by Leena Clover
“Well, I never sought Jyothi out,” I protested. “It was all her.”
“Fine, fine. I believe you. Have you finished listing out all the times you actually spoke to her?”
I had bullet points filled out under encounters. I handed them over to Tony.
“She must have talked to other people too,” Tony started. “Make a list of those.”
I agreed and started writing.
“She had to have met with folks at the ISS office. Then she must have room mates.”
“What about the Graduate College?” Tony added.
“Yeah! And her department, professors etc. We know Prudence was one of them but there must be others too.”
I already had a long list.
“What about the locals? She must have shopped for groceries, eaten somewhere. Or done her laundry even.” Tony counted on his fingers.
Soon, we had filled out a couple of pages.
“See? There’s so much to check. We've got our work cut out for us, Meera. We need a plan of action now. I think you shouldn’t do this alone, because we don't want to raise any red flags. You are already under the radar.”
“So not...” I opened my mouth.
“Fair or not!” Tony overrode what I was saying. “Make sure either Becky or I am with you. Worst case, take Motee Ba or Jeet. Just do not talk to anyone about the girl when you’re alone. Promise me.”
“Alright!” I was reluctant but I could see the logic in what Tony was saying.
“Let's start with the roomies. Those must be the people she spent the most time with.”
“Oh yes! Simple. Except we don't know who her roomies are, dude!” I tapped Tony on his head.
We thought for a bit but we were both stumped.
“Think of all the places you need to give an address,” Tony suggested.
I thought hard. “The ISS has the address, and the students fill out forms for the social security number, school ID card etc. They have to give an address at that time. The same at the Graduate College.”
“All that's fine, but who out of these is going to pull her file and give it to us? You do know giving out personal information is not kosher?” Tony called me out.
“What about the library?” he mused.
“Library access is given based on their ID card. So no address there.”
“Are you sure? Don't you guys send out notices for the overdue books or overdue fees?” Tony wanted to know.
“You have a point. But that’s done by email now. Actually, I’m not sure, but I don't have Admin access in any case.”
I was discouraged.
“Aren't we forgetting the most obvious source?” Tony smiled. “Your Dad! There is bound to be an I-20 and other records on file for the girl.”
I was shocked at the suggestion.
“Are you implying what I think you are?" I chastened Tony. “You know Dad will never do anything unethical.”
“Even if it means saving his daughter's ass?”
“Well, it hasn't come to that yet,” I reasoned.
“That's the easiest way, Meera. You have to do it yourself, somehow. Maybe you can hack into his account.”
Tony laughed out loud.
There was more behind that comment. I’m a superior computer programmer and I have taken many advanced courses in ethical hacking. Trying out some tricks to hack into Dad's account actually seemed challenging. But I pushed away the thought.
“I might have a simpler solution,” I smiled. “I can just try to guess his password.”
“You think someone of Uncle Andy's caliber is going to have a dummy password?” Tony was skeptical.
“Well! I am cleverer than most and I know all his secrets.”
I was suddenly keen on trying out my prowess.
“So when do you want to do it?” Tony was a bit uncertain now.
“No time like the present. What's the matter? Doesn't seem like a good idea now?” I mock punched him and we went in to the main house.
It was dinner time and everyone was gathering around the table. Dad had come to the table early for a change and was waiting impatiently for the others.
“What's taking the kids so long?” he grumbled.
He found it hard to engage in small talk.
“I have a paper to finish. Jeeeet!” He called out loudly.
“Tony, grab an extra chair for yourself,” Motee Ba ordered.
When Motee Ba ordained you were staying for dinner, no one argued with her.
“We have a nice lobia curry with khamang kakdi,” Motee Ba told Tony, referring to a stew made with black eyed peas, and a cucumber-peanut salad which is a Gujarati staple. “And steaming hot rice.”
“How about some hot pickles, Granny?” Tony was well acquainted with our pantry and shared his mother's love for pickles.
I stood up gently, planning to make a quiet exit. Everyone looked at me. So much for stealth, I thought.
“Sit down. Where are you off to now?”
Jeet had just come in and finally taken his place.
“I need to freshen up. You can start without me.”
I turned my back on them and went toward the passage leading to my room. The study door was ajar and I spied Dad's laptop on his table. I hurried in.
Luckily, the screen saver hadn't engaged yet, and I could access the computer. At least one gate is open, I thought to myself. I pulled up the department website and tried to log in using Dad's user id. I would have three attempts before the system locked me out.
I thought hard and entered the years of our births with mine and Jeet's initials. The system beeped signaling an error.
“Meeraaa! Get here now!” Dad called out again.
I thought for a moment, entered another password, and I was in. I couldn't believe my luck.
I had never been in this system before. I looked around and found a folder called Fall 2000. I clicked on it to find 57 other folders. I clicked on one that said New Admissions and was relieved to see it had 127 different folders each with some alphabets and digits in its name. That seems to be the incoming class strength, I thought, so I was on the right track. I clicked a few folders randomly to see what they contained. As I suspected they each had a bunch of scanned documents, probably academic records belonging to the new students and documents they had submitted like essays, Statements of Purpose etc. How was I supposed to find the right folder before Dad came into the study and caught me?
