Meeting Max (10 page)

Chapter 11

The next morning, Rick had tea with Rohit on the patio and told him that he was in India to find his son. He also talked about the relationship he had with Julie and how much he loved her. Rohit listened and spoke sympathetically.

“Yes, you have to find him. You must find Eric. He is your child. You cannot let things go. You will find him here in India. Many people will help you. We are that way, especially when it comes to a child.”

“I’m trying, but it’s not easy.” Rick shook his head.

“Because it is not easy is another reason why you must do it,” Rohit said emphatically. “We must welcome challenges in our lives so we can work to overcome them. Obstacles are presented to us as a gift from God to help make us stronger. Everyone in India will fly to your cause. Maybe he’s making movies and you should go to these places. We create wonderful movies, some serious and funny in the same movie, such as
Monsoon Wedding
. Have you ever seen it?

“No, never.”

“You should do that. Another movie
, Mr. and Mrs. Iyar,
is about a Hindu Brahmin woman who protects a Muslim man on a bus. It is a good movie also. Your son came to India because there are many movies and exciting music. He was smart to think that way.”

Rick was aware of the film industry in India and considered it to be part of his search, but only after he explored popular music groups who recorded their music on CDs.

Rick was not surprised by how passionate Rohit was about him finding Eric. It fitted in with how important family life was in India. Rohit was rough around the edges and steadfast in his opinions, but he was a caring person. The words
He is your child. You must find him
rang in Rick’s ears.

Rohit brought another pot of tea to the table. Rick picked up the
Hindustan Times
, which was lying nearby, and read some of the commentary related to the terrorism that had taken place in Delhi over the past summer. One article said there were five bomb blasts within minutes of each other at various locations, leaving thirty people dead and over one hundred injured. Other bomb attacks had occurred in May in Jaipur, leaving sixty-three dead and over two hundred injured.

More destruction had taken place in Ahmedabad and in the state of Gujarat. The Islamic Indian Mujahideen group, who attacked disbelievers, claimed responsibility for these blasts. They phoned government agencies five minutes before the blasts went off, warning them that they would take place, but never said where.

Rick was aware of Hindu and Muslim conflicts, but was unsure of the degree it influenced everyday life. He learned there was a strong undercurrent of terrorism in India that most tourists did not see.

Many countries surrounding India harbored violent terrorist groups: Pakistan, China, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, and Kashmir. Many of the attacks were blamed on the Muslims in general, and many people erroneously assumed all Muslims were radicals. He thought it was unfortunate that many Sikhs were confused with Muslim radicals.

Rick finished reading the newspaper. He saw nothing but peaceful surroundings, not not a terrorist in sight. Just a quiet tree-lined street outside the wooden fence of the patio. He sipped the last of his tea, enjoyed the calm, and went into the small breakfast area of the kitchen. Even if some parts of Delhi were dangerous, he felt it was unlikely he would be harmed. He was only a tourist.

Breakfast was always a new experience thanks to different food and different topics of conversation every morning. This morning, Rick, Rohit, Lubna, and the British couple ate paratha bread with fresh butter and aloo sabji, a spicy potato dish. Rick looked inward, as if suddenly aware of the significance of his surroundings.

Here he was in India, sitting at a breakfast table with an Indian family and a British couple. It was like living in an earlier time, in a Kipling story, perhaps, or something out of Somerset Maugham. In his mind, he left modern times behind and imagined himself in India in the twenties and thirties.

During breakfast, Rick hesitated to bring up terrorism or why Muslims and Hindus were at odds with each other. He knew it was a sensitive subject. Breakfast was a time for peaceful pleasantries, but he wanted to know the reasons for some of the terrorism. He was surrounded by Rohit, Lubna, Raj, Robert, and Elizabeth, people who could enlighten him. He couldn’t let this collection of good minds go to waste on casual breakfast chatter.

When the opportunity presented itself, he put down his teacup and asked in a soft tone, “Can anybody tell me why Muslims and Hindus hate each other?”

Rohit was quick to answer. “I am a Hindu and I do not hate anybody, but that is me. Yes, there is much hatred between Hindus and Muslims. These are faiths that are opposed to each other. Because they have been in close contact for centuries in India, they had many opportunities to clash.”

