well that you know who I am. But there is very little I know
about you, excepting what you told those Security Cops.
Why not we stop pretending and become friends?”
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TANDOORI TEXAN TALES
I told her, “Yes I do know who you are. As a matter of fact,
you may even count me amongst your countless fans. But
you see I am a regular middle class Professional. My
Universe and yours can hardly ever intersect. The last thing
I want is a celebrity movie star turning my simple life
topsy-turvy. Let us just downgrade our relationship from
friendship to acquaintance. Once we reach Raleigh, I will
see to it that you can get to wherever you wish to go safely.
If you wish you might repay me whenever you can. That is
all there is to it, between you and me. Our paths will never
cross again, I am quite sure.”
“Never say never. Besides, please don’t be too harsh on
yourself or me. Just hang loose and treat me like any other
girl next door. As for repaying, I may never be able to repay
for what you did for me today”, she said.
“Okay let us compromise. We will not put a label on our
relationship. Let us be whatever comes naturally to us. As
for repayment, I will take a rain check”.
We passed a huge billboard inviting us to Hope, Arkansas,
the birthplace of Ex-President Bill Clinton just 5 miles
away. But we were hardly in the mood to go gallivanting on
sightseeing missions and collecting souvenirs. We had a
very long drive ahead of us.
I was on U.S. Highway 40 speeding toward the Northeast at
a good 70-mph. On an average I can clock about a mile a
minute. I break after every one hour for a little stretching
and freshening up at Little Boys’ Room. I am never
comfortable driving all through the night. So I stop
15
RAJ DORÉ
overnight to get a comfortable night’s sleep. Next morning,
I always fill the gas tank of my car and myself with a hearty
breakfast, before heading further. Who knows when is the
next place where we would get either?
As you cross the bridge over the Mississippi River, on US40,
you not only cross state-boundaries from Arkansas into
Tennessee, but also go right into the city of Memphis. You
can also see the difference in the standards of maintaining
highways between the two states.
Memphis would be the last major city for quite some
distance of our journey. Since neither my companion nor
me had much by way of personal belongings, I thought it
would make sense to halt at a Department Store before they
close for the day and buy ourselves some articles of
clothing, toiletries and other bare necessities.
As we were driving out of Memphis, it had become quite
dark. She just tilted her seat backwards and closed her eyes.
There were just those green lights of various dials on the
dashboard. There was not much traffic on the highway. Just
an 18-wheeler every once in a while that I had to overtake.
To break the eerie silence, I turned on the radio. I caught a
station of University of Memphis, playing some great jazz.
Suddenly the music stopped and a voice announced late
breaking news. “This is AP Network News. American
Airlines Flight 523 bound from Dallas/Fort Worth to
Raleigh, North Carolina has lost contact with the control
tower, after taking off from Little Rock, Arkansas. We are
still monitoring the news and will keep you updated.” We
16
TANDOORI TEXAN TALES
were startled at first. But denial took over our attitude. We
told ourselves, everything must be alright. It must be one of
those incidents that end up being a ‘technical’ problem with
radar or communication. As we were driving away from
Memphis, there was no good station that we could catch, to
get updated on that disturbing news.
This route is very familiar to me. I have plied on it several
from Little Rock, at the outskirts of Nashville, where there
is a ranch of Country Singer Loretta Lynn, of “Coal Miner’s
Daughter” fame. They hold Country & Western music
concerts there, every so often. It has a quaint little
restaurant. The waitresses with sizable bosoms, wearing
dark flowered frocks, with embroidered aprons, attend to
you with gleeful smiles. The tablecloths in red and white
checks are nicely starched. There are little baskets of fresh
baked buns wrapped in spotlessly white napkins. You can
get a hearty dinner buffet of fried-chicken, roast beef,
gravy, mashed potato, beans and what have you, for $10.99.
After the dinner you may browse in the gift shop looking at
Loretta Lynn’s artifacts whether or not you buy any
souvenirs.
There is a cluster of 2 or 3 motels at reasonable prices,
around this ranch. There is one owned by Gujrati émigrés
from East Africa. This time again I was going to halt
overnight in this little town like in previous instances. I find
these little towns in the interior of the country extremely
fascinating. That is where you get the flavor of real
America from the sons and daughters of the soil, not at
Hiltons and Sheratons of large Megalopolis.
