I espied a familiar looking 60-something year-old Indian gentleman, probably a bachelor or divorced based his attire: wrinkled khaki trousers with oversized belt, striped dress shirt with a tight rectangular bulge within its shirt pocket, Adidas sneakers with polyester socks, a gold watch on one wrist and a sacred Rakhi thread on the other. No wedding band. He was wandering near an adjacent table, intensely watching several rounds of Blackjack. He spotted me from fifty feet with his minus 12 diopters rifle scope-like spectacles; he cocked his head to the side and asked me from a distance, “Are you from India?” I just remembered he was the guy who asked the exact same question two months ago when he first saw me in Foxwoods, and I then entertained his friendly invitation with a curt head side-tilt. Either it was not emphatic enough to convey an affirmative response at the time or he felt the need to squeeze the entire surface of the melon to ensure its ripeness. Thus, he asked me again. I partially identified with the man’s uncertainty. I similarly was nonplussed when the Air India check-in girl addressed my burning question, “Will the plane leave without me as I’m not checked in?” with the same ambiguous head tilt. I later consulted my oldest and dearest friend who was born in Gujarat and brought up in Queens. He guessed this gentleman probably also is Gujarati based on my precise description of his head tilt. Gesticulations, like deities, often are regional. “Of course I’m from India,” I proudly declared (but only to myself). I was speechless. I never asserted verbally what I was thinking. I assumed he knew what I was meaning based on our common cultural understanding and acceptance of gesticulations. I signaled to him this time with the ever so popular exaggerated yet equally ambiguous head nod and raised eyebrows to exact final affirmation and imbue kinship. Ambivalently, I also had less than conciliatory thoughts - I had hoped my wordless dagger strike the nosy man in the forehead hard enough that he not ask me again about my background and business and let me float peacefully in the abyss of anonymity. I ignored the man for the next hour and continued my efforts at the table. I gradually kept losing more of my initial winnings and thereafter switched to minimum bet. Each shoe dragged on with no exciting deals. While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. “Doctor Kaushik Bagchi, please call the operator, or come to the courtesy desk. [Static, then a punctuated ‘pop’]. Doctor Kaushik Bagchi…” A monotone, yet incisively peremptory voice that would inveigle the most nailed-down gambler caught my attention immediately. What startled me was not my name being called out in the middle of the casino, but that my name was perfectly pronounced. And who the hell knows I’m a doctor? I’m a real estate guy. What can be worse than being tracked down by an unknown assailant? By someone who actually knows you and has no problem exposing you. Did someone I know get hurt or die? I always hated when I had to raise my hand (half-willingly) on an airplane after the captain asked for a doctor. Once it was for a guy with kidney UPAHAAR 2021 উপহার ১৪২৮ 10
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