Petals and Thorns: A Memoir The round-the-world journey of a remarkable man

By Bhupat Doshi

Bhupat (Bobby) Doshi is living proof that nice guys can finish first. Born in India but raised in Sudan, Bhupat was expected to fulfill family obligations even if that meant giving up his dream of becoming an avionics engineer and walking away from the girl he loved. Most would have resented making such s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958554487

Book preview

We are God’s children

We all are equal.

God created us all equal.

Our skin colors are different.

Our blood is all red.

We have created nations,

Boundaries;

Created different religions.

There is only one God.

His messengers are different

His message was always the same.

Why are we destroying ourselves?

Why are we fighting?

What shall we accomplish?

CHAPTER 1

Broken Promises, Broken Dreams

WHEN I LANDED at JFK with my family on May 22, 1981, I never imagined that twelve years later I would find myself facing a US district court judge on charges of defrauding the Federal Home Loan Mortgage Corporation (Freddie Mac) of $1.7 million, facing a possible sentence of up to twenty-five years’ imprisonment.

On that day, I was simply a husband and a father seeking a better life for his family willing to work as hard as possible to secure our future.

Before we touched down, Hansa and I had a heart-to-heart talk about our future, and she asked me to make a difficult commitment.

Bhupat, she said, I love you dearly and have left behind the only life I have ever known, for you not once but thrice—first from Gondal, India to Wad Medani, Sudan. Second time from Wad Medani to Omdurman, a suburb of the capital Khartoum and now this move to the United States. I think I have been a good and devoted wife.

Yes, my dear, I could not ask for a more loving or devoted partner.

I’m glad you feel that way because I am asking you to make a promise to me.

What kind of promise?

I want you to give up gambling.

Gambling? I repeated, nearly choking. It was true I loved to bet and had spent many evenings playing gin rummy and poker, and had even spent a lot of time at the London casinos. But I considered it all good fun and never thought it was a problem. But I enjoy it. Gambling helps take my mind off pressures.

Hansa insisted that it had weighed on her heavily for a long time and she asked me to look deep within myself to recognize that it could become a big problem. At last, I saw that she was right, and I agreed that with this new life, I would leave that bad habit behind. And I kept my promise, except a few small slipups—and one very big one twelve years later that nearly cost me everything.

After landing at JFK, we went to stay with Nitin and Leena in their home in Woodbury, New York, a beautiful town on the North Shore of Long Island. We stayed with them a few months and then moved in with Dinesh and Rita in Huntington Station.

Finally in America

My business experience was as a wholesaler, importer, and exporter. While staying at my brothers’ homes, I worked to develop an export business with Sudan.

I didn’t want to impose on my brothers for very long. As soon as I could, I used the $8,000 I had brought with me to buy a car ($5,000) and put a security deposit down on a rental house, leaving me with only $1,500 to take care of my family until we had income again.

Our rental home was in Huntington Station, not far from my brothers. Unlike them, we had very little. We didn’t even have money to buy cooking utensils and planned to use the scant supplies left for us by the landlady from the basement. Then Nitin stepped in and brought us what we needed for the kitchen. Soon after that, Hansa got a job babysitting, and I got a part-time job at the Huntington Town House, a catering hall famous for its massive chandeliers.

Unfortunately, my job was only two days a week, Friday and Saturday. To make matters worse, they deducted union dues from my paycheck. That left us with almost nothing.

Fortunately, I got a call from Sudan. It was Jayantilal Muljee Shah, the husband of my first cousin Manjuben who had died recently in a car accident in Sudan. He proposed starting a business together. It was just the boost I needed, especially since his son and my nephew Harshad came from London to stay with us, making it five in my household.

For our new business, SuAm International, Inc., my nephew and I rented office space in Manhattan at 230 Fifth Avenue. We put everything we had into making it work. At first, it looked promising because my business friends from Sudan were ready to import from us. They expressed an interest in a variety of goods, including Gillette double-edge blades, carpet remnants, containers of canned fruits and vegetables, and Singer sewing machines.

Office photo of SuAm International

Unfortunately, due to the US dollar’s high value, American products were at a disadvantage in the international marketplace, and we couldn’t make any of these sales work. It was a terrible time for us, as it seemed we were failing at everything we tried.

Hansa and I were emotionally drained by then and barely sleeping. We talked at length about our options, including going back to Sudan. I felt terrible for the children. They had been born to wealth and had grown up with silver spoons, with the best of everything. In Sudan, they had all the toys they wanted, servants, a driver, and more. My children never wore a piece of clothing from Sudan. All of our clothing, down to the undergarments for Hansa, came from my business trips to England. Now they had nothing. For food, we existed on damaged vegetables and whatever else was on sale. Once a week, we splurged and went out to dinner at Taco Bell or a pizza joint, and even that we could barely afford.