Robert tilted his head back and took the last sip of his coffee. “Historically, the Muslims ruled India for over seven hundred years. Maybe they feel they should still rule.”

“Yes, maybe, my good sir,” Rohit chimed in. “There were a few temples which were converted into mosques during the Muslim rule, and I’m sure the Hindus want them back. Rick, let me tell you, it is the religious differences that are the reasons for the conflict.”

“Is that how you feel, Lubna?”

She glanced downward. “Rohit and I respect all human life.”

“Yes, it is true,” Rohit continued. “We do respect
all
human life. The problems are a mixture of things. Dividing people based on religion is wrong. Gandhi was right. Dividing the Indian people was not a good thing. It did not have to happen.

“Gandhi said President Lincoln was right to fight for the unity of the United States and not allow the Confederacy to become a separate nation. Gandhi felt it was a good comparison. Now terrorism will continue, and the terrorists will focus their attacks on the big cities, like Delhi and Bombay. I know it. It’s coming. I don’t hate anybody, and neither does Lubna. We are not like that, but bad things will happen. I know it.”

“Tell me, Rohit,” Robert began. “Do you think the Hindus are more forgiving of the Muslims than the other way around?”

“Yes, Hindus
are
more understanding of human beings in general. We enjoy the world’s largest democracy. That says that we trust the people to make decisions.

“We don’t blame
all
Muslims for the violent actions of a few, and we have proven it. Many Muslims have held high posts in Indian government. We have had three Muslim presidents, plus a Muslim Chief of the Indian Air Force, along with the vice president, Mr. Shri Ansari, to name a few, but Pakistan has
never
had a Hindu at a big post. None, sir. It would be impossible there.”

The conversation ended after a final round of tea and coffee. After breakfast, Elizabeth and Robert said their goodbyes. They had to leave to head south and needed extra time to clear up some questions about their lost railway tickets.

Rick left the table with his head spinning. He didn’t know much more than he had before, other than that Rohit and Lubna claimed they had no animosity based on religious differences. Rick felt that, beneath it all, in spite of what he had said, Rohit still harbored anger toward the Muslims.

Chapter 12

Permanand picked Rick up the next evening and told him he knew of a few places where he might get information about Eric.

Their first stop was the New Delhi Film Associates, a company that made art films and even some movies with a sexy Kama Sutra love twist. Sudev Mukerjhee, the musical director, came out to meet them. Rick told Mr. Mukerjhee his story about Eric and asked if he knew an Eric who was a sound engineer from America.

“No, sir, I do not think I know him, and we do not have an Eric working here, but let me check my files.”

“Thank you.”

Sudev was a kind man with watery, soulful eyes. He went to his desk and browsed some papers. “It seems there was an
Ehrik
here several months ago inquiring about some work, and he was an American, but I just have a notation saying something about his qualifications and a phone number. Do you want to see it?”

“Yes, of course.”

He handed Rick a paper containing a resume, which was worn and folded over a several times.

Highly experienced, innovative American sound engineer, recording engineer, mix engineer, mastering engineer with a unique and proven approach to sound recording. I am fluent in English and conversational Hindi.

There was a penciled note at the bottom:
call Ehrik...at Sunstar
, and no other information. Eric was spelled a little differently, but that was understandable in a country like India.

Rick called the inexpensive Hotel Sunstar and asked for Eric Anderson, but got a rather rude reply in bad Hindi English. He hung up and asked Permanand what he thought they should do.

Within minutes, they were off to the Sunstar, where Permanand spoke to the hotel manager and told him about Rick’s search. The manager looked up into the air with his hand on his chin and thought for a moment. He said he didn’t have any record of an Eric staying there as a guest, and then turned to the desk clerk and spoke a few words in Hindi. The clerk remembered someone by that name who’d visited a female guest on a regular basis. Permanand spoke to the desk clerk and provided some substantial
baksheesh
, a bribe that encouraged him to go on.

“He came maybe three or four times a week, sir.”

“What did he look like?” Rick asked.

“He had dark hair, was tall, and he had a short brown beard. He was here only three days ago and asked me about the Golden Triangle.”

“The Golden Triangle? What’s that?”

