Short story by S. Narayanaswamy
Sunny Iyengar woke up early that morning,
like any other day. He sat up in bed, with both feet firmly on the ground. The
bed was oriented so that he sat up facing East. He folded his hands in
salutation and bowed his head in silent prayer – to the Sun, to the world, to the
creation. This too was a daily ritual like waking early, performed without much
thought, ingrained into him over the past twenty five years.
After completing his ablutions, Sunny walked
into the kitchen and made coffee with practiced efficiency. He spooned out
equal amounts of three different coffee beans from three separate jars into the
coffee grinder. The grinder was within a custom made silencing chamber – Sunny seriously
disliked the noise of the coffee grinder. He poured the coarse powder into the
conical filter of the coffee maker, added bottled spring water, and turned it
on. He went and sat in his La-z- boy leather recliner, waiting for the coffee.
The coffee maker gurgled like a little infant that was tickled by its dad. It
was a happy sound – a good sound to greet the new born day. Sunny’s eyes
surveyed the apartment.
It was a small apartment, but decorated in
a contemporary style, reflecting Sunny’s taste as well as personality – orderly,
rational and practical. Nothing fanciful. When the coffee was ready, Sunny
filled his mug and returned to the recliner. All around him was quiet. It was
as if the city that had been screaming itself hoarse throughout the night had
finally fallen silent to catch its breath, just for a couple of hours. Enjoyment
of coffee occupied Sunny fully and completely for the next few minutes. The
morning coffee was a relatively new habit that Sunny had cultivated with his
usual deliberate precision, unprompted by his father or the rigors of his
professional life. It was the one time he surrendered to pure sensory bliss. Savoring
the caffeine induced gentle buzz in his head, Sunny focused on the day ahead. It
was a big day for him. Vice President at twenty nine! He had called his father in
Los Angeles the previous night with the good news. His father was proud of him.
Sunny placed the empty mug in the sink and
went over to the big window. He parted the blinds and looked eastward. It was
late January, and the first rays of the Sun were trying to pierce through the
dense fog. As he continued to stare, the fog seemed to melt away and he was
able to see everything with utmost clarity. The clarity did not hit him, like
some extraterrestrial punch – rather, it was like a gentle awakening. He looked
at the red ball of the rising Sun and nodded, acknowledging its summons. He packed
a small duffel bag, threw it into the passenger seat of the Honda CRV, got in
and pulled out into the street. He did not stop at the BART station from which
he usually took the train to his office. He drove past it and soon merged on to
Lincoln Highway, drove past Oakland and headed into the open country, eastward.
**
**
Venkat Sundaram Iyengar migrated to the
United States from India to work as a research scientist in the Bell Labs in
New Jersey. He moved his young family to the US much against the wishes of his
orthodox parents who considered crossing the ocean a sin. However, he still
followed tradition in naming his son after his father. Venkat was determined
that little Sundaram would have every advantage of growing up in the United States
of America. He researched and planned everything. First, the name – Sundaram simply
would not do. So, Indian Sundaram became American Sunny. Research showed that
infants listening to classical music grew up to be high achievers. Boxed sets
of various classical symphonies replaced the South Indian Carnatic music
cassettes given by Venkat’s mother.
He bought only the toys most suited for
brain development. He was not like typical Indian parents who forced their
children always to study and did not allow any play. Research showed that carefully
chosen physical exercise as well as music complemented school learning and
stimulated the brain. Therefore, Sunny was enrolled in a few select sports and
Suzuki violin lessons, right from Kindergarten.
**
**
Sunny approached Reno around ten o’clock,
but was not tempted to stop there. The artificial glitter of the casinos and
the strip did not entice him. He stopped briefly at a rest stop further along
the highway, just to relieve himself and stretch his legs a bit. The high
desert stretched in all four directions as far as the eye could see. The
traffic had thinned out. He got back on the road and reached the tiny town of
Winnemucca at one o’clock in the afternoon. When he saw the city’s sign on the
outskirts, he remembered a line he had read on some travel website –
Winnemucca, the oasis of the high desert! He decided to sample the oasis for
lunch. Lunch was just a grilled vegetable sandwich and a bag of chips, which he
ate sitting on a park bench. The January cold had a nip, but the Sun, high in
the clear sky was warming up everything that he touched with his rays. It was
nice, but he did not linger. Eastward ho!
*** ***
***
When Sunny was about seven, Sunny’s mother
insisted on paying a visit to see her ageing parents in Chennai. She wanted to
take Sunny also, but Venkat was extremely reluctant to let the boy go, because
he had planned every minute of the summer for Sunny’s development and growth.
Moreover, he was concerned that Sunny’s growth would be adversely affected by
the chaotic and emotional nature of South Indian homes. However, he had to bow
down to the pressure from the grandparents and reluctantly allowed Sunny to go
for two weeks.
