The excitement of being admitted to MIT was slowly wearing out over the summer as I made preparations to depart for the new continent, new for me at least. Not having been to the Western hemisphere and with various relatives and friends of my parents sharing ominous stories of what happens there (Be careful you don’t get mugged. Look out for the women they will get their hooks in you, Boston is up in flames with race riots), one looked for some solace from a friendly face. Fortunately for me one of my classmates had joined MIT the year before and I had managed to get his address.
Remember no internet then. The only way of communicating was writing painful handwritten letters on thin onion skin airmail paper (for every ounce of postage was expensive and precious) to be mailed via Airmail with the hope it would reach post haste in say a week or two. I penned a short note informing him of my impending arrival and seeking his advice on housing (I had been unlucky not getting any assigned on campus), clothing (what to bring? How much?), money (how much? How?), arriving (where? What do I do?) and other such bothersome details that an incoming student worries about. Several weeks later I got a rather helpful response with some local details and offering to help with housing when I arrived.
Feeling somewhat relieved, the last few days in Bombay (yeah it was still called that when I left) went by rather quickly and soon it was time to leave. I believe I flew via London to New York’s famous JFK airport with one suitcase, a carryon briefcase with all my papers and I think 8 dollars or so in my pocket. The immigration process is a blur, I know I had a I-something form that said I was legit. I exited the customs and immigration and I had several hours to kill before my connection to Boston. I had mailed a letter to my friend before I left India with my flight details with the expectation that he might be able to meet me at the airport. Just to be sure, I decided to call the number that he had given me.
Easier said than done since I had never used an American payphone before. The helpful aid of a stranger, who not only made change for my dollar to make the call but showed me how to make one, patched me thru. The phone rang and rang. No answer. By then it was time for me to get on my final leg to Logan.
It was late in the evening when I finally reached Boston and once again, with my luggage retrieved, I headed to a payphone, this time more confidently. The call went through this time and I asked for my friend. The man on the other end curtly answered, “Sorry there is no one here with that name” and hung up. Now what?
Right before I left Bombay, Shiamin, my friend Ajay’s sister, who I was to marry later, had given me a note with her sister’s name and contact info in Boston in case I needed help. I decide to take a chance and call her. Fortunately, she picked up and recognized who I was and said she would be over with her husband to pick me up – which they did.
The next day after a restful night they dropped me off at the steps of Sloan with my suitcase and papers. I lugged them up to the grad student office, filled out a bunch of papers and tried to track down my friend. Fortunately, I was able to find his office number and he came over to meet me.
Little did I realize that I had landed on September 1st which was an American holiday, Labor Day, and, more importantly for academic renters, the biggest turnover in rentals. My friend had moved to a place on campus and had been incommunicado during the past 48 hours with no land line (No cell phones remember). Things ended well. I slept over at his place a couple of nights and got lucky in the room lottery and got a room in Ashdown. And the rest is history.
MIT Sangam Reunion 