An irresistible Call to depart

let me guess, you're a Cancer,right?' asked Christine,a look of frank curiosity in her hazel eyes.

i gazed at her in incomprehension as i tried to recall the details of our encounter last night .i thought we had met at a bar in the Upper West Side, but it could well have been Chelsea.Damn,this was embarrassing .

No, wait got it. We met past midnight at the after party in Peter's apartement .She was a broad way actress who had a thing for bankers,and we had a glorius , Phonet discussion about a new art gallery.

I felt proud of myself. Despite being inebriated,I had probably succeeded in sounding pretentious enough to get an invitation back to her apartement. 

I felt even prouder to note that my performance hadn't suffered because of the alcohol. Otherwise why would we be here,enjoying our moring-after ,

having sushi for brunch in this fancy new Asian-Latino fusion restaurant?But what was this 'Cancer'business ? Gosh.had i been so pathetic as 

to call out for my doctor father or some other freudian tripe like that? I was about to ask her fir an explanation when i overheard 

snippets of conversation from the table next to ours.

Don't you just love this palce?It's so.......so ethnic,'gushed a middle-aged platinum blonde to her identical-looking friend.

'I thought i had outgrown sushi, but this place is just,like,so totally awesome.'

I'm breaking up with Richard,'her friend replied,paying no attention to the sushi comment.

'I think i love him,but i'm not like,in love with him,if you know what i mean.'

i pulled myself away from their profound exchange to observe Christine daintily sample her Kodako Nigri.

'Sushi got your tongue?' smiled Christine,brushing a wisp of golden blonde hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

I knew she thought she looked adorable when she did that.'if it isn't Cancer,the it's Gemini,'she said.

All of a sudden, i was tired.i didn't belong here Zodiac signs,

twenty-year-old ditzy actresses,fusion restaurants,baby octopus for lunch,miniature brioche buns for dinner,

independent movies,art galleries,outgrowing sushi,breaking up with Richard-none of it was real.Rather, all of it was real.

I was fake, the imposter who didn't belong here. The same Eric feeling of living someone else's life was haunting me again.

I'm drowning,I wanted to shout, someone please throw me a ******* stick.

'Did you say something,big boy?'she asked.

Oh Christine,I thought, the only sign i can think of right now is the Ram. 

I want us to get back to your apartment and go at it until i can't think any more because thinking, 

you see,is dangerous;

too much of it drives even sane people insane.

'Cancer,'I mumbled .'Right the first time.'

"That's what i told Richard.I really need to find out who i am first,'floated the voice from the next table.

That's it, I thought,i'm done.i began thumbing down my BlackBerry.Sadly,one of the few benefits of being a banker was that everyone expected you to be an asshole.

'I need to rush,'I said.'something's is coming up.Do you mind if we do this some other time?'

Christine must have been shocked by my rudeness.Later, i felt bad that i didn't give her enough time to clean up the Uni-Tama on her plate.

After all, she was the unlikely silicone angel who had compelled me,the yale educated,

American-born,pampered son of immigrant indian parents to quit my Cushy wall street investment banking job amd leave Manhattan.

But i was in a hurry that day .Soon there would be insignificant departures from the neat,tight script of my life and some scenes needed to be rewritten immediately.

Monday morning asusal , my alarm went off at 5 a.m.,the same it had buzzed every weekday in the past twenty-odd years of my existence .

Morning's were always busy: In high school,i woke up early to attend violin classes because Dad was convinced you nee something

 'extra'for admission to Yale or Harvard;in Yale, 

I got up to maintain my place in the athletics squad because investment banks viewed participation in competitive sports favourably in their interviews;

now,waking up early ensured that i was the first analyst to reach the bank.

I switched off the alarm,picked up my blackberry and scrolled down the messages sleepily. 

The usual Monday morning 'Urgent'e-mails about pitch books and client meetings;today though,

my attention drifted to the Zen footers at the bottom of the e-mails.

CARPE DIEM.SEIZE the day.

life is too short to smell the flowers that bloom at your feet.

life isn't complicated you make it so.

jesus,did people really believe this smack?I got a surprise for you,buster:it is complicated .You hurt those you love the most;

the bigger an asshole your are, the beter you do in life; ypu strive for all the things that matter the most .

try telling the chinese sweatshop worker, who is going blind from sewing Nikes, to seize the day,or the gutter cleaners in India to smell the roses.

It is simple isn't it? I put the Blackberry down.

