project. (Rule: Nationalities dont matter. Its the girl ;)).

This weekend was in contrast to the last two. I went to Sri Ventakeswara Mandir in Pittsburgh with Raghav and his family. They are very simple and warm hearted people. The best part was the food. Idlis for the breakfast, tamarind and curd rice for lunch and the same for dinner. I sang on the way back to DC for something like three hours. Thanks for the trip Rags. Had a great time cleansing my soul of the 'paaps' (sins).

That being said, there are actually no formal rules of engaging and fishing. One should make it a point to have a good time and be the person he/she is. Rest follows.

ps: Disclaimer: I am not a born flirt and though I have started having a good time recently, I strongly subscribe to the school of opinion which believes physical intimacy to be sacred.