What The Hell Was I Thinking?

By David Rash

Follow the adventures of an anxious American as he explores India and reminisces about his earlier life. In What the Hell was I Thinking? David Rash navigates both the chaotic streets of India's cities and his relationship with his brother. Rash's memoir is full of random, non-linear stories of his family, India, and himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Draca Publishing
• Release date: Jun 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781087942650

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David Rash

What The Hell Was I Thinking?

First published by Draca Publishing 2022

Copyright © 2022 by David Rash

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

David Rash asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

First edition

ISBN: 9781087942650

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To my wife, Kay, who keeps me grounded and focused on the truly important parts of life! To my children, Jason, Isabelle, Jennifer, and Jessica that laugh with and at me!

There are two statements about human beings that are true: that all human beings are alike, and that all are different. On those two facts all human wisdom is founded.

—Mark Van Doren

Preface

This paperwork is not sufficient.

I stared at the gentleman across the counter from me and asked what he needed. I had traveled to several countries in my life, and I was trying to take the calm, sincere, quiet American approach. The American approach without the yelling, cursing, and screaming. Whether traveling to Vietnam, Costa Rica, Croatia, Serbia or various out of the way spots in Europe, that approach had served me well. I thought it would take just my answering a few questions and I would be on my way.

You do not have a letter from a company representing you in India requesting your services. You do not have a letter from a company in America verifying your credentials and stating that they are liable for any costs you might incur while doing business in India. You need those letters before we can process your request for a business visa to India. He bobbed his head and smiled as he numerated each failing on my part. I listened in disbelief and wondered what I would or could do.

I walked back to the elevator and waited for it to arrive on the eleventh floor of the building in downtown Chicago. I pondered my predicament. I was to be in India in just a week joining my brother on our business venture. As I rode the elevator to the first floor, I tried to figure out how I would possibly accomplish getting a business visa in time to leave for Delhi.

It had just been a week ago and my brother, Ron, had invited me to join him in India. He needed assistance on a venture that he had embarked upon. Ron and a friend in India, Hemant, were going to be involved with guiding executives from a major company in India into the Himalayas. He and Hemant had the expertise to guide the executives, but they needed assistance on giving leadership seminars, part of the draw to get the executives to join his expeditions. I was going to be the person giving seminars on leadership while he used his expertise in the outdoor world. He had left for India and now I was trying to determine how I could arrange to meet him. I had already purchased the airline ticket, but now I needed the visa. I could not contact him to find out how he had arranged his business visa and what steps I needed to take to make sure I acquired one. He was somewhere in India out of phone or email contact. I had driven to Chicago to go to the India consulate to apply for the visa to speed up the process. I would be leaving in a week.

My initial experience entering the consulate should have told me this was going to be an experience that would require innovation, patience, and resolve; none that I thought that I had. I made sure I was early as I stepped into the building that morning at eight a.m. There was a security guard standing outside the elevator. One could not get to the consulate on the eleventh floor without admittance from the guard. He acknowledged me and said I could wait, but he would not be admitting anyone until nine. He smiled and said to come back at nine and he would send me up. I wandered out into the early morning, busy streets of Chicago, found a coffee shop, ordered my coffee, and waited. When I returned at ten minutes to nine, forty people were waiting, and I was at the back of the line. Since I had been there earlier and talked with the security guard, I confidently walked up to him, smiled, and asked if I could go to the front of the line. He and I had a rapport. He just smiled and shook his head as if he had never seen me before. It was going to be an exceptionally long day. I had lost some of my patience, I was hoping for my resolve and innovation to start soon.

I walked out of the building wondering how I would get the required papers, especially since my brother was already in India and out of contact. I turned the corner of the block and saw my answer, Kinkos. I had used Kinkos once before to make copies. I knew I could access a computer at their stores. I walked in, bought computer time, sat down, and scrolled through letterhead options. Within forty minutes I had a business letter from a reputable company in the United States stating that I was authorized to work in India and that any liabilities or monetary issues would be paid for by said company. I have forgotten the name of the company, but I remember smiling as I made it up.

Elated, I rode the elevator back up to the eleventh floor and presented my letter to another official, after waiting in line for twenty minutes. Patience! I repeated in my head. The official examined my letter carefully, I am sure he admired the letterhead, a U.S. flag over a mountain scene. He handed it back to me. Where is your approval from the sponsoring company in India? He smiled widely as if his happiness was dependent on giving disappointing news. I had forgotten this requirement. I grabbed the letter, turned around, rode the elevator down, waved to my security guard friend, and walked into Kinkos. I began searching and typing. I had learned a couple of things from my previous attempt and this time my approval letter did not take as long to build. Images of elephants make great, wonderful, impressive letterheads, especially if they are companies operating out of India. I had now received authorization to do business in India. Again, I do not remember the name of the Indian company that was giving me authorization, but it was a fantastic letterhead.