 But i couldn't makle myself get up from the bed. I rolled  around for a couple of hours,smoking a smooth Dunhill

and staring blankly at the Monet and Warhol replicas on the walls of my studio apartement.

Soft music from an acoustic guitar instrumental played in the background on the bang and Olsen music system.

the cell phone beeped. A message fom Christine :

'Had fun stallion. The opera this weekend?'

I smiled. I had created an elaborate sham of a life,Fake  Monet, acoustic guitar instrumentals,

SMS invites you to the NewYork opera-none of these belonged here,the same way i didn't belong.

I pulled the soft,luxurious cover to my chin, staring at the ceiling as the random idea that stuck me over lunch with Christine began to take shape.

 By the time i finally made my way to my office on wall street,it was 8 a.m.

The fifth floor of the tallest building on Wall Street,

plush furniture in the lobby, a gorgeous receptionist with a Brit accent and a plunging neckline,

the latest Fazzino on the walls. it had all seemed so impressive two years ago,I thought as i walked over to my cubicle.

Just what had happened  ?

'Here he comes' exclaimed peter as i switched on my computer . 

Peter was my closest friend from Yale and partly by fortitude and partly by intent, 

we had ended up in the same firm-he after taking a couple of years off to back-pack across Thailand,

vietnam and combodia,me after abandoning my PHD in physics halfway at Yale.

  'Dude, are you all right?'Coz this is the first time i have beaten you to work or class since we'ave known each other.

I was worried maybe the actress showed you a different movie,or should i say move,from the one you expected.'He winked.

'I'm fine,I'll fill you in later,okay?has Ruth asked for me yet?'I said.

'yes of course,' said peter.'Her star portege,her shining diamond has never showed at work later than seven in the a.m.,

so yeah, she has been hoping around for a while.

She's is worried you might develop a life outside the work. Ofcourse,she doesn't know about your weekend adventures yet.

Speak of the devil...'

I turned around to see Ruth,my tall,my blonde,hard-driven Australian manager,

arriving with a sheaf of important-looking papers in her hand.It was business as usual. 

Banks didn't know or care about crises of the soul.

I spent the rest of the day (and most of the night)

filling in spreadsheet after spreadsheet for a meeting with an important client,

a majority of its profits from its underwear collection.

During the course of the next fifteen hours,I became an expert on what different types of underwear cost,

which US retailers sold half-priced underwear, what size underwear was the most profitable to produce,

how economic recession impacted underwear consumption,which colour underwear consumption,

which colour underwear were the most popular at Christmas and other such important,fascinating facts.

At two in the morning,i finally sent the analyses to Ruth,swearing i would set my plan in motion immediately.

i never had lofty ambitions for myself,and i didn't care if there was a different destiny waiting for me somewhere ese.

All i knew was that becoming a connoisseur of the underwear industry hadn't figured in my list of childhood ambitions. 

My phone rang just as I was about to head off to Peter's cubicle.

'Good work, Samrat,' said Ruth. A kid yelled in the background.'Take fifty prints for tomorrows alignment meeting at seven, will you? Spiral bound.' The kid squealed louder as if it was being sacrificed at the altar.Mummy is on the phon, honey,'said Ruth in the same voice she used to speak to Peter.

Suddenly,i didn't want to end up like her. President of a white-collar sweatshop, hundred-hour work weeks, pre-meetings for allignment meetings for pre-meetings to the client meetings, spiral-bound pitch books at two in the morning , squealing kids, indifferent spouse,demanding client's.

'And let's squeeze ten minutes out of my calendar tomorrow to talk about your busuiness school application,'she said.

i could accurately predict every day of the next twenty years of my life,i thought as i fired the prints.

from associate to analyst to Harvard Business school to vice-president to managing director;a wife,two kids, a nanny and a housekeeper;a summer house in the hampton's a vacation home in Colorado;sell off the summer house in a financial crises,

buy two in a boom.Variation would mean being promoted six months earlier or later; and going to wharton instead of Harvard.

I wasn't meant for this, I thought as i began spiral binding the pitch book.this isn't the life i chose,i am living someone else's reality.

'Fancy a smoke?'I asked Peter as i stepped into his cubicle after leaving the pitch books in a neat thickset body bent over the keyboard,one hand on his bald pate,the other typing on the keyboard furiously.He looked more like a skinhead than a banker,I thought ,and he definitely did behave like one.

Who else would be up at 2.a.m.,not for a noble cause like tracking a client's financial position, but to follow Jenna Jameson's favourite positions?

