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Location: New York, New York, United States

This is my alter ego. Or maybe this is the real me. Who knows?

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Chapter 7

As my plane landed at the New York Kennedy airport, I had a feeling that my life would never be the same again. Passing through the ducts that attached the plane to the terminal, the first voices that I heard grabbed my ears. It was a language that I could clearly understand. Two men were talking in Urdu. I couldn't see them through the winding duct, but I heard what they were saying.

"This is New York Bhai!".

"Do whatever you want, but don't trust anyone."

As I took the last turn out of the duct, I saw two Pakistani men clothed in janitorial dungarees. One man had his arms crossed and he was leaning on his broom. I needed a cart. I saw a few carts in a stand and went to grab one. It wouldn't come out. The same guy with the broom passed by.

"You have to pay for it buddy. Nothing is free here."

My dad had given me a lot of quarters. I admired his foresight. I took out a few quarters, and pulled a cart out.

I was now supposed to meet Uncle Jehanzeb. He was not my real uncle. But we called all our father's friends and elderly people uncles. Uncle Jehanzeb met my father when he visited New York last year. He was selling t-shirts on a Manhattan sidewalk when my father bumped into him. My father had told me that he was a very courteous man, and he was going to give him a call and request to receive me. As I was hurling my overloaded cart through the mass of people eagerly waiting for their beloveds, a short man pierced through the rush and embraced me.

"Oh Beta!! You recognize me?"

The fact is that I didn't really know much about him myself. I shook my head.

"Oh, I am your uncle! Jehanzeb. Lets go."

He took me out of the terminal to his car in the lot. Now we were off to his workplace.

"Actually, I was doing my shift. I requested my boss to let me go. He is a really nice guy. You will meet him." I was very comforted by Uncle Jehanzeb's warmth.

We drove through some highways and streets that somewhat resembled the images that I had seen in American movies. I thought of my father's words that he spoke to me last night.

"Betay, if hardwork made us rich, then everybody in this world would be rich. Sustenance is in the hands of God."

My father was an unusual one. He never lectured me. I could count his three advices that he ever gave me. This was one of them.


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