I carried both letters back up to the eleventh floor. I did find as I made this second journey that my outlook had changed tremendously from my first ride up to the consulate. On my initial trip, I had been nervous, apprehensive, yet excited about what I would encounter as I entered the consulate. I must admit, I had been even a little upset at the guard for not letting me enter the front of the line. This third trip had given me experience. Also, the guard, by now, would let me on the elevator with just a simple knowing nod, I was making progress. With the experience, my tension had lessened. Also, I now had two letters from reputable companies that wanted my services and that were vouching for my credentials. Those companies would not be authorizing me to go to India if it were not important, even if they did not exist. Those companies were of my own making and had absolutely zero assets. Even so, I felt empowered. The clerk must have noticed this change, too, as he reviewed both letters, walked back to a desk, stamped the letters, and handed them over to another clerk. He then pointed to a chair, always smiling, and asked me to wait. I waited, sitting, smiling back. I knew I was in charge, finally.

Thirty minutes later, a female clerk called out my name and I walked up to a different counter. My surname is simple, one syllable, but in the next few weeks it would be pronounced how she yelled out then, in two syllables and a question mark at the end. Mister Ra-ash? I walked up to the counter, I felt more empowered. She did not smile as she said the second letter did not cover every part of what was required from the sponsoring company in India. The shock must have shown on my face. I think she liked seeing my face change, she smiled and nodded, waiting to see if I would implode or explode. It was not the last shock at discovering the way India worked that I would experience in the next several weeks. So, I reverted to what I knew best. I took out my pen and wrote on a piece of paper exactly what she said was required after asking her to slow down speaking. By the time I finished writing I was staring at the note. I wanted to get the wording exactly right. Riding the elevator down to the ground floor I reread the note and then I did smile, I still had computer time at Kinkos.

After two more trips into Kinkos, I had five minutes left of computer time, I handed the final product to the fifth clerk I talked to at the consulate. It was now late in the afternoon. He stated as he took my passport and three letters of approval that he could not guarantee acceptance and or approval of my business visa, but he would submit it reluctantly. He continually nodded and smiled and acted like his very existence was doing me a favor. Three days later my passport arrived with the required business visa.

The Long Airplane Ride

Ifolded myself into my airplane seat next to the window. I was six foot two inches tall when I was nineteen years old. At sixty-one, I was still close to that height. Airplane economy seats are not made for tall people’s comfort. They are not made for anyone’s comfort. I am normally at ease flying and can relax into my seat for short flights. Longer flights over the years have been fine, but those flights were before my accident. I found myself thinking back to the accident and how it would be to fly for over sixteen hours non-stop with my new hip.

In the spring of the previous year, I had experienced a horrific bicycle accident. I had been riding my bike on a cool, pleasant day. I was finally able to get out and take a long, energetic ride. It had been a severe winter and I was excited to be on my bike stretching my legs. I have had some scary bicycle accidents in the past, but this was beyond all of them. Iowa winter had wreaked havoc on the roads. Expansion cracks widen. I rounded a corner near my home my bike tires slid on slick pavement. I tried to correct the sliding and did, my tires lodged into an expansion crack that was the same size as my tire. That was the last I remember about that bike ride.

It must have looked spectacular as the bike stopped, twisted, then slammed me into the curb. I woke up some time later staring into the face of an EMT. Behind him was my wife. I cannot remember much about the EMT’s face, but I saw concern on Kay’s face. I tried to get up, felt some stabbing pain in my hip, back, shoulder and head. I smiled at the EMT and said, You know, I don’t live far from here, if you just help me up, I can walk on home. I said that as they were sliding a long, plastic sled under me.

The team picked me up and put me into the back of the ambulance. As I looked around, I saw people staring at me. My sister-in-law, Annie, was there and I made sure to ask her to take my bicycle home. The ride to the hospital was incredibly rough, each crack in the road sent pain along my back and hip. At the hospital I was x-rayed and scanned. The doctor’s said something about a brain bleed which made Kay’s face twist into even more concern.

After all the tests, scans, and x-rays, I found out I did not have a brain bleed, but did have a concussion, vertigo, and a broken hip. The orthopedic surgeon said he would put in a new hip the next day. He did not say anything about my vertigo or the pain in my head. I spent the night trying to rest. I found out later the little button next to me would provide morphine to help me sleep and lessen the pain. I never did have a chance to push it to find out if it worked. I think I missed that part of the informational discussion with the nurses about all the buttons and wires that I had around me.

The next day, they did give me a new hip. Rather, my insurance company had bought a new hip for me. I still complained about the pain in my back and that is when they found out that I had broken my collarbone. As the doctor said, it now matched my other collarbone which had been broken twenty years earlier. One bicycle accident, one snow sledding accident, two broken collarbones. My vertigo did continue off and on for a few weeks after the accident. I also know that the accident must have looked spectacular because of an incident two weeks later.

