Some
short stories are local, some international. This story, true to the last
detail, is an international story about a local girl. Gauri Godse belonged to my
community and locality. Her mother and my mother were neighbours in Lokmanya
Nagar, a well known housing society in Bombay.
In her
early twenties, Gauri left for the USA. This is not unusual. Most well-educated
Indians choose that country for education, then employment and finally permanent
residence. Her second serious job in the US took her to Austin, Texas. She was
employed as a business analyst with Freescale Semiconductor. You may not have
heard this name, but USA is full of giant multinationals that are not Apple or Microsoft.
Freescale was one of the pioneer semiconductor companies. It employed more than
17,000 people worldwide. It operated in nearly twenty countries. But this story
is about Gauri Godse and not her employer.
After Gauri
worked for six months, the company sent her on a business trip to Kuala Lumpur.
As a business analyst she was responsible for the global supply chain planning.
She would attend a seminar for a week along with colleagues from different
countries. After Kuala Lumpur, the delegation would fly to Tianjin in China, Freescale’s
major chip making location.
Gauri’s
colleagues were top class engineers. Though they were experts in chipmaking
during day time, in the evening they were life-loving young men. When you are
abroad on a business trip, your time entirely becomes company time. People working
with you become your family. You eat three meals with them, drink with them, occasionally
dance with them. Gauri, the only girl in the delegation, had bonded well with
her colleagues. Days had flown quickly. On Friday night they all needed to be
at the airport to fly back.
The multinational
delegation was noisy when their bus reached Kuala Lumpur airport in the
evening. Gauri had just about managed to pack her suitcase on time. She was
still chatting with her colleagues and laughing loudly when her turn came at
the airline counter. She pushed her Indian passport towards the girl, lifted
the suitcase on wheels and though the company was paying for everything looked
at its weight as a matter of habit. She hadn’t bought any gifts in Kuala
Lumpur. Now the girl should wrap a tag around the suitcase’s handle, issue a
boarding pass, show the direction in which Gauri should move; airlines the
world over have become so predictable.
“Where is
your Chinese visa?” The girl at the counter was flicking through the passport
pages.
“Chinese
visa?” Gauri said. “I live and work in the USA. I’ll be in China only for the next
two days. Then I fly back to the US.”
“Your
passport is Indian. You must have a visa to China.” The unsmiling girl at the
counter said.
By now,
Gauri’s colleagues had gathered around her. Someone mentioned a 72- hour rule.
“Yes,
the 72-hour transit rule applies to certain nationalities.” The girl read from
the computer. “Citizens from 51 countries are allowed to stay in China for 72
hours. But India is not included in that list.”
A
senior executive from the delegation now came forward.
“Look.
We are all together. Twenty-one of us. All of us work for the same company. I
can vouch for this girl. We can give you a written undertaking it is our
responsibility. You can see the company has booked a group ticket for all of
us. If Americans can stay for 72 hours in China, she should be allowed. She is
a resident in the USA.”
The airline
girl handed Gauri’s passport back to her. She motioned her to remove the
suitcase from the belt. Gauri’s Malaysian colleague intervened. He began
talking to the airline girl in a local language. Though Gauri didn’t understand
what he was saying, she could feel his anger. Everyone; Americans, Europeans,
Chinese, Japanese, even Arabs had gone through smoothly. Only Gauri was stuck.
People in
the queue were now complaining. They were keen to get on the flight. Suddenly,
Gauri saw her suitcase at her feet. She was so tense she couldn’t properly
absorb what her colleagues were saying to her. They were genuinely sorry to miss
her. All of them had a wonderful time in Kuala Lumpur. A pity she couldn’t be
at the Tianjin factory. But they surely would meet her again, in Texas perhaps.
Suddenly all her twenty colleagues were gone.
Gauri
dragged her suitcase. Between her fingers she held the blue Indian passport. At
moments like this, even the most patriotic Indians wish they had some other
passport, a normal passport that allows a smooth passage. The flight, not her
flight anymore, was leaving on early Saturday morning. Which meant it was
impossible to her to get a Chinese visa until next week. She wiped her tears,
and decided to take the first available connection to Bombay. She would use the
opportunity to meet her family, spend a couple of days with them. Then fly
directly to the US.
*****
Gauri
was fast asleep in her Bombay flat. Her fatigue, frustration and jet lag had combined
to make her forget the world. Her parents’ first reaction was worry rather than
happiness when they saw their daughter at the doorstep. She was not due in
India until December, what happened? Gauri quickly explained she had missed her
flight, and banged the Indian passport on the table. She ate very little before
hitting the bed. She should have been in Beijing, her first time in China.
Instead she found herself in the Bombay apartment. Once she slept, she would
feel much better.
*****
It was
Saturday, 8 March 2014. Gauri’s family hadn’t put the TV on earlier so that
Gauri could sleep in peace. When Gauri woke up listening to her mother’s
excited voice, it was late evening in Mumbai.
The TV channel
was giving a Breaking News. A
Malaysian flight MH 370 flying from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing this morning had
disappeared. All its 227 passengers and 12 crew were missing.
Gauri’s
suitcase stood in the corner, its lock intact. On top of the table next to it
was her blue Indian passport.
Ravi