Just a minute,'he said,turning to me.His blue sparkled with excitement.I'm on the verge of a breakthrough.Check out this site. I  nodded appreciatively,wondering for the millionth time since meeting him six years back at Yale just how he managed to get by.

'Done,'he said, getting up from his chair.'Let's pack up.Another busy day.'

We made our way out of the quiet building,shivering in the crisp winter air.The neon sign of the chinese take-out place flashed the corner of the quiet street.

'I'm leaving,' I said as we lit our cigarettes.

A bum was shivering outside the unlit Starbucks.Fancy telling him,i thought, that i was about to quit my quarter-million-dollar-paying investement banking job because i was feeling 'empty',He'd probably stick the needle he had in his hand into my eyes.

'Bad day,eh?'said peter.

'No.I'm serious.i'm quitting ,'I said.

'Dude,don't give me that.Notyou,'said peter.

'your'e meant for this.Straight as in high school, perfect SAT,4.0 in Yale,athlete of the year,Ruth's darling errand boy,this place runs on screwed up\=folks like you.'

Whatever,'I said.'I'm done.'

Big stoned eyes narrowed in disbelief.'And where are you heading?Private equity?'he said.

'No,definetly not.I think i'll probably go back to completing my PHD.I kind of liked it.Maybe get back in academia after that,become a professor or something,'I said.

Bull, Peter said.  You are not interested in the phd, you just want to get back to the old life. look, get over it. no one does their first job forever. 

See, what I am tired of.  This whole life...... Whole Truman show,  I said everybody has an opinion on my life. play the violin,  score as in school, participate in athletics, go to Yale become a doctor or a Banker, apply to Harvard Business School, don't stick to your first job---- everyone seems to be living my life except me. 

 You are Asian,  man, this is your destiny. he loved.  I did not laugh. 

 dude, Said Peter. don't get me wrong. I think it's great to quit, this is the crappiest job in the world.  Soon as well. I just don't think leaving for that PhD is wise, though .  You did not like the course. you did not even like physics at Yale for that matter. Being good at something doesn't mean you like it. and you are good at this banking bull shit.  I stayed  at him.  Sometimes he made sense. sometime off.  See the world,, backpack, hike, travel find yourself, he continued. join me. it will give me a reason as well. I am getting restless again.

 most times, though,  he did not make any sense. a couple of hours later, I made my way back to my apartment. talking with Peter had not helped much.With the few logical words, he had destroyed the one fantasy that had kept me afloat for the past few months. If I was not going back to complete my PHD, what would I do?

how long have you been here? Ask the bearded Sikh cab driver in Hindi.

This was the last thing I needed. IDebeted whether to pretend I did not understand, but I began to feel bad for him. if there was one thing worse than banking, it was probably driving a cab through The lonely streets at 3:00 in the morning.

Just a few years, I said.

Do you plan to go back? he said.

he had touched a raw nerve. I don't know I said. don't think so much. you should go back, he said forcefully. If I was your age, I would go back. now what was this about? I felt like I was in a bad CIA movie. How did he know about the conversation I did just had with the Peter?

It's lonely out here, he continued. the older you get, The lonelier it gets. Go back now while you are still young.

It's lonely everywhere, I said.

he turned around and stayed at me in disbelief.

Not at home,, Boss, not at home. even if you have no one, you will find friends and family like this in India. He snapped his fingers. No one is lonely in India. You should go back. of course he had mistaken me for an Indian. I did not feel like giving an explanation, so I kept quiet.

Everything is not thought from the head, he said, thumping his chest with one hand and swearing dangerously with the other. sometime, think from the heart as well. 

 Three weeks later, I braced myself for a painful discussion and called my father at work.

 is everything ok,  beta?  He asked, sounding very concerned what happened?

 ours was not a relationship given to sudden, and unPlanned expressions of love. like everything else in my strictly ordered  my life,my weekly phone call to my parents happened on scheduled every Sunday  evening.  A phone call outside the timing usually signified are crisis,  and I knew my father would have probably pulled himself out of a surgery to take my call.  Heck, I thought , he was kentucky's   best   damned  cardiac surgeon, after all.  he could fix any  arterial damage my phone call had caused.

Everything is fine, dad.  I am going to... going to India,  actually,' i   replied hesitantly.

 I could almost hear him relax,  and my heart warmed to him .  He was a simple, uncomplicated man, full of goodness.  He wanted nothing more than my happiness. happiness, I thought to myself,  fleeting, elusive happiness, that's all I want too.

 that is great, beta. you haven't been there in so many years, and it is always fun to travel to India on business. have you told ma about it yet ?  She will be overjoyed .  Listen, I am in the middle of something. why don't I call you in the evening? ' He said.

