A Welcome Shock

Naturally, after hearing the unwelcome news that I would need a reserve of $5,000 in order to obtain a visa, I had a tough night. Not a wink of sleep came my way. Obstacle or no obstacle, I was not ready to give up. I decided to bypass the bank and go directly for clearance from the Foreign Reserves Office. I would only talk to Mr. Mukherjee, the head of the office. This idea was insane, so I decided not to tell anyone, including my uncle.

First thing the next morning, I was at the office of the head of the Foreign Reserves section of the Government of India. There were a handful of people already waiting to see him. On a small piece of scratch paper, I wrote Balbir Singh, Assistant Manager, Odeon Cinema, and handed it to the office boy. I was prepared to wait my turn all day long—and for several days, if necessary. I was only interested in meeting with the head man, the decision-maker, and no one else.

To my utter surprise, I was called in to meet with Mr. Mukherjee within a few minutes. Everyone else in the lobby stared at me. As I entered the office, I saw a massive wooden desk with stacks of files piled on it. Without getting up, Mr. Mukherjee signaled me to take a chair and said, “So, what can I do for you?”

I sat down and simply froze. Suddenly, my throat was dry. No words would come out. Without warning, uncontrollable tears started to roll down my cheeks, and my nose started to run. I stared at him in disbelief. Sitting in front of me was the very same tall, well-dressed man I had saved from the rowdy ticket line and helped to obtain four tickets at the Odeon Cinema!**

He rang a bell, and instantly his assistant appeared from the adjoining room. Softly, he motioned for him to bring me a glass of water. I gulped down the entire glass but still could not talk. His assistant brought me chai. By this time, I was extremely self-conscious—aware of the importance of the man in front of me and the precious time ticking by. I drank the hot tea as rapidly as I could. Then I shared my problem with him.

“Sir, a businessman from America has offered to sponsor my studies there. I have all the necessary requirements. The U.S. Embassy has also assured me that if I can get my Foreign Exchange Reserves Bank clearance, I would be a good candidate to receive a visa. My uncle will be willing to put up my plane fare; however, I do not have any possible way to obtain the required reserve funds or get the clearance certificate. My father is retired, and I do not have any money. My career is at stake,” I pleaded.

“What will you study in the U.S.?” he inquired. I told him exactly what I had told Graham several months ago.

“Who is the American sponsoring you?” he asked. I showed him the letter from Graham. His eyes narrowed, and a quizzical look crossed his face. “Is he the same Graham who was in New Delhi a few months ago?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“He also had a couple of friends with him?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“I know him,” he mused.

“What?” I asked, surprised. “How do you know him?”

He said he had met Graham and his associates several months before at a dinner at the home of Mohan Singh, the managing director of the Punjab National Bank.

“The director and I are long-time friends,” he said. “He called me one day and said he was having some Americans at his home for dinner and invited us over. My wife and I did not have anything else going that evening, so we joined them.”

“Was it a big party?” I asked.

“No, just those three Americans and us. We were the only friends he invited.”

“It was I who suggested Mohan Singh’s name to Mr. Graham!” I said, sharing my utter amazement.

“Ah, that solves the mystery,” he said. “Graham told us some young person recommended that he call the director. We all tried to think who you might be. They told us your name, but none of us knew you.” He seemed pleased to have solved the puzzle. He called his assistant and asked him to bring certain forms.

“Your friend just left for America,” he informed me.

 “Who?” I asked, puzzled.

“Vipan,” he said.

”Vipan?” I asked.

He explained that he was referring to the bank director’s son.

“I do not know him, Sir.” I said.

“You are not Vipan’s friend?” he asked me. “We presumed you must be one of his friends. Graham gave good business to Punjab National Bank and sponsored Vipan also. He just left a few days ago . . . Where is it that Graham lives?” he asked.

“Weecheetah,” I told him. 

“Yes, that’s right. I had never heard of that city before. Funny name,” he mused. 

He asked his assistant to help fill out the necessary forms and bring them back for his signature. “I am clearing your papers because I know you, and I know Graham. You are both honest people. I feel confident in this case.”

Pointing to his assistant, he told me, “Go with him. He will fill out the form and then go down to the Registrar’s office and file it. You will need 15 rupees to pay for the stamp fee.” There was a slight hesitation in his voice. Then he asked me, “Can you manage 15 rupees?”

He was not only being my guarantor; he was even offering to pay for my filing fees! Involuntarily, my eyes closed, squeezed shut to prevent further tears. I nodded my head. I was choked up, and again words would not come out.

The forms were filled out in practically no time. Mr. Mukherjee’s office boy took me down to the Registrar’s office, and my papers were cleared ahead of everyone else.

In less than an hour since I had walked in, I held the Foreign Reserves clearance certificate in my hands.

** See From “Nobody” to “Somebody”