17
RAJ DORÉ
By the time we pulled into the motel after our dinner, it was
close to 10:30 at night. I let her stay in the car while I went
to register, lest she be recognized. It was the same old Mrs.
Suman Patel who greeted me with ‘Aujo, kemcho’, routine.
We got two adjacent rooms inter-connected by a door.
As I was taking off my heavy shoes, I clicked on the remote
to turn on the TV. It was by now all over the place.
American Airlines Flight 523 had gone up in flames, an
apparent act of hijacking and terrorism.
I heard a gentle knock on the intermediate door. She had
seen the news on her TV as well. She was flushed pink and
visibly shaken. She was in tears. She pleaded if she could
come in, as she was scared and shocked beyond belief. I let
her come in. We were both still in the same clothes we had
been in all day.
We sat on the bed resting our backs on the pillow and
headboard. We were watching the breaking news, clasping
our hands with horror in our eyes. I could feel that she
wanted to clasp me and hold me close. But I was just too
confused and emotionally broken myself to make any kind
of physical response to her overtures.
I somberly told her, “You have already repaid me more than
what you ever owed me”.
If ever there was a hairbreadth escape of my life, this was it.
Instead of minding my own business and boarding that
18
TANDOORI TEXAN TALES
flight, I had decided to intervene in her imbroglio. That just
saved my life.
&nb
sp; It was getting close to midnight. I broke the silence and told
her that we should now retire for the night and try to get
some sleep. I slowly released my hand from her clasp. We
had a long day ahead. It was imperative that we be on the
highway by 7:00 AM, duly breakfasted and with a full tank
of gas. Coffee & doughnuts would be served free, at the
motel lobby starting 6:00 am.
She asked if she could leave the intermediate door open. I
readily agreed. As she went into her room she turned and
told me over her shoulder to give her a wake up call at 5:30,
if she was not already awake.
I picked up the phone and called home. At home before
going to bed, we normally turn off the telephone ring and
let all the calls go to the answering machine. I was sure
Seema would have done the same now. Before she got the
morning news, I wanted her to know that I was not on the
plane that blew up. I left the message. Then went into my
bathroom to wash up and change. I came back, slipped into
my sheets and turned off the bedside light.
I could see that her bathroom door was also half-ajar. I
could see her full image reflected on the large mirror at the
sink. She was probably unaware of that or she might have
purposely wanted it that way.
She took her Dupatta and hung it on the peg at the opposite
wall. Then she slowly removed the hooks on the back of her
19
RAJ DORÉ
Kameez one by one and slowly slid it over her head. Turned
around and hung that also on the peg. She was wearing a
flesh colored lacy bra. It covered her breasts only partially
at the bottom with the two cups connected by a strip of lace.
The upper fringe of the cups grazed through her chocolate
brown nipples, showing a deep cleavage. She put her two
hands behind her back and unhooked the bra. The straps
came sliding over her shoulders and hands all the way out.
Her two beautiful breasts wriggled out of the cups
completely. They still had slight wrinkles from being
harnessed, and the nipples were mildly upright. She then
unfastened her Salwar and pulled it down her ankles. She
had slender flat abdomen with cute little navel. Below that
she was wearing a thin gauzy panty barely covering a well-
manicured tuft of hair between the thighs. She had well-
rounded hips. The cheeks were almost totally exposed as
the seat of the panty had slid down into the valley in
between. Her ivory complexion and smooth skin made her
look like Neptune under moonlight.
She pulled out a brush from her handbag, stroked her dark
brown hair a few times. She took out an elastic band and
bound her hair into a ponytail. Then she splashed her face
with cold running water. Rubbed some soap all over to
remove the makeup. She rinsed her face finally and covered
it with fresh laundered hand towel from the rack. Her clean
spotless natural skin without any makeup shone looking
even prettier.
Then she pulled out a brown paper package from the
handbag and removed a T-shirt. She pulled it over her head
and let it fall all the way down to her ankles. It was a top-to
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TANDOORI TEXAN TALES
toe large T-shirt with “Welcome to Arkansas” written on
the back with a picture of a sunrise behind Ozark Mountains
in the front. Obviously this was the piece of article that had
started the whole rigmarole that evening. Or should I say it
was the cause of our survival today. I heard her switch off
the light and get into her bed.