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing myself to think. I pictured the girl, the way she looked the first time I met her. Her tall, gaunt frame with the waist long plait came to mind.
‘I am Jyothi. Jyothi Sudhakaran.’
I realized the letters in the folder names might belong to the students' initials. I scrolled frantically and saw one starting with JS. I clicked on it, ready to give up if this did not work.
Then as I scrolled through the various documents, I found one that said 'Local Address’. I read it rapidly and memorized it. I logged out of the system and closed all the windows. I crept out of the study, leaving the door just as it was.
I walked into the dining room and took my place.
“Your food is cold,” Pappa glared.
“No problem, I don't mind.”
I avoided looking at him and started shuffling food into my mouth. Tony nudged me later as we were clearing the plates. I nodded and we high fived silently.
Pappa saw that from his recliner and tapped his cane. “Kids!” he snorted and amped up the TV volume.
Chapter 15
I was frying up some eggs the next morning when Jeet ambled in. I set out some salsa on the table and popped four slices of wheat bread in the toaster. I munched on some Cheerios as the eggs cooked.
“My college applications are almost complete, Meera. Do you want to look over them once before I send them out?” Jeet wanted to know.
He had already sent in a batch to his top priority schools. It didn't hurt to be early. This second lot was for ba
ckup schools. It said a lot that Rice and UT Austin were part of his backups.
“We can go over them later today,” I promised.
There was a sudden rush as everyone came in wanting to get their breakfast. I stopped over at the gas station on my way to work. I was glad to see Tony manning the cash register.
“Oh good, you're here. When do you want to track down the address?”
We agreed to meet at 11:30 and I grabbed some coffee from the food court before heading to my desk at the library. The library fountain was bubbling away, drenching the surroundings with a light spray. Someone had added in green in honor of the upcoming football game.
It was a typical day in the middle of the Fall semester.
I managed to look up the address I had spotted in the folder. It was on campus itself in the University Apartments at the other end. Undergrads lived in dorms or Residence Halls, later moving to frat houses or sororities. The University Apartments were generally preferred by graduate students. I wonder how the girl traveled from so far.
I walked west to the street where Tony was supposed to pick me up. I hopped into the cab and motioned him to drive straight.
“Make a left here,” I told him as we approached Pelican Ave. In 10 minutes, we were at the address.
I knocked on the door, hoping someone would be home. We had almost turned back when the door opened slowly and a bedraggled girl peered out. Researchers keep an odd routine, often staying up the whole night meeting deadlines, then sleeping through the day.
The girl yawned widely. Dressed in hot pants, a flimsy cami top with a raggedy robe flung over her shoulders, she was as unlike Jyothi as could be.
“Yes? Can I help you?” she mumbled, trying hard to keep her eyes open.
“Can I ask you a few questions?” I began.
“Look. I've gotta be at work in 3 hours and I went to bed 20 minutes ago. Can you come back later?”
She started closing the door.
Tony pushed me aside and smiled at her. The girl straightened her robe.
“Howdy!” he said.
What's up?” The girl said back.
“We won't take long.” He smiled again. “We're looking for a Desi girl - Jyothi Sudhakaran. Is she in?”
The girl started looking belligerent again. “No such girl here.”
She was about to slam the door on us.
“She listed this as her address. Please! This is important. Don't you know her?”
The girl sighed. She peeped out, looked right and left and invited us in.
We stepped into a living room with an open kitchen. The girl switched on a coffee maker and took a gallon of Sunny D out of the refrigerator. She looked at me questioningly. I said no with a shake of my head.
“I'll have some,” Tony said, ignoring my eye roll.
I let her get a few sips down and plunged in.
“So. Tell us!”
The girl started. “Look. She was assigned to us, OK?”
“What does that mean?” I wanted to know.
“Well, there's a certain number of new students coming in each year, right?”
I nodded.
“The Indian Students Association randomly assigns them among the existing students. They need a place to stay until they find their own apartments. They need help opening bank accounts and stuff.”
She stopped as if she had explained enough.
“How long was she here?”
“Two days,” the girl replied.
“But didn't you just say it was for a week?” I pounced.
“It was supposed to be. But we had problems.”
“What kinda problems?” Tony laid his empty glass on a table.
“Well ... she didn't like that we eat chicken and stuff. She wanted us to stop eating meat while she was here. I was like “no way, dude!”
The girl was disturbed now.
“Then what happened?” I prodded.
“I don't know. She got some roomies I guess.”
She shrugged.
“So why is your address on her file?”
“Oh ... that's pretty common. She didn't have an apartment at the time. She'll change it later.”
We thanked the girl and left.
“What now?” Tony asked.
“Our first step leads to a dead end,” I complained.
“Well, think of it this way. We eliminated something. The address you got is wrong and we know that. Where to now?”
