A Pilgrimage to America

By Bharat (Bob) Shah

From a remote 1960s dusty village of India, a young man in his early twenties suddenly and unexpectedly lands in the USA as a foreign student. He struggled for many years in the US with all the difficulties many immigrants go through. 

He has observed America going through the turbulent times of the Vietnam War, 1960s riots and the changing times of the 1970s and onwards.

After graduating as a chemical engineer, he arrives in Houston. He is jobless, has little cash, does not know anyone in Houston, and does not know where to spend his first night. He struggles in Houston trying to get any labor job. He moves from place to place: From a rundown hotel to sharing an apartment with strangers, to a dilapidated house in a dangerous neighborhood, to a cheap boarding house, and again sharing an apartment with more strangers. He can't find even a menial job. He is down to his last ten dollars when he accidentally finds a warehouse laborer job.

He is almost deported by immigration but manages to stay legally in the US.

For three and half years after graduation, he works several odd jobs and interacts with various lower levels of the American class. This was not the America he had heard of in India. 

He has failed in dozens of attempts to land an engineering job. Finally, in desperation, he dares to take a humiliating, low-paying trainee job just to get his feet in an engineering company's door. This strategy works, as he eventually gets his first engineering job there.

He describes various unusual experiences of his modest but successful 31-year career in the same company.  Then he risks his career and becomes a successful consultant for the next eleven years and retires.

Happily married, he has two daughters and four grandchildren, and has fulfilled the American dream.  

In the last few chapters, he adds unique family anecdotes, memories, and personal experiences of growing up in a large family in India. He writes about how his elder siblings influenced and changed his life.

He has distinct memories of growing up as an extremely skinny boy in an exceptionally large well-to-do family. He recalls not seeing any dentist until he is in his late twenties and celebrating his birthday for the first time at the age of 29.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bharat (Bob) Shah
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223800965

Book preview

Chapter 1 An opportunity knocks on the door

I was not only the first one in the family to go to America, but I was perhaps one of the first ones to do so from the entire region.

I am from a very large family of seven brothers and four sisters. One frequently asked question is how and why my family chose me to send to America from such a big family.

The answer to that question is long and has some family history. I have covered it separately in chapter 93.

Of us eleven siblings, my eldest brother Suryakant (everyone called him Motabhai meaning elder brother) was practically the head of the family as my father had essentially retired from the family business and family social activities.

In 1967, Motabhai’s business colleague Gandalal Thakkar had nudged him to send someone from our family to America. Like many others, Motabhai also had thought that one had to be a cream of the crop to go to America for higher education. Gandalal convinced him that such was not the case anymore and gave him many examples including that of his brother Mafatlal. (Mafatlal had come to America with admission to Milwaukee School of Engineering (MSOE) but he had already transferred to another college).

Motabhai was now intrigued and was immediately interested in sending someone from the family to America. After all, having someone from the family go to America for higher education was indeed a big honor. Gandalal also had some personal interest in advising Motabhai to send someone from the family to America. Having already dispatched his younger brother to America, he was now interested in sending his 17 year old son Jivan to America. Gandalal would have preferred someone a bit older to accompany Jivan to America. Motabhai then asked my sister Naliniben if there was a suitable candidate in the family. As it turned out, I was of the right age and education. So Motabhai asked me if I was interested. I was shocked because I never thought I had the qualifications to go to America. 

An opportunity had knocked on my door. It wasn’t a soft knock. It was a loud bang. And I was standing just next to the door. To my surprise, it happened to be a glass door. I could see the opportunity herself standing outside. All I had to do was to turn the doorknob and open the door. And I flung the door open.

I agreed to go to America, but with some unannounced apprehension because I wasn’t the cream of the crop kind and I was doubtful if I would succeed in an American educational institute.

Preparing for USA

But going to America was not simple. And going there as a foreign student was even more difficult.

