The Bureau Chief

“What are you thinking?” he asks, looking into the rear view mirror.

“Nothing.”

“No, what are you?” turning to look at her.

“I am looking at the construction outside. I am not thinking anything, really” she says.

The road to Delhi’s airport is being rebuilt. But it is dark and there is no rebuilding now. It will start again in the morning when engineers in yellow hard hats with rolls of drawings tucked in their armpits will arrive to oversee hundreds of laboring women. The women will not be given any hats. They wouldn’t wear that male attire anyway.

“I think we’re in an epochal period of boom. There are constructions sites all over the city. I am amazed at the amount of money there is in this city – private money, public money, black money.” He sounds excited.

His car is a year old. It is a Hyundai, one of the bigger ones. Two weeks ago and just arrived in Delhi, she had decided that he now drove like how he walked – erratic in pace and sometimes with a swagger.

“If this is epochal, I wonder how the Chinese describe their boom.”

“By the way did you read that Arindam Nair is going to head New York Times' Delhi bureau? He’s the first Indian to do so.”

“Yes, I read. Every newspaper here has it on the front page. I didn’t realize the New York Times was so popular, considering its not read here at all.”

“It is not in the reading – I have never even seen it - it’s just that they thought this guy could do it.”

“He is Indian and this is Delhi. I am surprised that the Times thought the Americans before could run it.” She is playing with the latch on the glove compartment.

“The last one was Cambodian actually. I also read that three Indian Americans got grants from the Guggenheim Foundation this year. Seems like its been a good week for India. Makes me sort of patriotic.”

“Yes, I read that too. I also read that there were another one hundred and sixty three who were not Indian American.”

He adjusts his rear view mirror and is silent for a minute.

“You’ve been away too long to understand any of this. It’s like you’ve forgotten how difficult it is to accomplish anything here, and how big a deal it really is when something does get accomplished.”

“Balls. I thought all this bizarre even then, before I left. Its stupid to think that every insignificant accomplishment is symbolic of breaking free, of revealing ourselves to be the true achievers we really are. It is chauvinist bullcrap and only shows that we are riddled, riddled with under-confidence.”

She pauses and then adds, ”And it’s only been two years since I’ve been in LA.”

“Still, it’s not like you have to struggle here anymore. You act like – no, you’ve become – an outsider. One who can judge wisely from a luxurious distance; riddled, riddled with superiority.”

“Well, I struggle in LA now. And I am sure you judge me as wisely and as luxuriously from a distance as you think I do you. You should if you don’t.”

“You don’t get it. You no longer know the meaning of struggle or success.”

After a five minutes he pulls up at the departure curb at the airport. They hug and pat each other on the back and she walks away pushing her luggage trolley. She turns once and shouts backs to her brother, “I heard an Indian just became head of LA City's sanitation department. I am sad that I will be missing out on all the celebrations here.”