Sunny could not blend in with the brood of
boisterous cousins, nor did he like much the invasion into his space by the
bevy of aunts who insisted on hugs, kisses, pinching his cheeks and such sundry
travesties. He would have gladly gone back to the US within that first week if
someone gave him the chance. Then he discovered the music class his grandmother
taught at home and fell in love with it. Venkat’s mother was a respected
teacher of South Indian music called Carnatic music. Sunny had a good ear,
already well-tuned in his violin class. The grandmother noticed him hovering
shyly around the class and gently coaxed him to join. He liked the little girls
that came to class wearing colorful long skirts with shiny tinsel hems. He
liked their immature voices trying to articulate the complex melodies,
repeating after the teacher. He liked the melodic structure of the raga system;
he liked the orderliness of each composition set in a distinct modal scale. He
was instinctively drawn to the Raga Mohana, an enchanting pentatonic scale.
Sunny and his mother did not return to the
US after two weeks. First one grandmother fell ill. They couldn’t leave when
the old lady was sick. When she got better, and they started packing, the other
grandfather fell ill. Of course, they couldn’t leave then because that would be
disrespectful. Venkat was upset, but there wasn’t much he could do under the
circumstances. Sunny and his mother returned to New Jersey just in time for
school. Sunny’s mother tried to find a local teacher to continue his Carnatic music
lessons, but Venkat would have none of it. There was no research to show any
beneficial effects of Carnatic music on a boy’s growth. The matter rested
there.
**
It was quite dark by the time Sunny
reached Salt Lake City. As the Honda cruised along Interstate 80, cutting
through the heart of the city, he thought of the nice cafes of downtown, and was
tempted to stop there for the night. However, the mysterious pull from the East
wouldn’t let him. He made a quick stop at a gas station to fill up and got back
on the road. It started to snow. As he climbed higher into the mountains, the
snow got heavier and the wind blew stronger. All the traffic moved at a cautious
forty miles per hour. Some of the semi-trailers pulled over to the shoulder,
and the drivers were putting snow chains on the tires.
Going into Summit Pass just before Park
City, the snow got so heavy that visibility was almost zero. Huge blobs of
semi-wet snow fell as if being hurled by a team of all-star baseball pitchers.
The wipers struggled valiantly to keep the window clear, but the snow continued
to cake up on the periphery. The Honda skidded once on a hair pin bend. Sunny
was not used driving in such conditions, and he got scared for a minute. He was
cold, tired and hungry. The larger SUVs, pick-ups and semis that were chained
up whizzed past in the left lane. Did I
embark on this journey just to meet my end in these snowy mountains? he
wondered. However, stopping was not an option. He had to keep going. He knew
that Park City was less than ten miles away.
It took him a little over forty minutes to
cross the ten miles of the snow laden pass. Even as he contemplated taking the
exit into Park City, the Honda emerged from the pass and the snow had suddenly
let up. His spirits picked up too. He stayed on the highway.
*** ***
***
Had Venkat been an educational researcher,
he could have published several papers in scholarly journals on the benefits of
the American scholastic system. After all, Sunny was the living example of it.
He graduated high school at the top of his class and was the valedictorian. He
maintained just sufficient interest in music and sports to keep his mind and
body sharp. He graduated with honors from Princeton in Computer Science and got
his MBA from University of Chicago. From there, Sunny’s career progressed along
a predictable trajectory. He made rapid advances in his job with his disciplined
rational approach and methodical precision. Venkat was very proud of his
American son – Sunny wouldn’t do anything that is not rational. Vice President
at twenty nine!
** ** **
He could not remember the last time he had
seen another vehicle on the road. The landscape was afloat in the ethereal glow
of the pale moonlight. The earth was completely flat. He glanced at the clock.
10.37 PM. It occurred to him that perhaps he should stop for the night
somewhere. A green exit sign came up after ten minutes. “Green River” it said. There
were comforting and inviting symbols of food and bed under the sign.
What
is this place? Looks like middle of nowhere. I wonder if it would be safe to
stop here for the night, Sunny wondered. Immediately he chuckled
to himself – Safe? I’ve never done
anything like what I did today. After what happened in that mountain pass, what
am I afraid of? Gosh, I am tired!
Even as he made the decision to stop for
the night, the road curved sharply to the left and two enormous columns of eroded
rock loomed ahead. The landscape changed dramatically from the featureless
infinite flatness of high desert into rock formations, carved into fantastic
profiles by centuries of erosion, and appeared spectacular in the dim light of
the pale moon. He found it difficult to keep his eyes on the road. Within a
minute, the car crested the peak of the mesa and emerged on top. To the right,
he saw a wide valley which nestled the town with hundreds of lights glittering
in the darkness like fireflies. It was at once surreal and beautiful. Then came
the exit.