Nitin suggested that I operate a concession store in a railroad station. It wasn’t my area of expertise—and it was hard to picture myself running such a tiny business—so I told him I would think about it.

Meanwhile, one Saturday in July 1982, Hansa and I took the children out shopping. While driving down Route 110 in Huntington, we passed a Friendly’s restaurant, and Rupal said, Popsy, can we stop for ice cream?

I didn’t have the heart to tell her we couldn’t afford it, so I told her we didn’t have time but maybe next week. A week later, Leena told Hansa that Fortunoff’s home goods store was having a sale on spoons.

We needed silverware and couldn’t pass up this bargain, so we went and got twenty spoons for two dollars. It was enough to put Hansa and me in a good mood, but while on the way home, we passed a movie theater where Steven Spielberg’s Return of the Jedi was playing, and Rajan asked if we could go. Again, instead of telling the truth and saying we couldn’t afford it, I said we did not have time.

When we got home that day, Hansa and I decided it was time to have a frank talk with the children about our situation. At the dinner table, I told them how poor we were and how much I loved them and cared for them.

Will it always be like this? they asked.

I said, When we were in Sudan, did I ever neglect of any of your needs?

No, Popsy, they said.

Didn’t I get you the best clothes, candies, chocolates, and toys from England?

Yes, Popsy, they said.

Have faith in me. Give me some time. I promise the minute I have extra money, I will fulfill your requests.

When we went to sleep, Hansa and I cried and debated what to do.

We could not see how to meet our children’s needs. For the next few months, we talked about restarting business in Sudan again, but the conversation always ended when we thought about the children’s education and future. I tortured myself with the idea of going back alone so I could make a living and send the money back to Hansa and the kids.

I spent several sleepless nights thinking about going back to my roots in Sudan. The thought of returning as a failed businessman was crushing me even more. Finally, I told Hansa, I am staying and will do anything to become successful here. I told her that if I ever did decide to go back, I would do it with my head held high as an accomplished man.

I told Nitin I would move forward with his suggestion. He put me in touch with the Kapoor brothers, who had just won a bid to operate concession stores throughout the Long Island Rail Road system. When I held my first meeting with Bhavnish, he was reluctant to let me run a newsstand because he knew I had been a big businessman in Sudan.

He believed it would be a hard adjustment for me to operate a business that dealt in nickels and dimes. I agreed that it might not be a great fit, but I didn’t want to let my pride get in the way. We agreed that I would run a newsstand in the Bayside station and see how it went for me.

The first day after running the newsstand, I came home and nursed the wounds to my pride. It was difficult to spend my day selling newspapers, cigarettes, and candy. I felt like a second-class citizen, while my dear Hansa took care of other people’s children and worked nights on an assembly line at American Technical Ceramics. We kept at it, and a few weeks later, we had enough money to take the children out for ice cream and to see Return of the Jedi at the theatre.

I ran the stand for about five weeks and then decided to buy a bigger stand in the Port Washington railroad station. I acquired a newsstand with a deferred payment of $16,000 and increased sales from $350 to $750 a day.

Hansa continued to babysit for about a year and stayed with her part-time job at night. I’m proud to say that she still works there but has moved up the ladder. She is now a supervisor of the inspection department and holds managerial functions, which is very impressive for someone with no education in English.

In those days, we worked very hard and had no family time. I would leave home by 3:00 a.m. and come back between 1:30 and 2:00 p.m.

Hansa would leave home at 3:30 p.m. and come back at 10:15 p.m. On Saturdays, she would go to the newsstand, and I would run errands, making purchases for the newsstand. During those hardworking years, we bought our first house in Huntington Station for $79,000. It was only 1983, and Hansa and I were very proud that in less than two years, we had gone from having nothing to being proud homeowners.

About two and a half years after buying the newsstand, I sold it for $40,000. Then I bought a card and gift store at 260 Madison Avenue in Manhattan for $220,000.

Unfortunately, I developed a severe back problem, and the long train rides, miles of walking, and lifting of heavy boxes became an impossible daily endeavor. The doctor prescribed one week of bed rest to cure the broken fibers in my lower back. Hansa took six days off from her work and attended the store. My severe backaches and physical immobility at the shop resulted in a financial drain. I was frequently absent from the store, and Hansa could not continuously bail me out.

In two short years, I was forced to walk away with a personal loss of $60,000, while still owing Nitin and Leena $40,000.

At this point, we were almost bankrupt. I went to work in Nitin’s dental office. In my off hours, I started working part-time selling real estate and eventually became a full-time agent for Century 21 Pheasant Realty. I continued there through a change of ownership, and then in1987, I went to work for Schlott Realty in Syosset. The manager, Robert Tamulinas, became one of my trusted friends, and in 1988, he and I decided to form our own company, Hazelwood Real Estate, Inc.