Oh Man! What a day! The day started off like any other
day. By the end of it, I had not only survived death but also
got to share very intimate moments with one of the most
beautiful women in the world. The day was one of extremes
in emotion. It had its Nadir and Zenith, so to say. Never a
dull moment, for sure. I tried very hard to catch some sleep.
We started off as planned. By 7:00 AM I was speeding
away on US-40 toward North Carolina. It was a cool
morning and the sun felt quite nice. We opened the hood on
top and let fresh morning air blow over our faces and hair.
She took out her large sunglasses and covered her beautiful
blue eyes. I also had mine on. It was a good 600 more miles
to my apartment in Raleigh. I wanted to reach there before
sunset.
We had crossed into the Eastern Time zone. While being
between any two towns, one can hardly catch any radio
station with good enough reception, FM or AM. That is
why I carry some cassettes along, when on a long journey.
But this time it was different. This was no trip that was
forecast. I got tired of flipping from one bad station to
another. I finally turned the radio off. There were some
minutes of no sounds, only reverie.
21
RAJ DORÉ
She broke the silence and said, “I heard you call your home
and leave a message. Is Seema your wife?”
I said, “Yes”.
“Any children?” she asked.
“One 2-year old Munni. Aparna for real name”, I said. And
then blurted out, “She is the one that is still holding us
together. For how long more, I wouldn’t know”.
“Where are you from in India?” she continued after
remaining silent for a few moments.
Obviously she did not want to appear like she was prying
into my rocky matrimony. Instead of going down that alley
of conversation, she had changed the direction quite
adroitly. I liked that.
22
CHAPTER 3
Our family had been living in Jabalpur for generations. We
had our family farm there. My dad had gone to St. Stephens
College in Delhi and graduated with a Master’s degree in
Economics. He had plans of going to London School of
Economics further. Instead, with some helping hand from
my grandfather, who was in the ICS, he got into a Dutch
multi-national Oil corporation as a Management Trainee.
After being with them for nearly 30 years, he retired as a
Director, with the usual gold watch to commemorate it. He
was still on their Board when he passed away 4 years ago.
Since my dad’s was a transferable job including overseas
assignments, my parents decided to put me into Doon
School when I was 8. I used to spend my holidays with
them or my grandparents or both, whichever was easier at
23
RAJ DORÉ
that time. After passing my High School, I also attended St.
Stephens College in Delhi, following my dad’s and big
brother’s footsteps. But I graduated with a degree in
Physics, Mathematics and Chemistry. Then I got a degree in
Electrical Engineering from Roorki Engineering College.
My only sibling, an older brother Mukesh, graduated from
St. Stephens with a Master’s in History. Then he followed
my grandfather’s footsteps an
d got into the IAS, when that
still had a lot of glitter and charm. He was always the more
traditional, steady and responsible of us two. His was a
well-charted textbook style path of life. He also got married
to a very charming girl Nirmala with traditional family
values. It was a marriage arranged by the families. They
have a son Nirmal and a daughter Sunanda, still in schools.
He spent a couple of years in Geneva, Switzerland on a
short stint with the United Nations before being posted as a
Secretary to one of the major ministries at the Central
Government.
After the passing away of dad, my mom was staying with
them in Delhi. Despite all her foreign travels, she never
liked living in the U.S., with us. She had come here a few
times on short visits, but found the life here suffocating.
Then there was all that humiliation one had to go through
with the U.S. Consulate in obtaining the Visa. I tried
visiting her at least once in a couple of years.
While still awaiting my results of the final exam at Roorki, I
had started applying for post-graduate studies in the U.S.,
like most of my friends and colleagues. That took some
time to fructify.
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TANDOORI TEXAN TALES
On graduating from the Engineering College, I did get
picked up by a British company for a job in Calcutta. Even
as my papers for going to the U.S. were being processed, I
had already started seeing cracks in my career with this
company. One day I had serious disagreement with my
Manager who complained about me to the Director. I was
called into his chamber and asked to tender official apology.
On my refusal to do so, I was promptly given notice of