“The Golden Triangle consists of three places in India, sir, that makes a triangle on a map—Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. Delhi is the point on top of the triangle. It is a popular tourist itinerary. I think he was going to Agra, but I do not know for sure.”

“Do you have more information, anything?”

“I am sorry. From my remembrances, he sounded like he would most probably be going there soon and I have not seen him since. The woman he was visiting checked out of the hotel only yesterday.”

“Do you know the name of this woman?”

He looked at the records of registered guests. “Her name was Victoria Sinclair and she was from Los Angeles, but I don’t know more than that.” Rick thanked the man and left.

“Mr. Rick,” Permanand said, tapping his chest with his finger. “I am here for you always. I can take you Agra, not a problem, sir. Eric mostly wanted to see the Taj Mahal, I think.”

“How far is Agra from Delhi?”

“Oh, it is very soon, only two hundred and fifty kilometers. I take you faster than train goes. Three hours, maybe less.”

“Perm, I can’t believe it would be less than three hours in your little Tuk-tuk.”

Permanand laughed. “No, sir, I have nice ambassador taxi. You will be liking it, and it is air cooled too.”

They arranged to meet at Rohit’s place the next morning. Rick was beginning to think this was crazy, looking for Eric in this haphazard way. He could have called the places he was going to in advance and asked the same questions, but in India that would produce few results. The people were different. Little could be done by phone.

***

Permanand arrived in his white Hindustan Ambassador sedan, the ultimate right-hand drive Indian car, built in Kolkata and found everywhere in India. Rick reasoned that Eric would want to be where there were many tourists. These areas would have nightclubs and bands that would need a top notch audio engineer to help make their recordings or set up audio equipment for their stage appearances. These cities would also have lots of music stores, another place to search for Eric’s name.

The journey to Agra was pleasant. Rick sat in the front seat with Permanand. They drove through the small villages and made a detour only when a cow blocked the road.

Once, they came to a standstill. Traffic was stopped on both sides of the road. In the middle of the road was a nanny goat who stood motionless as she nursed her two hungry kids. No one in the cars seemed angry. Everyone waited calmly. Drivers who might be normally aggressive sat quietly with tolerant smiles as the mother fed her babies.

Agra is on the Ganges Plain, on the western bank of the Yamuna River, and is famous for the Taj Mahal. Permanand drove Rick to the home of Colonel Malhotra, who rented Rick a room and offered meals at a modest charge. Rick invited Permanand to stay as his guest, but he declined.

The colonel was a Sikh who lived with his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and his grandson. He was a retired Indian army officer who had served for twenty-five years.

Rick and the colonel found common ground and spent five days sharing abstract views of religion and philosophy. During one of their breakfasts, Rick asked him what being a Sikh meant and how it differed from other spiritual beliefs.

“Sikhs do not believe in the caste system,” the colonel said with his lilting Indian accent. “Within each person lives five thieves, and it’s every Sikh’s duty to defeat these thieves within him. First is lust, then anger, followed by greed, attachment, and ego.”

“What do you mean by attachment?”

“Emotional attachment.”

“You mean like the emotional attachment someone has to their family?”

“Yes, of course, but the attachment I mean here is called
moh
and it means love and attachment for worldly things. Objects only serve as a hindrance to meet God and love for these objects block the search for spirituality.

“However, everything washes away with death, when one merges back into the universal nature, just as a drop of rain flows back into the ocean. A Sikh does not believe in heaven or hell, but we can experience peace, while our ego-centered souls may be destined to suffer great agonies and pain in the dark underworld of Narak. All pain and suffering is caused by attachment to the ego, which is a human being’s sense of importance.”

“I see, or at least I
think
I see, Colonel,” Rick said, realizing the shallowness of his attachment to having a PhD after his name, his computers, and his cars. However, removing those attachments to live a more introspective and asthetic life would be impossible to do because of his involvement in the world of academia, which makes intellectuial and societal demands of him.

“Mr. Rick, greed keeps people entangled in materialistic things and as long as one remains entangled in worldly possessions, he or she wanders away from God.”

“Isn’t that a concept in Buddhism also?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Does attachment mean the same thing in Buddhism as it does in Sikhism?”

“Yes, but attachment is experienced in a different way. In Sikhism, the attachment is to material things. In Buddhism, it is being attached to your own self...ego.”

