India Parks

Chapter 2: Jana Gana Mana

Our business grew well and fast. It had beaten all our expectations and surpassed every record. I was awarded Business man of the year by NY times. 18 kilos of the 20 kilos of pickles had been relished. I had bought a big house for myself, married a Maharashtrian girl by name Madhumala Joshi, though I was a north Indian realizing that Raj Thackery and Co would be extremely unhappy with Madhu. Madhu was a 26% stake holder in R&S consultancy. She was our chief technical officer. Raqeeb was married to Zubeen, an interior designer from Pakistan. Zubeen owned a boutique in New York.

I was extremely happy with my career. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do. I made $10 every second, which meant even when I slept a couple of hours late on Sundays I made $1200. I was surrounded by numbers. It had been 12 years since we had started; R&S now had 200 offices across the US.

I think it was around 2 pm that day when I sat at my table browsing. I searched for my name in Wikipedia and found six pages about me.

“Sunil Verma (pronounced su-nee-l var-ma) is an Indian born American businessman” the words read, the words ‘Indian born’ remained in my mind. I went back home that day and found a pot made of porcelain in my store room on which the letter P was still pretty clear. I went near the pot and held it in my hands, there was a handkerchief in my suit which I took out to wipe the dust off the pot. I read the letters aloud, “P I C K L E S”.

My eyes were wet. A couple of drops fell on the empty pot as I remembered Maa and Paa. All my 20 kilos were over; none of my cells seemed Indian. I went into my room closing the door behind me, stood upright and started singing.

“Jana Gana... Mana, adhinayaka jayahe…” and I could not continue.

I was still crying when I tried to sing Jaya hey, Jaya hey, I knelt down and cried. That day the pickle pot meant more to me than those twelve ‘Business man of the year’ awards I had received in the twelve years. America had eaten me up. It had consumed every cell of mine.

My son Jaideep popularly called Jay by his friends came near me and asked why I was crying , Madhu had followed him to the room saying “Jay, don’t run fast”.

“Jaideep Sunil Verma! Call him that” I shouted at Madhu breathing heavy.

That night I took Jaideep s globe and turned it around to find India, moved my hands over my country and wept like a child. The next day I went to a park with Jaideep. I let him play with his friends and sat down on the benches. I missed India terribly, I had to go there, I had to go back.

I got back home, booked three tickets and after three days was waving my goodbye s to Raqeeb. I boarded my flight and closed my eyes.

“Dad, what are we going there for?”

“To learn a song” I said smiling.

“A song?! what is it called ?”

“Jana Gana Mana” I said smiling and slept.