The exit ramp led into what seemed like the
center part of the town on a two lane road. There were some official looking
buildings and some shop fronts. The street was deserted. He passed a solitary
blinking traffic light and spotted a gas station that was brilliantly lit. He
didn’t need gas, but thought this would be a good spot to get some information
on where to stay and perhaps get something to eat. As he entered the store, the
young man who was watching something on TV behind the counter, got up and came
forward. The young man gave him a strange look.
“You’re not from around here.” It was a
statement, not a question. Sunny was a bit taken aback, but nodded his head in
assent.
“True, I’m from San Francisco.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. You don’t
look American!”
This really shook Sunny up. I don’t believe this! Should I stand here
and explain to this dimwit that I am as American as him? Oh god, I am so tired,
Sunny thought. “My parents are from India,” he said out loud in a non-committal
way.
“Ohh! So, you are an Indian from India,
then! Not like an Indian Indian, you know what I mean? There are many of those
here, you know!”
“Hmm, whatever. Could you tell me if
there’s a hotel or a motel nearby?”
“Yeah, sure. There are a couple of motels
down the road. They are Indians from India too, just like you. So, you should
feel right at home.”
He bought a bag of trailmix and walked
back to his car.
Getting back on the main street, he
noticed two motels, one on either side of the road. He pulled into the one on
the right. A neon sign in the parking lot proclaimed that the place had
vacancy. A painted notice pointed to a dimly lit window as “office”. The middle
aged Indian woman with a sour face behind the window gave him a curious look.
Oh
great! Now she’d want to know what a nice Indian boy like me is doing in the
middle of the night! Sunny groaned to himself. But the woman
just swiped his credit card and handed him the room key. She did not express
any interest to engage him in conversation, and he was thankful for that. He
got his duffel bag out of the Honda, walked into the room, stretched out on the
bed and promptly fell asleep.
*** ***
***
He got up when a ray of sunlight stabbed
him in the eye. He woke with a start and could not understand where he was. The
window seemed to be facing East, and though the drapes were drawn, there was a
narrow gap which allowed the offending ray of light into the room. It took him
a minute to remember where he was. The bed was saggy and his back was in agony.
He got up gingerly and stretched himself. He felt much better after a long hot
shower. After surrendering the room key to the middle aged Indian man in the
office, he got into the Honda and sat in the driver’s seat, just staring ahead.
It was surprisingly not very cold in the car. The car clock said it was 10:14.
I’d
better get going, he thought, yet he continued to sit
there. He opened the bag of trailmix he had bought the previous day, and
started munching one piece at a time. He was facing East. There was a mesa in
front of him and he could see Interstate 80 and the traffic on it. The Sun was
fairly high in the sky. As he continued to munch, he ran his gaze along the
length of the mesa. His attention was drawn to a large rock formation that
looked like some gigantic modern art sculpture. The oddly cylindrical rock
glowed in multiple reddish hues wherever the sunlight touched it. He kept
staring at it. He was entranced by it. Suddenly, he started the car, put it
into gear and started driving towards the rock formation.
It was a fairly steep climb, but the road
though unpaved, was good and the Honda made it there fairly easily. There was a
small parking lot. It looked like this rock was a bit of a tourist attraction.
The base of the rock was about thirty feet above the parking lot. He got out of
the Honda and started climbing over the rough ground. By the time he reached
the base of the rock, he was quite winded. It was cold and slightly breezy. The
sun was shining brilliantly in a cloudless blue sky. It was not a single rock –
rather it was a piece of the mesa that had been cut away from the main chunk,
and then shaped by centuries of erosion by wind, rain and snow. He could see
the various layers on the surface and each layer was a different reddish hue.
Once he caught his breath, he walked around the rock to the other side.
On one side, he could see Interstate 80
far below, winding its merry way westward, through the spectacular rock pillars
that he drove past the previous night. Those pillars too were carved by nature
just like the rock next to him. The scene on the far side knocked his breath
away. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was as if the Earth’s skin
had a case of goosebumps and they just froze like that. There were a few rocks
jutting out here and there and there were clumps of occasional sage brush. The
air was mildly fragrant with the aroma of sage. He left the big rock and
started walking towards the frozen waves.
He went on walking, fully captivated by
the landscape. It got to be very windy. Sunny had no track of time nor was he
aware of his tired body. At times, the wind seemed to speak to him, goading him
on. Suddenly, the world became very dark. Sunny stopped and looked at the sky.
A humongous black cloud swallowed up the Sun. He shivered involuntarily. He
looked around as if waking from a dream. He could not see the large rock from
which he had set out.