“I need to pick up lunch and head back to work.”
We got chalupas from the Taco Bell drive through and Tony dropped me off outside the library.
“See ya later,” he waved and drove off.
I found an empty bench on the library lawn and bit into my chalupa. The lawn stretched before me, and I could see a glimpse of Kappa Pond with its waddling ducks. I shivered involuntarily when I thought of Prudence Walker floating up in it. Had the ducks gone on swimming around her?
Frat houses occupied the street beyond it. One side street led to more restaurants and pubs. What must the girl have done when she left the university apartments, I wondered. Would she check into a hotel? I squashed the idea. Jyothi had been worried about money. There was no way she would pay per night in a hotel.
Some custodial staff was loading trash bags into a dumpster. One of them was slit at the side and something bright colored peeped through. The trash bag caught in a corner of the dumpster, and burst open. A garish, multi colored piece of cloth fell out. I was stunned to realize that it belonged to a dress the girl had worn, the first time I saw her.
I hurried toward the dumpster and spoke to the custodian.
“Where'd you get these bags from?”
An imposing woman directed student employees to carry on with their work and smirked.
“Where do you think, missy? From trash cans all over the Union.”
“Yes! I know that. Any particular floor or area?” I pressed on.
“Well, we started from the 4th floor, across from the shrink's offices, and came down to the Food Court and then the basement where them foreigner people's offices are. This here lot at the bottom must be from the 4th floor. Not anyone going there much, you know.”
I forced myself to look at the rest of the contents of the open trash bag. I guessed it had come from a restroom. I thanked the lady and jogged inside the Union, taking the escalator to the top floors. I went to the first women's rest room I came to. It was empty. I came out and rushed to the other end of the floor. There was another restroom tucked away in a corner. I burst in and looked around in all the stalls. There was a closed door which opened out. I grabbed the handle and pulled it open, forcing myself to see inside. The door covered a good sized cleaning closet. Shelves contained cleaning supplies, stacks of extra toilet paper, hand towels and stuff. Mop buckets were stacked in a corner. There was a small woven mat in one corner, and a torn cardboard box. I looked the box over. All I could tell was that it contained writing in Hindi and English. 'Sweets' was visible and I was certain that this had come from some sweets shop in India.
There was a sticker on the box with a packing date which was months old.
Later that evening, I told Tony and Becky about it.
“What do you make of it?” Becky asked. “Maybe she crashed there until she found some roomies.”
“Do you think she could have lived there all this time?” I asked but then I said. “Sounds doubtful, right? We really need to find out her real address, so we can talk to her room mates.”
No one had an immediate answer as to how we would manage that.
The next day passed in a blur. We had planned to recoup at Sylvie's to discuss our foliage trip, as we called it.
“Where to this time?” Dad asked.
“Not too much time in the car. Make sure there are plenty of rest areas in between.” Pappa ordered.
“You may have to adjust for a day, Mr. Patel,” Motee Ba intervened. “Don't make them count rest areas on a map.”
“Wh
at are those guides for then? 70-80 bucks a year we pay for them. Need to take full advantage of them, I say.”
We pacified Pappa and took a vote. It was already past mid October so going South was deemed safer.
“Better chances of seeing some color,” Jon added. “Let's just wing it this time. We can start going south on I-35, and take in the Chickasaw area first. Then we will go on to Turner Falls and stay there for the night.”
“Excellent idea, Jon,” Dad agreed. “So we get to see 3-4 places. We will drive through slowly taking in the sights. After all, this is all about scenic drives.”
The excitement in the room amped up as everyone pitched in with what sights they could squeeze into the trip.
Jeet piped up, “Isn't that close to Arbuckle Lake? I want to see that.”
Pappa was looking a bit worried, probably thinking of the number of hours he would spend cramped up in the car.
“What about food, then? Something other than that orange dust.”
Pappa is not too fond of Cheetos and Doritos. Jeet literally lives on them.
“Make some chevdo, Hansa,” he ordered, referring to a fried snack made with puffed rice. “And…”
“Don't put her to work now, Pappa!” Dad protested. “She'll be too tired to enjoy the trip.”
“Bah! Stop your nonsense, you gadhedo, you ass! The girls will help her.”
He gave us an imperious look and Becky and I reassured everyone that indeed we would pitch in to help.
“What about solid food?” Sylvie wanted to know. “Some egg salad sandwiches, or chicken salad. Maybe some banana bread?”
“Plenty of zucchini in the garden,” Pappa interrupted. “Its edging out now, so why not make zucchini bread?” he suggested.
We haggled and negotiated for an hour like our life depended on it. I looked around and realized our love for food brought us together and kept us together. We are such an unlikely collection of people. Tony, with his biracial background is his own person. Us Patels certainly came under the immigrant category. Jeet is the only natural citizen amongst us. Jon and Sylvie have their own heritage.
We fought and we pulled each other's legs, but we got on. Finally, there was a truce called and a menu was fixed. We divvied up the chores and fixed the date, the coming Saturday.
