mate.’ I had no clue what he said because it didn’t sound like English to me. I’d never come across an Australian accent, not even in the Hollywood movies I had seen. Besides, I hadn’t watched that many. Maybe twenty in all, ranging from Baby’s Day Out to The Terminator .
I gave the address and we were on our way. My, my, how spic and span everything was. I never thought such cleanliness and organization were even possible. Finally, we arrived at our destination—Falcon Street in North Sydney. I don’t remember the house number. The weather was cold: I had arrived on 21 June. Fortunately, it was a Sunday. Had it been a weekday, the agent’s son would not have been home and no one would have taken my call. Meanwhile, after paying for the cab and phone calls, I was down by $36. Nearly 1 per cent of my savings was already gone.
I dragged my heavy bags to the first floor. My host, a young man in his early twenties, introduced himself as Happy. He asked me to leave my bags in the living room. It was a one-bedroom apartment.
'You can sleep on the sofa bed,' he offered.
I nodded. I was just glad to be somewhere with a roof over my head.
Happy had another friend over for the weekend. A postgraduate in commerce, he was there on a student visa and worked in a factory. Soon, four other guys joined us. They all worked in the same factory and one of them had recently got his taxi driver’s licence.
The postgraduate gave me some unsolicited advice as we were sitting around: 'If you think you can get a job, forget it. I have an MCom from Delhi University and I work in a factory here. There’s too much racism in this country and Indian degrees or experience have no value. Local work experience is all that matters.'
'Can’t he get a security guard’s licence?' another fellow asked.
'The course costs around $1,200, if he can afford it, but even after that, he may or may not get any shifts, as you know,' the master of commerce proclaimed like an oracle.
'Yeah. Perhaps he can get a job at a car wash.'
'Maybe.'
'As a waiter at a restaurant?'
'He wouldn’t understand their accent.'
‘Can he work in a countryside farm?'
'He can do that if he doesn’t get anything else. It's not ideal because he won’t be able to study that way. He can go to the farms if he doesn’t pass his exams or if his visa runs out. I know someone who can offer him a job; he has a potato farm.' This was Mr Commerce again.
'Taxi driver?'
'You're kidding me! You have to memorize all the street names and routes. Do you know how difficult the test for the licence is?'
Till now, I had not participated in the discussion. This was going on between them quite independently of me. Ordinarily, I couldn’t have cared about what they said or thought about me. I didn’t have to prove myself to anybody, and certainly not to these people. However, looking at their zest and concern for me, I feared they might never stop this conversation.
'Listen folks,' I interrupted. 'I know exactly what I’m here to do and it’s not driving taxis, washing cars or ripping potatoes. Before I run out of money, I’ll have something more fitting arranged for me.' I said some more things that I can’t recall now, but I do remember speaking for about five minutes non-stop. They didn't bother me after that.
Happy asked me to pay rent from the very first day I arrived. ‘The phone bill will be on actuals, the utilities on a pro rata basis,' he added. And I had to find my own accommodation within three weeks. Fair enough. But, for now, I was hungry, not having eaten anything since the morning. It was well past the lunch hour and no one mentioned lunch. Finally, at about 5 p.m., they got beer and other liquor, and ordered food. They offered me some beer and even insisted that I tried whisky. I refused. Drinking, smoking and partying weren’t my style. Besides, I was unfamiliar with these guys. Prof. Sharma and Parvesh were the only two people I knew who drank alcohol.
I gave the address and we were on our way. My, my, how spic and span everything was. I never thought such cleanliness and organization were even possible. Finally, we arrived at our destination—Falcon Street in North Sydney. I don’t remember the house number. The weather was cold: I had arrived on 21 June. Fortunately, it was a Sunday. Had it been a weekday, the agent’s son would not have been home and no one would have taken my call. Meanwhile, after paying for the cab and phone calls, I was down by $36. Nearly 1 per cent of my savings was already gone.
I dragged my heavy bags to the first floor. My host, a young man in his early twenties, introduced himself as Happy. He asked me to leave my bags in the living room. It was a one-bedroom apartment.
'You can sleep on the sofa bed,' he offered.
I nodded. I was just glad to be somewhere with a roof over my head.
Happy had another friend over for the weekend. A postgraduate in commerce, he was there on a student visa and worked in a factory. Soon, four other guys joined us. They all worked in the same factory and one of them had recently got his taxi driver’s licence.
The postgraduate gave me some unsolicited advice as we were sitting around: 'If you think you can get a job, forget it. I have an MCom from Delhi University and I work in a factory here. There’s too much racism in this country and Indian degrees or experience have no value. Local work experience is all that matters.'
'Can’t he get a security guard’s licence?' another fellow asked.
'The course costs around $1,200, if he can afford it, but even after that, he may or may not get any shifts, as you know,' the master of commerce proclaimed like an oracle.
'Yeah. Perhaps he can get a job at a car wash.'
'Maybe.'
'As a waiter at a restaurant?'
'He wouldn’t understand their accent.'
‘Can he work in a countryside farm?'
'He can do that if he doesn’t get anything else. It's not ideal because he won’t be able to study that way. He can go to the farms if he doesn’t pass his exams or if his visa runs out. I know someone who can offer him a job; he has a potato farm.' This was Mr Commerce again.
'Taxi driver?'
'You're kidding me! You have to memorize all the street names and routes. Do you know how difficult the test for the licence is?'
Till now, I had not participated in the discussion. This was going on between them quite independently of me. Ordinarily, I couldn’t have cared about what they said or thought about me. I didn’t have to prove myself to anybody, and certainly not to these people. However, looking at their zest and concern for me, I feared they might never stop this conversation.
'Listen folks,' I interrupted. 'I know exactly what I’m here to do and it’s not driving taxis, washing cars or ripping potatoes. Before I run out of money, I’ll have something more fitting arranged for me.' I said some more things that I can’t recall now, but I do remember speaking for about five minutes non-stop. They didn't bother me after that.
Happy asked me to pay rent from the very first day I arrived. ‘The phone bill will be on actuals, the utilities on a pro rata basis,' he added. And I had to find my own accommodation within three weeks. Fair enough. But, for now, I was hungry, not having eaten anything since the morning. It was well past the lunch hour and no one mentioned lunch. Finally, at about 5 p.m., they got beer and other liquor, and ordered food. They offered me some beer and even insisted that I tried whisky. I refused. Drinking, smoking and partying weren’t my style. Besides, I was unfamiliar with these guys. Prof. Sharma and Parvesh were the only two people I knew who drank alcohol.
Similar Books