I spent months collecting all the necessary paperwork. That included: an admission letter in an American college, the immigration form I-20 from the college, proof of financial resources at home, permission from the Indian government to provide precious foreign exchange, a newly issued Indian passport, grade reports from my college work, testimonials from my college professors, a certificate of having passed the TOEFL, Test of English as Foreign Language, certificates of various vaccinations such as smallpox, tuberculosis, etc. and then there was a need for a clean X-ray and results of a medical exam sealed in a brown envelope.

But the biggest hurdle was securing a student visa from the US consulate in Mumbai (then Bombay).

US immigration - encounter 1

In 1967, the number of students going overseas, especially to the US, had substantially increased. The US consulate in Bombay couldn't keep up with the traffic. Four other applicants and I were interviewed simultaneously by the vice-consul or one of his subordinates. During the joint interview, I made the mistake of answering a question posed to another applicant. The interviewer was very upset and warned me that he would reject my application if I didn't keep quiet until my turn came up. So I stayed put. After the interview, we were told to wait outside. I was afraid I would not get the visa. But I did get the visa.

A few weeks before my departure to the USA, I went back to my hometown of Jaysingpur to spend time with my parents and siblings. By that time, my going to the USA was all but assured. Numerous sendoff parties were held in Jaysingpur, along with private visits to the homes of relatives, family friends, business associates, and my high-school teachers in town. It was almost like a semi-festive atmosphere in the town. I had become an instant local celebrity.

One more obstacle

Just a few days before my planned departure, my travel agent lost the I-20 form. The official immigration form, a Certificate of Eligibility for Nonimmigrant (F-1) Student Status, was issued by the school and was supposed to be stapled to the passport. So I never understood how in the heck he lost the form. Without this form, I would not have been allowed to board the plane in Mumbai. I was scared to death that my trip would be postponed until I got the replacement I-20 from MSOE. A telegram was sent to MSOE to send me a replacement I-20 to a Mumbai address. Remember that there was no FedEx or DHL in those days, so the form had to come from MSOE via regular US mail.

We checked the mail every day afterward and were unsure if we would get the form in time. Luckily the form arrived just three or four days before my scheduled flight.

It was one of many monumental reliefs I was going to experience in future years.

On November 24, 1967, family, relatives, and friends gathered in Bombay Airport hallways to see me off to the USA. In those days, non-passengers were allowed inside the relatively small airport without security checks.

Jivan had also got his formalities done in time. He, I, and another friend of Jivan, a young man named Bipin from Ahmedabad, boarded the Air India 707 jet. The plane stopped once in the middle east, probably in Cairo or Beirut, then perhaps in Frankfurt or Paris, and finally in London. After changing the aircraft there, we flew to New York. We were to take a flight to Chicago and yet another flight from Chicago to Milwaukee.

If anyone had told me in May that I would be in America in six months, I would have called him stupid. But here I was, actually landing in America. I felt great, but I was also apprehensive.

Immediately after landing in New York, I said,Jivan, I don’t believe I am in America. Can you pinch me? Am I in a dream of an impossible happening?

US immigration – encounter 2

At the New York arrival immigration booth, I had my second encounter with US immigration.

The X-ray I was required to get in Bombay was placed in a very large brown envelope, probably 20 x 30, stamped and sealed. I was supposed to carry it in my hand and not in my checked bag. I don’t remember if anybody told me that requirement or if I inadvertently ignored it.  I reached the immigration desk in New York and handed my passport and vaccination book.

He went through those quickly and, without looking at me, said, X-ray?

It is in my baggage, sir.

What? he said rather loudly.

It is in my baggage, I replied.

You made a huge mistake, son. I can’t let you go past this point without me checking your X-ray.

I can collect my baggage and come back with the x-ray, sir I provided an option as if he didn’t know that option.

Then he said, You don’t understand, son. There is no way I can let you go past this point without clearing your X-ray. You will have to go back to India.

At that point, fear had started to settle in my mind, and I had started sweating. Going back to India without spending a day in the US would have been a huge embarrassment to me and a gigantic one for my family.

But luck was on my side again. Air India’s hostess, who served in the same compartment in the flight, just happened to be passing through the checkpoint. She realized the situation. She vouched for me and guaranteed that she would bring me back to the counter with the X-ray after collecting my bag. The officer initially hesitated but then agreed reluctantly. He kept my passport as a security.