By the time two weeks had passed, I was walking around my neighborhood with a hiking pole, my arm in a sling to keep my collarbone in place, trying to get back into shape, and to get used to my new hip. As I walked along, a minivan full of children pulled up next to me. A young lady jumped out and asked if I was that guy in the bicycle accident? I told her I was, she started crying. She thought that I had been killed. She said she called 911. She then said she could not stay at the scene of the accident. She just knew it had killed me. She asked if she could give me a hug and then I started crying. I had been a little emotional since the accident. I was incredibly glad the accident had happened in the spring when the weather in Iowa was improving, my mood was very dark at times. I could not have imagined going through the pain and vertigo in the middle of the winter when I could not get outside.

So, now I was on my way to India with my new hip, on the longest airplane ride of my life. The trip from Newark to Delhi was to be over sixteen hours. I had flown from Moline International Airport to O’Hare in Chicago to Newark. I have no idea why the Moline airport was called an international airport because the flights advertised go to Atlanta, Dallas, Chicago, and Denver. I had left at eleven a.m. and it was now after eleven at night. My plane to India had been delayed for six hours. I walked around the Newark airport anticipating the long flight. I was supposed to land in Delhi around six in the evening. Ron had arranged for me to be picked up from the airport and taken to our hotel in Delhi.

Finally, my flight to Delhi arrived, and I folded myself into my window seat. Next to me was a couple that was slightly younger than me from Utah. Normally, I do not talk much on an airplane. If I travel with Kay, we watch movies, read, or sleep. That was my intention on this flight. The gentleman from Utah had none of those intentions. He wanted to talk. He explained that he and his wife and eleven other people were part of a tour group that was traveling from Utah to Delhi, to the Taj Mahal, to the jungles for a tiger excursion, to Nepal so they could fly over Mount Everest and then back to Delhi. The entire tour was to last ten days. They were going to hit the high points of a tour of India. He asked why I was going to India.

My brother and I are guiding some executives through the Himalayas for six weeks, I answered him. He looked at me incredulously.

Have you been to India before? he asked. I told him no. Have you been to the Himalayas before? he asked. I told him no. What city are you traveling to? He had never heard of Uttarkashi. I proceeded to tell him it was where a major flood had hit just this past year killing thousands of people and destroying half of the town and most of the roads. He stared at me even more. When I said it, I immediately knew it sounded bad. He kept asking me questions. Where were we staying in Delhi? He said they were staying at the new Marriott, it was plush he confidently told me. The food is particularly good, and the water is safe, he droned on. My hip began aching as I had been sitting in the same position for a long time. You and your brother should stay at the new Marriott, he told me. It is also conveniently close to the airport, he knowingly added. After his litany of questions and his positive statements about what I should do, I began to quietly wonder what in the hell I was doing. It had seemed so easy, my brother calls me and tells me he has an idea, he tells me it will work, and I had willingly jumped at the chance to travel to India. I had not questioned anything about how we would do it all. I thought that Ron would handle everything, and everything would be fine. There would be no problems. I would give leadership seminars each night and we would trek through the Indian Himalayas. It would be a wonderful experience, the adventure of a lifetime. Now, I was worried, I did not even know what hotel we were staying in and where in Delhi it was. I started thinking about my brother and his travel choices. I also realized I had never been near India culture other than the occasional visits to Pier 1.

Our food started arriving. My Utah companion had stopped talking. His meal arrived. As people began unwrapping their meals the smell of Indian food spread throughout the airplane cabin. My stomach rumbled and I realized that I did not even like Indian food very much. The Utah gentleman gladly took my meal and ate it along with his. He stared at me again. I put my head against the window and tried to sleep, telling myself everything would work out. I could hear my father’s voice, What in the hell were you thinking?

Arrival

Ihave entered several countries in my life through airports, ships, and cars. An hour earlier I had found entering India was incredibly easy. I stood for a few minutes in line at immigration. The officer had opened my passport, found the visa, looked at me sleepily, stamped my passport, and waved me through. My business visa was not only issued, but it was also accepted. I was elated. I now needed to retrieve my two very heavy duffels. I waited at the carousel. They finally arrived. I hefted them onto a cart and found the exit. I pushed my cart to the door while eight heavily armed guards stood smoking, talking, laughing, punching each other, and staring at me. I could have had anything in my bags as I passed by them into the stifling heat and humidity outside. They had acted as if they did not even know I existed.

I walked out of the Indira Gandhi International Airport after midnight into explosive heat and humidity. I now know I should have been prepared for every part of this trip. But at the time, I had relied on my enthusiasm, love of adventure, and my forgetfulness about my brother, his actions, and our relationship. I had forgotten what it was like for me to be in a relationship with my brother beyond being brothers. I was told that a driver would be standing outside the terminal holding a sign with my name