In early 1989, we opened our office in Hicksville. Then we decided to acquire a franchise of Help U Sell, a low-commission concept where agents earned 2 percent per sale instead of the standard 6 percent. We thought it would be a great draw for home buyers and sellers, but it was a constant battle. On top of that, thrift institutes were collapsing all over the United States. Shortly after that, the real estate market took an enormous hit, resulting in many foreclosures.

I knew that Freddie Mac, which had real estate owned (REO) properties to sell, could provide us with the business we needed, so I pursued it. REOs are foreclosed properties that the bank took over and then handed to Freddie Mac, which owned their mortgages. After many trials, I was able to convince Freddie Mac, which was responsible for handling REO portfolios in the New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut area, to give me a try.

It was 1991, and I succeeded in selling REO property in Medford within a week after listing with our company. Then I was able to evict the current tenant from a Brentwood property through Freddie Mac’s cash for key program within two weeks and then sell it within one week after the eviction. People at Freddie Mac were very impressed with my abilities.

CHAPTER 2

Unwanted People

IN 1990, I was struggling with my real estate company. In addition to Freddie Mac, I was trying to convince Citibank’s REO department to let me handle some of their foreclosed properties. After many tiring and fruitless attempts, I finally got a call from an executive named Rose Goldberg. She would be willing to work with me if I could prove that I was a capable real estate broker. I told her, with total confidence, I would be happy to prove it. So she gave me an address in Deer Park with a key in a lockbox and instructed me to check the property and get back to her with details.

The property proved to be a Cape style house in fairly good condition. I did my research and provided Rose with the comparables and marketing plan as she requested. She was pleased with my work and was ready to let me sell the property under one condition. She had a friend who was interested in the house and had made an appointment to show it to them on Saturday. If they didn’t want the home, the listing would be mine to sell. We made arrangements to meet at the house at 11:00 a.m. on the day of the appointment.

I arrived fifteen minutes early and inspected the vacant property while waiting for her. After a short time, I heard hiphop music blaring outside and saw two cars approaching the house. One had the windows open so that the bass beat filled the street. It was a quiet neighborhood, and the music brought a few of the neighbors to their front doors and windows.

The cars parked right in front of the house, and a slim African American woman got out and introduced herself as Rose Goldberg. She took me by complete surprise, as the name indicated she would be Jewish and white.

I took Rose and her clients—a group of about nine family and friends—into the house, and Rose showed them the property. After about fifteen minutes, everyone exited, and Rose asked if I could lock up. She needed to spend some time discussing the house with her friends. When I left, they were still standing outside the house and talking.

That night, Hansa and I went to a social function. When we got home around 11:00 p.m., Rajan and Rupal looked terrified.

What’s wrong? I asked. What happened?

Some guys knocked on the door, Rajan said. About half an hour ago.

What guys? I said.

I don’t know, he said. But they asked for you.

They were huge, Rupal said, indicating the size of their shoulders by holding her hands three feet apart.

They were holding a baseball bat, hiding it behind them, Rajan said. A baseball bat? Now I was worried.

We said you weren’t home, Rupal explained, and they asked where you were and when you would be back.

Rajan said, We told them we didn’t know what time you would be home. Just that it might be late.

The poor kids were shaking in fear, and I have to admit I wasn’t too calm myself. But I told them not to worry and that everything was okay, and I sent them to bed.

When the phone rang after midnight, Hansa and I were already in bed. I picked it up with great trepidation.

Are you Bhupat Doshi? It was a man’s voice, and I immediately knew that something was amiss. All my American friends and professional colleagues knew me as Bobby. If someone was calling me by my proper Indian name, it meant that they had no personal connection to me and were reading it off a legal document. I was nervous and thought, Who are these goons, and how did they find my name, address, and home phone number?

Yes, I said. What can I do for you?

What you can do for me, he said, is never bring unwanted people to my neighborhood ever again. And if you do, remember that I know where you live. He hung up.

The next morning, I got a call from someone showing interest in the house. He didn’t say where he got home my number. I was still a little shaken up by the threatening call the night before, but I stayed focused and answered his questions about the property. After all, if this man was serious about buying the house, I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to sabotage the sale. Rose had already informed me that her friend was not interested, and I had no other buyers in the wings. We made an appointment to meet at 10:00 a.m.

As I drove toward the house for our meeting, I noticed faces peering through the windows and open doors of nearby homes. I worried that I had made a mistake showing up alone. I prayed for Bapa to keep me safe.

I smiled and waved at the nosy neighbors, pretending I thought it was all just a friendly curiosity. I went into the house, and