As I tried to open the bag, the zipper came apart from the bag. I took the X-ray envelope out, but now I was not able to zip up the bag. The air hostess helped me tie up the bag with one of my shirts. We went back to the immigration counter with the X-ray envelope. He opened the sealed envelope, checked it, and allowed me to proceed further to be cleared through customs. A porter helped me find a rope to wrap around the open bag. Jivan and Bipin were waiting for me nearby. We proceeded to a domestic flight to Chicago and then to Milwaukee.

We reached Milwaukee on a cold Thanksgiving night of 1967. We, of course, did not know anything about Thanksgiving at the time.

But I remember that most passengers were white males, mostly dressed in formal suits, mostly traveling for business. That is how air travel was in those days. Very few people flew for pleasure as airfares were relatively expensive.

Jivan’s uncle had spent one or two quarters in MSOE before transferring to another school. We had the phone number of his Milwaukee acquaintance. We called him up from the Milwaukee airport. The acquaintance told us to take a cab to his apartment. The fellow was already sharing the apartment with a few others, and to have three more for a short period was not a problem.

The following day I was helped to go to a Western Union office and send a telegram to India advising that I had reached the destination safely. Making a phone call was not possible as it would take several hours to get connected going through several phone company exchanges, and the connection would be very poor in any case. The calls were costly also. I also wrote a letter home the next day as I was warned to do by family members.

A day or two later, I went to MSOE and registered for the winter quarter.

Motabhai's plan to send at least one person from the family to the great country of America had materialized.

Now it was up to me to make that a successful project.

Chapter 2:  My last moments with dad

We called our dad Kaka. Kaka means uncle, specifically a father’s brother. It is probably because dad had nieces before his children were born. The nieces called him Kaka. We, siblings, continued to call dad kaka. Keeping such references was common in those days.

Going someone from the family to the USA in those days was a proud moment and celebration time for the whole family. Until 1965, only the brightest Indian students went to the USA, UK, Germany, etc., for further studies. So that was a big honor. In the late 1960s, a large number of students started going overseas, especially from Gujarat. It was still rare in Maharashtra outside Bombay. And so, the families of the students continued to be full of pride. In a way, I got a free ride of the pride.

Although my Kaka never expressed this pride in words, I always felt that it resided in him. Initially, he had not planned to travel to Bombay to see me off to the USA, mainly because of strenuous travel in those days to and from Bombay and his health. But, he decided to come to Bombay to see me off at the last moment.

Several days before my departure, I would listen to conversations between him and his friends sitting on a Katta (porch) in Jaysingpur. The discussion had shifted from talking about various contemporary issues to me, soon going to the USA.

I was very skeptical about my trip and carried a bit of guilt because a few other boys were more qualified than I, but they did not have the financial means or a desire to go overseas. Some families were also concerned that the boy would get married to an American girl and never return. This fear was based on the fact that several such instances had happened. In any case, I was pleased to see Kaka being so proud of me. It was the first time in my life I felt that way.

In less than a year after I arrived in the US, he passed away. As time went by, I had thought that he had written me a letter or two after I left India. Recently, as I went through several stacks of old letters, I realized that he had written a dozen or so letters. If you are old enough, you may know that these were pre-stamped one-page letters. In most cases, more than one family member had written to me in one letter. For example, one letter has the handwriting of Kaka, my elder sister Kalaben, and her husband, Shantilal Meta. Some others have the writing of my brothers Motabhai, Rameshbhai, Tarunbhai, etc., and many other combinations with all the other siblings, nephews, and nieces, etc. I feel blessed. I recently realized that Kaka had said in one of his letters that he hadn't received a letter from me in several weeks. It is one of my regrets now that I did not write to him more.

I hope this prompts you to make one handwritten letter to your parents in addition to contacting them by email, WhatsApp, Facetime, etc. They will cherish it forever. Your children or grandchildren may come across it, and they will treasure it even more.

