And the World Changed (54 page)

Three months later I was working in the United States. My
work centerd on environmental hazards. Earthquakes took me to Los Angeles; the oil crisis took me to Texas. It was an exciting life and a happy one, too. Any racism against me was squashed merely because nobody could be too sure of my “Asian-ness.” So, although my name and accent continued to raise eyebrows, I fitted in quite nicely in Every Man's Land.

A geologist will never say, “It's a small world,” because for us the world grows more mysterious and challenging every day. I have seen more climatic disasters than any weather reporter can dream of. Indeed, there were so many that their horrors simply consigned themselves to a mental compartment labeled “Unfortunates” in my mind. Indeed, there was only one “horror file” that my thoughts consulted again and again.

In 1988, a drought struck the West Coast and was making its way to the Great Plains. It had decided that its final whiplash would be in the Mississippi River Basin. I was assigned to go there.

I regretted it.

There was something about the faces of the drought victims, a tired, defeated vulnerability that reminded me of a past I was eager to forget. I sighed, muttered expletives, and made no secret of the fact that I couldn't wait to escape. I regarded these people with a callous impatience I had never felt before. Yet, for some reason, I could not be resentful for long. Pity replaced contempt. I plunged into the rehabilitation work with a drive I didn't know I had and worked hard to alleviate their suffering.

Perhaps I was trying to make up for lost time. Perhaps I was trying to make up for lost loyalties.

Whatever it might have been, it was then that I realized that sometimes you learn to value things too late, and by the time you do it's best to just forget them.

Time passed quickly. Color fever was high in the 1980s. The United States had seen a new rival in Japan, Americans discovered new villains in the “yellow people” and recognized old slaves in the “black” ones. They had just begun to realize what
it felt like to have Mexicans in their land, and considering how many of those there were the Americans weren't overly enthusiastic about the new brotherhood. Still, remembering their loyalty to their former “white” masters, brown people continued to take pride in subserving themselves in an alien land.

I know the worth of race; after all it is something that has tried hard to make my life worthless. I had been through stilted friendships. I had seen promotions sneak past me to glib, rakish subordinates. Perhaps one reason why I never married was that I always thought a potential wife would look at me in the same way as everyone else. For many years I blamed myself. I did all I could to be like everyone else, but the more I did the more unfamiliar I became to myself.

It took some time before I realized that people didn't react to who I was. All they saw were the pink eyes and flaxen hair. They heard the singsong voice, heard the foreign-sounding name, and decided that I deserved to be treated like an outsider. I had spent years blaming myself for something that didn't come close to being my fault. But the discrimination also taught me that the only place where color really matters is in a rainbow. Imagine those colors geometrically allotting themselves a square meter each of the sky, and you will know what I mean.

Speaking of skies, my American stars shone down on me one evening—or so I thought. I was in San Francisco when I received an unexpected phone call. It was from Mr. Ruknuddin. After an exchange of pleasantries he congratulated me for receiving the National Explorer's Award and a recent Fellowship Grant. Surprised at his acumen, I thanked him. He then mentioned that he'd kept abreast of my work and was wondering if I would be willing to offer my expertise to Pakistan.

“I can't tell you why right now, but we really need you here,” he said.

“I'll come.”

It was only after I hung up that I realized what I had just done.

The phenomenal stupidity of it! Was I supposed to leave my work and rush over to satisfy the whims of a former boss? Not everyone receives a Fellowship Grant—was I supposed to just forget it? What did Pakistan have for me, anyway? I hadn't returned to the country in years! Why had I said yes?

That was the problem: I knew why.

As Mr. Ruknuddin had requested, I took the first available flight to Pakistan, landing in Balochistan, the country's biggest and most wasted province. In my hotel suite, Mr. Ruknuddin explained: Foreign investors were interested in helping Pakistan establish a copper and gold refinery at Saindak. This was wonderful, except that the project had been stalled until it received security clearance.

“Pradeep,” he said, his eyes grave. “We think that place is dangerous. We need your help to know for sure. A lot of people are counting on you.”

“What's the problem at Saindak?”

“Oh, nothing's wrong there. But Koh-e-Sultan is showing signs of waking up again.”

I stared at him. Koh-e-Sultan may have been a formidable volcano once, but it hadn't erupted in 800 years. “That's absurd!” I cried.

Quietly, Mr. Ruknuddin said, “We certainly hope so.”

To appease all, the government insisted on keeping the investigation as low-key as possible. That meant limited research, limited funding, and big risk.

I thought nostalgically of the United States.

In any case, we submerged ourselves in the task. The seismograph spat out pages of data like the ECG reading of a coma patient. The prognosis wasn't exactly discouraging. Koh-e-Sultan would either erupt any time in the next fortnight, or remain dormant for at least another 52 years. At least we had time to prepare for the disaster.

