An Indian -Foreigner

It was a smouldering afternoon: intolerably and unbearably hot. Very few people were seen walking on the road, beside the pigs wallowing and squelching in the median tank and the dogs searching out for left out of foodies in the runners adjacent to the government bus stand. Clogged with travellers in the crumbled sittings of the rugged buses notwithstanding the fact that the carriers may overturn at any moment.

Biraj had to run into a bus and fortunately found one and only unoccupied beside a seemingly Indian - foreigner. The space was worth any fortune for the present. At the same time, his airbag was in his grip as the bundles of banknotes were hidden carefully inside it. He loved and revered these more than his life. It was the outcome of a long time toiling. His whole attention had been focused on the bag as he was afraid of stealing, the part of everyday life in India as the people were fond of easy earning, without manual labour, when a large number of people are in the elegiac state.

He raised his head and tried desperately to inhale some oxygen. Had he been a Delhi inhabitant he wouldn't have awaited for its where offices and schools sometimes closed for excess of carbon dioxide. Anyhow, he turned his face left side to ask for the passenger to slide the piece of shattered glass to allow oxygen to come in. But his eyes were wide opened; words stumbled when he noticed the white-skinned man likely to be an Indian origin asking him in English.

His Indian syllable in English shocked him as he had acquired the knowledge of phonetics long years

Biraj being a pure Indian asked him in Indian morphometric in English , "Am I audible to you?"

"Eh, I do ".

"Let oxygen come in "

Erstwhile, the duo lost in their worlds.

"Excuse me. Are you an alien _ I mean......?"

"Yeah, I'm an Indian born American".

Biraj looked at him closely and boomed, " Bhagban !"It doesn't mean God, but the youngster beside him.

"You know, my eyes can't deceive me". Biraj confirmed ."You are also an Odiya; a Mayurbhanjian . Am I right ?"

He deflected his face contemptuously and retorted, "But, not now. I'm John; an American citizen ."

It is xenophobia when an Indian transforms promptly as soon as he makes room for himself on foreign soil. He is counted a person of note in the jet set. Parents boast of his huge success, girls want to have a glimpse at him; worship the gods they believe to get spiced and marry; under toning, his dis qualities; an empty vessel that sounds much. He benefits from the opportunity and assesses the best among them to twerk in the nightclubs. He marries many; divorces many.

Bhagban, attracted the passengers by his absurd and peculiar manners. The hubbub of the traveller's nerve wrecked him.

Biraj asked him in a suggestive way," It would have been better you hired a car ."

"Eh, here in India _car; how funny! But in U.S.they are available at a phone call ."

"Therefore, you left India; disposed of your loving motherland and culture, to transmute your dreams of material and terrestrial pleasure! lier, an antagonist of Hinduism; get lost .

"It is too much. I will call in the police for my protection ."

"Oh, Bhagban, alias John, a native of a hillside village: you threaten me! Did you forget how I helped you in your bad time? You had better wreathed to dust ."

"You Indians squabble in public places; inevitability, face rejection and mediocre. I humbly beg, calm down. Don't plague me. I think deterioration has begun at the social level. Villages are pervaded with proletariats; void of intellectual mass. They opt for the foreignization of India. In the past Indian has seen many upheavals due to foreign invaders. They plundered the valuables to their countries and made her poor. Lack of unity among the Rajas and Maharajas, and dispute among them made it easier to rule over them for a long period of time. After long years of subjugation, in 1947 She heaved a sigh of relief. Nevertheless, the economy of the country changed. There had been bethi and beggary. The faulty education system, could not help the seismic obtain qualitative jobs. Consequently, brain drain started. Industrialisation was protested in various ways. Companies like POSCO, withdrew as it could not fulfil the primitive ways of living of the indigen".

Biraj dodged", As a result, youngsters like you evaded this glorious land. These people are called xenophobic, Isn't it ?"

"No, I'm not ethnocentric. Nevertheless, I was pressurized to move out of the country that I elucidated with other youngsters. After my M.Com degree, I returned to my homeland. Subsequently, I initiated to wax a job in any government or non-government institution but in vain. Thereafter. mental torture. In the dingy time, food and survival was my object of ambition. My family concepted that, I must be getting married so that I would shoulder responsibility. It was another trauma.

Soon after marriage, They warned me," No money; no food. "

I worked in a brick factory as a supervisor with marginal money. I offered a fragment amount to my elder brother and saved some . one day I chanced upon a friend who was working in a food procurement segment .in the U.S.A. At the sight, I began to weep. He observed my wretched state and suggested me to adieu my newly married wife and family to try my luck else where in the U.S.A. Uninformed, I fled to the foreign land ."

Biraj showed eagerness to know his pitiable past.

"What happened thereafter ?"

." Vicissitude to me made me strong. I decided to fight any impediment. I did not hesitate to douse. Of course, here a labourer to the legislator, everybody is treated equally and respect the value of labour. I struggled and won. Fortune favoured me. I found an advertisement for a vacancy of  lectureship at Texas University. I offered my candidature for the same and to my pleasant surprise, I nicely clung to it. I wanted to pass on this to my beloved wife, the feelings of my achievement and begged her to excuse me for the ever inexcusable mistake of mine. I rose, wrote, dropped the letter to her; held back anxiously, spent sleepless nights for the answer. In the end, I received the answer, penned not by her but by her younger brother. I went through the reply and broke off to tears when I came to know that she jumped into the flooded river and committed suicide after being pulled out of the house by my kith and kin ."

He stopped delineating his dejected past and sobbed .

Biraj didn't clout to conclude. He marked something unusual in his conduct. He started vacillating. His veins bulged, eyes turned red.

He blew his feast and said, "Yes I'm Bhagban. Even so, I buried him. From the ashes born John to retaliate those who were amenable for the self-slaying of my wife ."

For the rest of the journey, he didn't speak a word. He got down from the main stand; adieu goodbye to me. With his luggage, he moved to a rickshaw; waved hands to me proceeded on and on. Biraj looked vacantly at the horizon speechless, sighed high and budged to his destination.

His memory was enlivened, once when Biraj read the newspaper that an Indian-foreigner, John, after firing five of his kinsmen, fired to himself.

Suddenly, the cloud became black indicating a heavy shower, empathizing the incapacity of a genius of a superstitious society devoured to the primitive belief.

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