Three Men from the West

One of my daily tasks at the Odeon Cinema was to look at the three newspapers that were delivered to the general manager’s desk, to make sure our advertisements were correct.

I had been working at the Odeon for a couple of months when I noticed a brief news article about an American oil man, William Graham, who was traveling through India seeking business partners. It was a small news item buried inside one of the newspapers.

I immediately picked up the phone and called the Imperial Hotel, where I thought he might be staying as it was the best hotel in town. He was there, and my call was put right through to him. I told Graham that I was a businessman and would like to discuss a business proposition with him. He invited me to come over. I told him I was busy in the morning, so we decided to meet at 1 p.m., which happened to be my lunch hour.

Before the scheduled time, I rushed to my cousin’s house to borrow his double-breasted suit. Then I rushed to the hotel and up to the room. Graham himself opened the door. He had two other people from the U.S. traveling with him, and they also stood to greet their expected guest. All three were obviously surprised to see a young person walk in instead of a businessman.

They all remained standing as Graham asked me what I had to propose. I thanked them for inviting me to visit with them and then went straight to business.

“India is on a rapid path to industrialization and will need a large amount of steel,” I told them. “Because of this, India is sending several hundred young engineers to Germany, America, the U.K., and Russia for advanced training. But, we will also need sophisticated marketing people. I have a plan to go to the U.S. to learn marketing at Harvard University and then come back and become one of the major steel industrialists in India. For this purpose, I need to borrow the first semester’s tuition. If you choose to invest in me, you will get your investment back in more ways than one.”

There was what seemed like a long silence. Then Graham broke out in laughter. “We were expecting a businessman to do business with! … You know that!? … Do you know any rich people in town?”

That was a totally unexpected response, and I was caught off-guard. I was not from New Delhi and did not have any contacts with people whom the Americans might consider wealthy. For a moment, my mind went blank.

Then, in that blank space appeared an article from the morning newspaper that had quoted Mohan Singh, the managing director of the Punjab National Bank. I assumed that, as managing director of a bank, he must be a wealthy man. I blurted out his name.

“Do you have his phone number?” Graham asked.

“Not on me, but I can get it for you.” I reached for a telephone book, found the number for the bank, and handed it to Graham. “His office number,” I said.

Graham laughed out loud: “Son of a gun! You sure are a pistol. I think you will do well in the States. Tell you what. We will loan you your first semester tuition at Harvard, if you can find your way there.” He was almost bent over with laughter, his red, polka-dot bow tie highlighting his face. Slapping his thighs, he turned to the others. They all were vocal with their consent.

I was then asked to bring my father to meet them, so they could confirm that my family would cover my travel expenses. I informed them that he was in Allahabad, a town 400 miles away. I told them I could ask my uncle, who lived in New Delhi, to come and meet them.

I ran all the way to my uncle Sant Ram’s pathology lab. It was on the second floor of the building, and I flew up the steps two at a time. My uncle was giving instructions to his assistant when I burst in.

“Uncle, please come!” I shouted breathlessly. “I am going to America!” 

He asked me to calm down and tell him what was going on. To my uncle’s great credit, he left with me immediately.

Back in Graham’s suite at the hotel, we were invited to take a seat, and my uncle was introduced around the room. One of the Americans took me to an adjoining room and quizzed me in detail about my background, education, and grades. Later, my uncle told me that the others were simultaneously asking him about what type of person I was, my capabilities, my family, my dealings with people, relationships, my uncle’s income, and if he would be willing to pay for my passage to the United States.

The deal was made.

The rest of the day, I told anyone and everyone I saw, “I am going to America!” I even told the pebbles I kicked as I danced down the road.

It was a bright, sunny day in November 1957.