Unfortunately, it was our preparation that gave us away. Although we had been discreet in our collection of mud samples
and seismic information, we could not have been secretive about evacuating the locals and their cattle from the scene. “Soil testing” was quite a plausible reason. Or at least it had been until our delineation marks were discovered. The Chinese investors were the first to hear of it. Then came the locals. Next was a large array of reporters from all over Asia. Most annoying was a European diplomat who doubled as an amateur geographer.

We had tried our best to evacuate the place but the public's love for show prevailed. On what we imagined was Judgement Day, the outskirts of Takht-e-Sultan were a circus! The locals had gone through a lot of trouble. Thanks to them, the “spectators” in question could witness the entire event from an adjoining plateau, which, despite its awesome view, was safely several kilometers away. Heaven knows that I have seen nature at its most ruthless. I have worked myself through calamities without flinching, but that day I prayed. Every vein in my body quivered as I imagined lava licking off life.

Eventually restlessness got the better of me. Ignoring the incredulous glances of my teammates in the Research Office, I headed to the outskirts. The frenzy there was unnerving! I could sense the fear and the excitement. We all stood together and waited.

4:30, 5:30, 6:30 . . . The lion would continue to sleep! Relief flooded through us like an elixir. We hugged and shook hands and cheered. Europeans, Chinese, and Baluchis: Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, and a Hindu all brought together by circumstance. Fate had painted these disparate backgrounds into one picture.

I saw a Pakistani journalist help a Sikh one photograph the scene. An Indian journalist who had come up to cover the economic benefits of the refinery was discussing it with a Chinese businessman—no notebook in hand. Suddenly the sting of having once been “Sunflower Pradeep” dissipated. When I saw the diplomat hug a tribal chief, I remembered Mr. Ruknuddin's old words and they started to make new sense. The tribal chiefs,
notorious for their love of war, posed for photographs and then went off together to offer Prayers of Thanks.

When one of the Chinese businessmen boomed: “Pakistan
zindabad
!” tears filled my eyes and I cheered, for I knew exactly what he meant.

At last, I had come home.

GLOSSARY OF SOUTH ASIAN WORDS

Abba
: Father

Achoot
: Untouchable; lowest caste of Hindu

aiiay:
Enter! Welcome! Come in!

ajnabi
: Stranger; foreigner

ajrak
: Ancient hand-block–printed patterns associated with the province of Sindh

alam bardar
: Standard bearer

Allah-u-Akbar
: God is great

Allah-wali
: A woman dedicated to God

alu ka bhartha
: Mashed potatoes, spiced and fried

Amma
: Mother

Ammijee
: Mother

amrit
: Nectar, water of life, ambrosia

Angrez
: The British

apa
: Appellation for elder sister

araam
: Rest, calm, ease

araam-say, bhai, yeh hamari behenain hain
: “Go easy, brother, these are our sisters”

arrey
: An exclamation of familiarity with several connotations, for example, “Well!” or “Oh!” or “Hey!”

Ashura
: The tenth day of Moharrum

Astakhfarullah
: God forbid

Ayat
: Quranic verse

azaan
: Muslim call to prayer

badmash
: Miscreant

Baji
: Appellation for older sister

baraat
: Marriage procession

bari
: Larger, older

batashas
: Crisp, fluffed white sweets that are made of boiled sugar

behen
: Sister

behen-chod
: Sister-fucker

beta
: Son; also a non-gender-specific term of affection for a child

beti
: Daughter

bhabi
: Brother's wife—also used for wife of close friend

bhai
: Brother

Bharat Natyam
: Classical South Indian dance

Bibi
: Lady

biryani
: Rich festive dish of rice and meat/chicken

boski
: A type of silk with a matte finish

chacha
: Paternal uncle

chachi
: Wife of paternal uncle

chameli
: Sweet-smelling double jasmine whose fragrant buds are often strung together as personal ornaments for women, particularly for a young bride, but can also be used on other occasions

chappals
: Thronged sandals (Bata
chappals
are
chappals
bought from the well-known shoe store chain, Bata)

charas
: Hashish, hemp

chowki
: Wooden platform

chunri
: A gauzy head covering with colorful patterns created by tie-dyeing

dadi
: Paternal grandmother

desh
: Country, homeland

desi
: Pertaining to the subcontinent; belonging to
desh

diyar
: Cedar tree

Dhamal
: Sufi dance that embodies mystical ecstasy

Dukhmo
: Towers of Silence, the area where Parsi funeral rites take place

dulhan
: Bride

dupatta
: Gauzy scarf-like covering

Eid
: Religious festival;
Eid-ul-Azha
celebrates the end of Ramazan, the month of fasting;
Bakr-e-Eid
commemorates and emulates Abraham's sacrifice

fajr
: Dawn, early morning

filmi
: From a film

gharara
: A pajama made so wide and flowing and with many gathers that it resembles a skirt; a
gharara
suit includes the knee-length shirt that is worn over the
gharara
; the large
dupatta
, which is draped over the shoulders and can be pulled up to cover the head, if need be

ghazal
: An Urdu poem with clearly defined meter and form

ghungroos
: Wide leather swatches covered with tiny metal bells