' this is not a business trip, actually. I am quitting gold man and going to India for couple of years,' I said.

Defining silence.

 Iris to fill the gap. I am not becoming a hippie, dad. I am planning to go to Business School there. I have already applied and been accepted.' still no response.

 it is not that bad, I continued, trying to believe it myself,' with India becoming an economic superpower and stuff.  And an international business degree would probably helped my banking career when I am back... are you still there? 

' But why would you do that?' he said finally.

Acabbie  told me to,' I said. 

' What?' he said.

 where do I start, I thought and will you ever understand?  for one, I hate the script. I am 25 years old and more than a third of my way through, and I have acted perfectly so far without ever   asking for Even a single extra take.  I have scored straight As in  School, become the valedictorian  at Yale  and join the best bank on Wall Street. but I can't live this Truman show  any longer . I dislike the monotonous predictability of my life.  I am tired of making a livelihood filling spreadsheets  that help make rich, fat bastards richer and even more miserable then they already are.  Everyday I get the sinking feeling that I am not creating anything; I am just pushing paper around. done with the 18 hour work days, and i don't need the constant unnecessary  ball- crushing  stress  to make my first million before 30.  you won't understand this, dad, but I don't give a flying  **** whether I become a millionaire by 30 or 36,or even if I don't become one at all. I have realised that I am just not Indian enough to run the race. please try to understand that? 

 What I really want to do is to shave my head, grow a beard, become a hippie, wander around Africa and India for a year and find myself. but I am just not American enough to do that. I am an ABCD, an American Born  Confused Desi, if you will; I can't function without back- up plans, career options and safety nets. so I am taking the safer route and joining business school in India instead. at least there  I can still play the American searching for himself while getting an education that would be somewhat valued by corporate America.  I know these are the vague, spoiled concerns of the ' privileged Americans', as you say, but I am one of them now, am I not? 

 Samrat?  Hello?  Are you still there? 

 Yes, I said. I don't know, dad. I just hate it here.

 you should have listened to me when I told you to join medical school. but no, you did not like medicine. he said.Why  India ,though? have all the business schools here shut down?  After Yale, you should go to Harvard  or  Stanford,  not some school in India. 

 I need a break from here, dad, I said.plus  the whole" second- generation immigrant finding fruits in India" is so glamorous Now, I think it will work to my advantage. differentiate my resume and stuff.'

 this was true, although I could not care less about my resume or my career right now. all the group president in the bank and the Diamond- studded  wives  Had wept  their  stone heart out after seeing bend  it like Beckham and  bride and prejudice and similar nonsense.If I could tell them with the straight face that I had gone to India to find my roots,  there eyes would  probably well over as they handed me job back. 

Its Going to be ok, dad. I am joining the Indian Institute of Management in Bangalore, not Solapur leadership Institute, so hopefully you will think there is still some hope. I managed to sneak in through the foreign national quota, I said lightly. that did not seem to think it was funny, though .

 beta, 27 years ago I graduated from a similar college in India  and came here to give you a better life. now you want to go back to the place where I began ?  Ultimately, it is your decision, though. we will be supportive of whatever you decided to do, he said tiredly

Surprisingly, his support made me feel irritated  Instead of grateful. I wished he would shout, take me by my shoulders, tell me that it was a wrong decision and forbid me to go. suddenly, I did not want to be an adult, to deviate from the script or Bheem I held accountable for my choices anymore . but my slide down that slippery slope had begin, and there would be no going back now. 

 I spent my last few weeks in the US wrapping up my affairs and communicating my decision to those who mattered  .  the reactions ranged from encouragement,albeit  the Australian variety, from Ruth (' I am disappointed,  but go for it.' no drama. we will be glad to have you back when this foolishness is over.') to disappointment from moum(' this is what happens when you stay alone for so long. at your age, your father had you.  As usual, you are running away from responsibility.') to outright admiration from Peter(' good for you, dude, video you finally struck it to the man. I am very proud  PU and yeah,if  you are Asian roots screwed you over, you should find out what it is all about.  Remember   Tarantino: if someone  stuck a red- hot Poker up you're ***, you've got to find out whose name is on the handle.')

I was glad they understood  in their own ways, though I still was not sure what I was getting into.  Hopefully,  there were more answers than questions in India,  and it would not all be a waste .

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***