When
did I set out from that rock? How far had I walked?
he asked himself in disbelief, but curiously enough, he was not afraid. It was
as if his adventures yesterday removed any sense of fear in him. There seemed
to be a reason why he had stopped in Green River for the night. He was meant to
come to this place. The wind told him that.
Suddenly, the wind turned into twirling
gusts and sand began to fly with it. It began to prick the exposed skin of his
face. He got down into a crouched position and drew his face into the partial
cover of his jacket. His head was still exposed and he continued to feel the
prick of the sand with the random gusts of wind. He thought he heard the sound
of hoof beats coming from afar, but he couldn’t be sure. The wind had been
making some weird noises. He couldn’t quite risk taking his face out of the
jacket to have a look.
The sound of hoof beats became distinct,
and they were a lot closer now. Almost as if by magic, the gusts subsided and
the flying sand began to settle down. He stood up and shook his head and
shoulders vigorously to shake off the sand. It was still quite dark and the
black cloud still blocked out the sun. The air was thick with settling dust. In
that unnatural twilight, he spotted a vague shape bouncing along at a distance,
but could not be quite sure. Just then, the wind turned again and he could
distinctly hear the sound of hoof beats, much nearer now. In a few seconds, the
dust curtains parted in front of him and he saw a strange looking man riding
towards him on a large horse. Sunny observed that, by facial features, the
rider was some sort of a Native American. The rider wore dirty denim jeans and
a denim shirt and rode without a saddle. He had long hair, but except for that,
the rider did not display any other signs of his tribe.
The horse came to a stop a few feet away
from Sunny. He stared at the rider, and the rider returned the gaze. The rider
said something in an unfamiliar tongue. Sunny first thought he was asking
something, but the rider’s face did not seem inquisitive. Sunny merely shook
his head to indicate he could not understand. The rider gave a nod, got down
from the horse and started walking, holding the reins. Sunny followed him.
Shortly they arrived at a big rock which was almost like a hill. It had a
shallow cave, and the rider motioned to Sunny to sit inside the cave. The horse
just stood there, without being tethered to anything. The rider pulled out a
few dry sage clumps from the earth nearby and brought them into the cave. He
knelt beside the pile of twigs and began to strike two flint stones. Sunny
watched him with interest. Soon, the cotton caught fire and the rider laid it
on the pile of twigs. The twigs caught fire, and a thin plume of sage smoke
rose up in a curvy path, filling the cave with a gentle aroma. The rider sat
down opposite him and drew some materials out of various pockets. Many
questions popped up in Sunny – What is
this strange man doing alone in this magical place? Is he real? Well, the fire
is real enough! What is he up to now?
The rider filled a pipe with some tobacco
and some other ingredients and lit it with a burning twig. He puffed on it till
it caught and passed it on to Sunny. He shook his head declining the offer, but
the rider was insistent. So, Sunny accepted the pipe and just held it. The
rider mimed with action that he should take a strong pull. Sunny did so, and
almost choked on the smoke. He was caught up in a fit of violent coughing. The
rider clapped his hands in glee and was laughing merrily. Sunny saw all this through
his coughing and teary eyes. The rider continued to laugh gleefully, like a
child enjoying its prank. Sunny was very angry and wanted to throw the burning
pipe in the rider’s face, but was too consumed by the cough. As soon as he
recovered from the coughing fit, the rider stopped laughing and mimed to him to
take another pull on the pipe, and he did so. Then, Sunny felt his anger
dissolve into the exhaled pipe smoke. The rider nodded in approval and said
something in his strange tongue. He seemed to be congratulating Sunny, perhaps
for getting the knack of the pipe or perhaps for his new beginning. Sunny took
another pull on the pipe.
The rider leaned back against the rock and
began to sing in a guttural voice. Sunny too leaned back against his side of
the cave and closed his eyes. He felt his hearing grow very keen, picking up
subtle nuances in the guttural singing – peculiar vibratos and surreal
harmonies. The song blended into the plume of sage smoke and began to encircle
him. It all began to feel natural and familiar to Sunny. The melody emerged
fully formed and utterly beautiful. He knew this melody. It was Raga Mohana,
which he had learned as a child from his music teacher grandmother in India. He
surrendered his soul to it and it blessed his voice. He began to sing.
*** ***
***
The next thing Sunny knew, he was climbing
from the big colorful rock down to the parking lot. There was no sign of a
cloud in the sky, and the Sun was a giant ball of orange red to the southwest.
He could see the street lights come on in the small town in the valley below.
He got into the Honda and drove onto Interstate 80, heading westward, heading
home. He drove all night and reached home just before six. The first thing he
did upon entering his apartment was to call his father. That’s when he got the
news that his grandmother had passed away in India. He went to the window,
parted the drapes and stared at the Sun rising in the east. He felt touched.
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