“What about ego? I’m sure Sikhism has something to say about that.”

“It does. Thank you for reminding me. Ego is an inner vice. It fills people with an exaggerated sense of importance. People with ego believe they are in control and have the power to change people. That is not possible. A person only makes changes in himself by his own desire.

“People with ego forget God and His power. They cannot be one with God. Within each person lives all these thieves, and it is the duty of every Sikh to subdue and control these emotions and enemies.”

“This is all very interesting, Colonel, but how do you do it? How do Sikhs practice it in their lives?”

“It’s done through love, compassion, meditation, and sharing what you have with others.”

“I feel those qualities are within me.”

“I know they are,” Colonel Malhotra answered.

The colonel was an impressive man. He dressed as a Sikh, with his turban and a net, which held his beard in place. His turban was similar to the turban worn by the man Rick had observed on the plane to Delhi. The colonel was intelligent, well-read, understanding, highly spiritual, and had a penchant for stimulating conversation.

Rick looked forward to their breakfast chats, just the two of them. The conversations that Rick had with Indians were fulfilling. Many of them were focused on spirituality, something he decided to take a second look at.

Permanand called Rick a few days later and apologized for not being able to meet him, saying his cousin was ill and he was at the hospital comforting him and would call when he could return.

Meanwhile, India’s culture drew Rick’s mind and heart to places he’d never been before. Differences between American and Indian people gave him a new perspective.

In India, strangers often met without bothering to introduce themselves, but got into deep conversations about philosophy and religion and went on their way. This gave Rick hope. Meeting people was easy, and they could help him in his search. Rick knew he would find Eric, maybe serendipitously, as a result of some unplanned event, or by meeting a stranger.

***

The next morning Rick was filled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to visit the Taj Mahal.

“The Taj Mahal, please,” Rick said to the driver, words he assumed the driver had heard thousands of times before. “What is your name?”

“It is Kumar, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Kumar.”

“Oh, it is my pleasure, sir. You are from which place?”

“America. Have you ever been there?”

“Never.”

“Have you traveled out of India?”

“No. Maybe someday,” he replied. “But I have seven children, some still small, and my wife and I both work. Sonia works in mobile phone store here on Kamala Nagar. It is good to have family and children. I will never be alone. So, why you come? To see Taj? It is very beautiful. You will like very much, sir.”

“Yes, Kumar, I came to see the Taj, but I also came to find someone.”

“Oh yes, plenty nice ladies here, but not easy for a
paradeshi
, a foreigner, like you, but is possible to…if you want…”

“No, Kumar, I like women, but that’s not why I’m here. I did meet a nice woman on the plane to Delhi, an American. She was very nice, but I will never see her again.”

“You will meet. I know you will meet.”

“Yeah, well…”

“So, who you look?”

“I’m looking for my son who was given up for adoption when he was a baby.”

“At what place is his mother?”

“His mother died recently and she only saw him as a newborn.”

“Oh, I never heard deeze tings. My heart is so sad.”

“Yes, it breaks my heart too, but I know I will find him.” He felt Kumar’s sincerity.

“India is different from other places. Would never give away baby, not a good thing. How you find? Go to detective?”

“Kumar, I searched everywhere from America before I came here. I used the internet to find detectives in India, but they seemed to only take surveillance jobs, and most of their clients required matrimonial investigations.

“I have limited information about my son, just his name, birthdate, and the kind of work he does. The Indian detectives I spoke to were sure they could find him and wanted a lot of money, but they never offered a good plan.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. What work he do, your child?”

“He does something related to music, but he doesn’t play an instrument.”

“Not play music? What he do?”

“He uses software and electronics to make music sound good. Singing groups make records and he makes their CDs sound good.”

“Oh yes, we have
sanbandhi
. They do same thing. Also, make music sound good. Many in Bombay and everywhere. They will help you find him.”

“I hope so. I used the internet to find all the places that make movies and looked for different singing groups that make recordings, asking if they knew him, but nothing so far. I’ve been in music stores, checking the albums to see if my son’s name was listed in the credits, but very few have audio engineers credited. Many people say they think they know him, but after I talk to them for a while, it seems they know very little.”