Stopped In Our Tracks
Stories of U.G. In India from the Notebooks of K. ChandrasekharTranslated and Edited by J.S.R.L. Narayana Moorty 2d/3d Series
Kumar, U.G.'s Son
In 1957, when U.G. was living in Chicago with his family, Kumar was born. U.G. raised his son for the first two years. Kusuma, U.G.'s wife, was working in the World Book Encyclopedia. The turbulence in U.G.'s life, which started then, caused a break-up of U.G.'s family. He sent his wife and children back to India. Kumar stayed with his mother till her death in 1963. Since then he lived with his relatives, struggled to finish his matriculation in 1973, and ended up in Bangalore.
He used to live with my younger brother and me in the house in Anjaneya Temple Street. Bujji was his pet name. He was a bright and active kid. He didn't have a clear memory of having known his father. A belief that his father was responsible for the sad plight of his family was firmly implanted in him. No matter how much I tried to persuade him, I couldn't succeed in making him quit his hatred and anger toward his father.
U.G. came to India in September that year. That was the first time Kumar met his father after many years. Kumar was then 17 years old. When his father said hello to him, he did not respond; instead, he turned his head reticently. He would avoid his father as much as he could. He didn't seem to notice what U.G. said or did. One afternoon, when we were all sitting on the front porch, Kumar was killing the red ants marching in a row on the floor. "Why, mister? Why are you killing them?" asked U.G., unable to bear that violence in front of him. "How shall I vent my anger, then?" replied Kumar, continuing to squash the ants on the floor with his foot. "Take it out on those you are angry with. What did the poor ants do to you?" as U.G. said this, Kumar looked at once at his father with rage and left the scene.
That same son came to adore U.G. within a month. Even I, who was observing these incidents at close quarters, was astonished at the transformation in Kumar. U.G. used to give him money and ask him to do small errands for him. He bought him a bicycle to ride to his college.
One evening, as Kumar was about to leave on his bicycle, U.G. enquired, "Hey, mister, where are you going?"
"I am going to a movie."
"You are going at this late hour? Will you be able to get a ticket?"
As soon as U.G. said this, Kumar brought his bicycle back inside the gate.
"Why, you are not going?" asked U.G., surprised.
"When you mentioned it, I knew I wouldn't be able to get a ticket. Why should I go that far? It's a waste," said Kumar as he was going into the house.
I was astonished at the faith Kumar had acquired in even casual remarks of U.G. When Kumar was completing his 18th year in 1974, U.G. said to him, "You are an American citizen by virtue of your birth in the U.S. You must make up your mind, before you are 18, as to whether you will find a place for yourself in the U.S., or you are going to waste your talents staying here in India." By that time, Kumar already was in the habit of treating his father's words as Gospel. U.G. rendered him the minimal help he needed to get to the U.S. "This is all I can do for you. Whether you will sink or sail will all depend on your own abilities," exhorted U.G. saying goodbye to him.
Kumar arrived in a country where he had no one to support him. He faced many odds there. Yet, in a period of about ten years he started an independent business and got married. When I met him in a hotel in New York in 1986, now a bona fide American entrepreneur, my joy and amazement knew no bounds.
He used to live with my younger brother and me in the house in Anjaneya Temple Street. Bujji was his pet name. He was a bright and active kid. He didn't have a clear memory of having known his father. A belief that his father was responsible for the sad plight of his family was firmly implanted in him. No matter how much I tried to persuade him, I couldn't succeed in making him quit his hatred and anger toward his father.
U.G. came to India in September that year. That was the first time Kumar met his father after many years. Kumar was then 17 years old. When his father said hello to him, he did not respond; instead, he turned his head reticently. He would avoid his father as much as he could. He didn't seem to notice what U.G. said or did. One afternoon, when we were all sitting on the front porch, Kumar was killing the red ants marching in a row on the floor. "Why, mister? Why are you killing them?" asked U.G., unable to bear that violence in front of him. "How shall I vent my anger, then?" replied Kumar, continuing to squash the ants on the floor with his foot. "Take it out on those you are angry with. What did the poor ants do to you?" as U.G. said this, Kumar looked at once at his father with rage and left the scene.
That same son came to adore U.G. within a month. Even I, who was observing these incidents at close quarters, was astonished at the transformation in Kumar. U.G. used to give him money and ask him to do small errands for him. He bought him a bicycle to ride to his college.
One evening, as Kumar was about to leave on his bicycle, U.G. enquired, "Hey, mister, where are you going?"
"I am going to a movie."
"You are going at this late hour? Will you be able to get a ticket?"
As soon as U.G. said this, Kumar brought his bicycle back inside the gate.
"Why, you are not going?" asked U.G., surprised.
"When you mentioned it, I knew I wouldn't be able to get a ticket. Why should I go that far? It's a waste," said Kumar as he was going into the house.
I was astonished at the faith Kumar had acquired in even casual remarks of U.G. When Kumar was completing his 18th year in 1974, U.G. said to him, "You are an American citizen by virtue of your birth in the U.S. You must make up your mind, before you are 18, as to whether you will find a place for yourself in the U.S., or you are going to waste your talents staying here in India." By that time, Kumar already was in the habit of treating his father's words as Gospel. U.G. rendered him the minimal help he needed to get to the U.S. "This is all I can do for you. Whether you will sink or sail will all depend on your own abilities," exhorted U.G. saying goodbye to him.
Kumar arrived in a country where he had no one to support him. He faced many odds there. Yet, in a period of about ten years he started an independent business and got married. When I met him in a hotel in New York in 1986, now a bona fide American entrepreneur, my joy and amazement knew no bounds.
