The American dream New 2013

The traveller reached the tree of desires and plucked a leaf. Then he plucked another, and another and another. They all had the same message: “Look to your left or right, on both sides you will see a maze. Both equally difficult, you have to cross one to get further instructions.” “Is there a clue?” the traveller asked the tree. “Yes, there is,” said the tree, “follow your passion.” Dev, who claims that he once went to Chandigarh just to check KK’s background, says KK lies. His father was a retired clerk and the family lived in a small, government quarter. After retirement, KK’s father moved back to his village in Punjab. But nobody minds KK’s lies or appreciates Dev’s truthfulness. Both are common among the desis in North America. Those still struggling; do glorify their past. And those who are successful do emphasise their humble background to underline their success.The tavern group includes both. We have a successful builder, who built himself a palatial home from the money he saved from rebuilding rundown houses in a poor Washington neighbourhood. You can always make him buy you lunch if you agree to listen to his story: how a kid of a humble Indian background became one of the top builders in America. Although he is nowhere near the top, do not tell him so. If you do, you will have to pay for the lunch. There is a restaurant owner, who pockets the tip his guests leave for the waiters, but he never tires of telling his friends how generous he is. And there is Sheeda who works all night at a gas station, earning seven dollars per hour, but always tries to pay for everybody on the table. “We had a large kitchen back home,” he says, “and had dozens of guests every night. Now I work at a gas station so people call me Sheeda. Back home, they called me Mr Rasheed.” KK too belongs to Sheeda’s group. Both does what’s called the “graveyard shift” in America, from 6 pm to 6 am And then they spend another hour, for which they are not paid, handing over charge to the next beast of burden. KK comes to the tavern once a month after he has saved enough to buy a bottle of single malt whiskey. Sheeda comes twice a month. He does not drink but he does bring a hookah with him, which he shares with whoever is interested. The traveller entered the maze. It was difficult but not complicated. It needed brawn not brain. Most obstacles had to be physically removed. There were little monsters and bandits too. He had to fight them off to cross over to the other side. But he came out of the maze in one piece, although badly bruised, more internally than externally. And his passion guided him as the vulture had suggested. As he came out, he met an old wizard who put some cash on his hands and said: “You worked hard but since you did not have the magic green leaf, you will only be paid half.” “I do now, don’t I?” he asked. “Yes,” said the wizard, “from now on you will be paid better.” “And where is the object of my desire?” the traveller asked. “Ah, the object, my dear, the object,” said the wizard. “We are all subjective. There is no objectivity in this world.” “Is this the new instruction for me?” the traveller asked. The wizard nodded and asked him to move ahead. The traveller was not sure if he understood the new message. But he had to move on “In India, we say when Krishna blows the flute, you have to follow. And that’s how we are scattered all over the globe,” said KK. “Yes, the call, the eternal call” said Sheeda, “but what is the message?” “I do not know the message but I know the call makes us all restless. We cannot resist it. So we have to move,” said KK. “There is nothing eternal or divine about this call,” said the man everybody called Mr Socialist because of his views. “It’s our economic needs that force us to leave our homes.”