Holy dreams

HOLY DREAMS

Some NRIs were constructing a temple in Texas. Devoted to Goddess Kali, it was in need of a priest who would manage all the affairs of the shrine. An ear-panel sized display advertisement was released in Kolkata dailies asking for an English knowing, experienced, unmarried, young male Brahmin priest, ready to relocate to the US for a tax-free annual package of Rs 4 lakhs – higher than what an average MBA commands in the Indian job market. Bappa Mukherjee dashed off his CV even though he did not fulfill the eligibility criterion.

True, Bappa was born a Brahmin. But he was miles away from religion. He had never conducted any ritual. Yet his CV spoke of dozens of religious ceremonies – including marriages solemnized. His tale of deceit was fabricated with the sole purpose of securing the prized job.

A string of failures to secure a decent job abroad despite being a hardware expert had left him distraught and desperate. His father often reminded him of gobbling up a sizeable chunk of his provident fund to complete a diploma course that appeared useless in the job market. He appeared for several interviews, goofing up on motherboard by calling it motherhood out of nervousness. Another route was to apply for unskilled jobs – the ones heroes in Hindi films did after arriving in London or New York. But only heroes, he thought, could do them well.

Bappa was called for an interview with a representative in a posh city hotel. He came armed with unflinching proof of his suitability. His friend, Ajoy had shot his portfolio in colour – dressed in dhoti, bare-chest, performing pujas and marriages in ‘real’ settings in the midst of large crowds waiting with marigolds. His gait was confident as he entered the hotel, clutching a glossy leather briefcase borrowed for the occasion. It contained certificates and photographs. Bappa looked smart in starched dhoti-kurta, with sandalwood paste daubed on his forehead. He mumbled some mantras to flaunt his learning; those were actually a few lines of an Anup Jalota Bhajan. His awesome pious disposition discouraged the interviewer from asking him work-related questions. The only mistake was the application of gel in his close-cropped hair that luckily went unnoticed.

As there were other candidates in the fray, the representative did not commit. However, looking quite impressed, he furnished the staple reply: we’ll get in touch with you soon. Like any other job, it was competitive. Anything international is competitive. Bappa shared this news with his lover, Rina whom he had first met in an English tutorial where they studied a year ago. She was now doing a nursing course and preparing – as he wished – to join him in the US.

The appointment letter took unduly long to arrive. To keep himself engaged, he learnt some Sanskrit shlokas and surfed the Internet to know more about American cities and roads, American lifestyle and entertainment hubs, how far prurient Las Vegas was from Texas and how to reach there – whether a tube ran between the two cities. He kept thinking about America in some way or the other.

A fortnight passed. A letter arrived on a sultry afternoon when he lay crumpled in bed. His father thrust the letter in his hand, gauging from the length of the envelope how far it would take his son. He did not know what his son would actually do there, as Bappa had circulated the news that he was offered a cushy, computer-related job. His parents were sad, as they would be left alone forever. But when his parents thought that he had not settled down in a job even at thirty, they stopped being selfish. Bappa fished out his virgin passport from the cupboard, prepared seven years ago after bribing the cops who found a petty case of eve teasing filed against him in Kasba police station. He cast an affectionate look at it, something his parents always craved for.

In the evening he took Rina out for dinner at a cozy restaurant where she looked happier than him. He advised her what to do next, the ‘right’ approach to adopt so that she could soon join him there. He spoke as if he were already in Texas. She kept on saying ad nauseum: “First you reach there…” She nibbled at her plate of chilli garlic noodles without consuming the food till he reminded her to polish it off.

Two days before his departure, he was informed of a sudden, unforeseen change in the decision. The NRI group had cancelled his appointment, mentioning ‘…temporary bottlenecks stalling construction work...’ Bappa was shocked. He despatched a few angry letters and rang up the US office but to no avail. He mourned the loss for some weeks by growing a beard and stayed away from curious friends and snooping neighbours who wanted to know the fate of his lucrative offer. With nothing else to do, he returned to his previous job of repairing computers and shifted to a suburban town with newly wed wife, Rina working as a nurse in a private hospital and planning motherhood.

One morning, Bappa noticed the same advertisement repeated in a language daily – with almost the same conditions. He rushed to the venue mentioned for the walk-in interview the next day. He was astonished to see the same representative who recognised him after a while. He lashed out as to why they were again hunting for a priest when they had offered him the job some time ago. The representative said they did not find any suitable candidate. Bappa showed him his laminated appointment letter, and the representative picked out from his pile of documents an anonymous letter revealing the truth.

The letter spoke of Bappa’s background, what he had studied and what he actually did. He recognised the handwriting and understood the foul play. He stood exposed, ashamed of his misdeed. “Get lost, scoundrel! Consider yourself lucky that we took no legal action against you,” the representative hollered. Tears welled up in Bappa’s eyes. Crestfallen, he trudged home. He took out a sheaf of Rina’s love letters written to him to make sure that he was not committing any mistake. Examining them carefully, he felt terribly angry and cried out, “Why did you do this to me, Rina? Why?”