Parvesh drank rather rarely and Prof. Sharma drank extremely gracefully.
All our pleasures live in the brain anyway. I had experienced far better, long-lasting stimulants for my gratification, and they were free of any damaging side effects. An intellectual challenge gave me the greatest thrill. For hours at a stretch, I could happily sit and solve a coding problem or stare at the chessboard, not to mention reading or creating music on my keyboard. Heck, I even got a hangover when a great book ended or I cracked a piece of code.
Above all, there were the joys I knew within. I had experienced the pleasure of diving into the ocean of meditation. I had felt the rapture of chanting Vedic verses, where each escalating sound would transport me to another world. If there was adrenalin for the soul, if there was an intoxicant of the spirit, for me, it was meditation.
The next morning, I walked to the bank to start a new account. The bank manager was friendly and greeted me with a big smile. No one jumped the line; the place was well organized but relaxed. In less than thirty minutes, I had a bank account number and a temporary ATM card. On my way back home, I picked up a free local newspaper. It was full of advertisements seeking administrative secretaries, assistants, telemarketers and so on. There were no jobs for programmers, editors or salespeople though. I found out later that only mainstream newspapers advertised the types of jobs I was searching for.
In the afternoon, I went to my new college. It was just a few rooms occupying one floor in a small building. The principal, Richard Da Silva, was a nice man. I introduced myself and requested him to help me find a job, but he said there was nothing he could do. I asked him if he could help me get work experience without pay, and he promised to try.
Close to the flat, I found a business centre where I could prepare, print and fax my résumé to companies. I applied for numerous secretarial and administrative jobs. After spending about an hour sending faxes, I rushed home to be close to the phone in case anyone called. I sat by the phone the entire day but it didn’t ring. Day two: I sent out more faxes. Day three: I learned that I had to make follow-up calls to the recruitment consultants at the various companies; they wouldn’t call me.
Day four: I called home and let them know all was well. It turned out my mother had spoken to her elder brother whose son, Arun Modgil, lived in Sydney. He had suggested I contact my cousin, which I did. Arun told me he would pick me up on the weekend, and I should pack my things for a couple of days with them. I was glad to be spending some time with Arun and his family.
Day five: I saw not one but two letters in the mail; they had logos printed on them. I was thrilled. Finally, I had got an interview call or maybe even a straight job offer. The first letter turned out to be a polite rejection. It was so courteously worded that I thought they really loved me but couldn’t hire me for some genuine reason. I opened the second letter; it sounded just like the first one. I was disappointed, but still appreciated the communication: someone had cared to write that they didn't want me. Nevertheless, I called the numbers printed on the letters and was told that they would let me know if there were any future opportunities.
Normally, in India, I would have shared my experience with someone in the family or with Prof. Sharma, but there was no one here to talk to. Suddenly, I felt a great vacuum. It dawned on me for the first time that I was in a totally new country, all alone. I had no backup and had to find a way to survive. I had to study in college, find work, foot my living expenses as well as save enough to pay for my next year’s tuition fees, failing which I could be deported. I went into the bathroom, the only place in Happy’s apartment where I had any privacy. Looking into the mirror, I saw that I was crying. I didn't stop myself but
All our pleasures live in the brain anyway. I had experienced far better, long-lasting stimulants for my gratification, and they were free of any damaging side effects. An intellectual challenge gave me the greatest thrill. For hours at a stretch, I could happily sit and solve a coding problem or stare at the chessboard, not to mention reading or creating music on my keyboard. Heck, I even got a hangover when a great book ended or I cracked a piece of code.
Above all, there were the joys I knew within. I had experienced the pleasure of diving into the ocean of meditation. I had felt the rapture of chanting Vedic verses, where each escalating sound would transport me to another world. If there was adrenalin for the soul, if there was an intoxicant of the spirit, for me, it was meditation.
The next morning, I walked to the bank to start a new account. The bank manager was friendly and greeted me with a big smile. No one jumped the line; the place was well organized but relaxed. In less than thirty minutes, I had a bank account number and a temporary ATM card. On my way back home, I picked up a free local newspaper. It was full of advertisements seeking administrative secretaries, assistants, telemarketers and so on. There were no jobs for programmers, editors or salespeople though. I found out later that only mainstream newspapers advertised the types of jobs I was searching for.
In the afternoon, I went to my new college. It was just a few rooms occupying one floor in a small building. The principal, Richard Da Silva, was a nice man. I introduced myself and requested him to help me find a job, but he said there was nothing he could do. I asked him if he could help me get work experience without pay, and he promised to try.
Close to the flat, I found a business centre where I could prepare, print and fax my résumé to companies. I applied for numerous secretarial and administrative jobs. After spending about an hour sending faxes, I rushed home to be close to the phone in case anyone called. I sat by the phone the entire day but it didn’t ring. Day two: I sent out more faxes. Day three: I learned that I had to make follow-up calls to the recruitment consultants at the various companies; they wouldn’t call me.
Day four: I called home and let them know all was well. It turned out my mother had spoken to her elder brother whose son, Arun Modgil, lived in Sydney. He had suggested I contact my cousin, which I did. Arun told me he would pick me up on the weekend, and I should pack my things for a couple of days with them. I was glad to be spending some time with Arun and his family.
Day five: I saw not one but two letters in the mail; they had logos printed on them. I was thrilled. Finally, I had got an interview call or maybe even a straight job offer. The first letter turned out to be a polite rejection. It was so courteously worded that I thought they really loved me but couldn’t hire me for some genuine reason. I opened the second letter; it sounded just like the first one. I was disappointed, but still appreciated the communication: someone had cared to write that they didn't want me. Nevertheless, I called the numbers printed on the letters and was told that they would let me know if there were any future opportunities.
Normally, in India, I would have shared my experience with someone in the family or with Prof. Sharma, but there was no one here to talk to. Suddenly, I felt a great vacuum. It dawned on me for the first time that I was in a totally new country, all alone. I had no backup and had to find a way to survive. I had to study in college, find work, foot my living expenses as well as save enough to pay for my next year’s tuition fees, failing which I could be deported. I went into the bathroom, the only place in Happy’s apartment where I had any privacy. Looking into the mirror, I saw that I was crying. I didn't stop myself but
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