I knew all along that I had these two precious photographs in my collection somewhere. So I did spend a lot of time finding it. And I didn't find it at that time. I recently visited my daughter Shefaly in Austin, and I saw the photo hanging on her ancestry wall. I am so happy and proud that she has this ancestry wall with several old pictures from my side of the family and her husband’s side.

With My Dad and Mom in Jaysingpur before traveling to Mumbai and onto the USA.

At Home  At Mumbai Airport

Chapter 3:  Growing up.. literally

Some things you remember very well from your childhood. For me, my weight and height are one of those things. I clearly remember my weight and height when I was in 8th grade, at age 14. I weighed either 58 pounds (26 kg) or 68 pounds (31 kg). I remember only that the last digit was eight, the first was 5 or 6, and the height was 58 inches or 1.47 meters. In both height and weight categories, I was below the class average. Early in 9th grade, I started gaining height rapidly. By the time I entered the 11th grade, I was 6'-0 or 1.83 meters. In the last 12 months of the growth, I had gained 12 but weighed only 100 pounds or 45 kg.

I looked even skinnier than before. It was unbelievable, but my older brother Tarunbhai had gone through the same height spurt. But he was not as slim as I was. My younger brother Prafull also grew as fast, and he was too skinny, but not as much as I was. Other boys made fun of me, saying that I need not study anatomy because I could touch and count bones on my body. It was almost true. There was no flesh between my skin and the ribs. I was hardly more than a skeleton. My waist was 22 inches or 56 cm). I never wore tucked-in shirts to avoid revealing my thin waist.

My arms were so thin that I could touch my middle finger with my thumb when placed around my upper arm. I could do that even after inserting a pencil between the arm and the fingers. I frequently make this pencil test, hoping that someday I won't touch the finger to the thumb with the pencil still there.

And mind you, I was from a well-to-do family and was eating very well compared to my height. My mom and sisters used to say, where is all the food you eat going? I guess my metabolism was different.

I did not like wearing short-sleeved shirts because they revealed my boney arms. But long sleeve shirts require more fabric and cost more in tailoring. With so many kids and nephews in the household, none got long-sleeved shirts. I was stuck with short-sleeved shirts.

After I went to college, I gained a few pounds but not enough to notice any difference.

When I landed in America, I probably weighed 110 pounds (50 kg). I was still very skinny. In India, everyone had their clothes tailor-made. So I could get clothes tailored to fit skinny me. In the US, it was a different story. I could not find any trousers with a 22 waist and inseam suitable for a 6'-0 height. Occasionally I would find something in the boys' section or settle for a 24" waist and buckle belt.

In Milwaukee's cold weather, I purposely wore a loose jacket and could hide my skinny body. But soon realized that people were not judgmental of such things in America and didn't care if one was slim or not. In any case, I gained maybe 20 pounds within the first six months after arrival. And that was common among many international students coming from places like India. They say moving to a cold-weather place increases your appetite. Or perhaps it has to do with food that has more sugars and fats.

I do not remember when I failed (or passed, depending on how you see it) the pencil test.

Chapter 4:  The year 1968

The summer of 1968 is perhaps the most turbulent and tumultuous time of contemporary American history.

On April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King was assassinated. Riots had broken out in numerous cities. Opposition for the Vietnam war was growing, especially amongst the college students. Chicago experienced massive riots at the Democratic national convention. Later in June, Robert Kennedy, a US senator, the late president’s brother, and a presidential candidate, was assassinated in Los Angeles. As a recently arrived foreign student, I was confused and bewildered as to what I was observing.

The images of Kennedy’s body being transported in a train have permanently remained in my memory. For many years, I had the impression that the body of Robert Kennedy was brought to Washington D.C. on a train from Los Angeles. But it wasn’t until in the 2020s that I realized I was wrong all along. The body was brought in a train from New York City after the funeral services to the national cemetery in Arlington, Va. near D.C.

Along the 225 mile journey, two million Americans stood by and paid tribute to Kennedy. They were white, black, children, young, old, men, women, poor, rich, laborers and executives, democrats, republicans, nuns and atheists, and people of every other category one can think of. Young skinny boys were standing without shirts, and one young man was standing atop a round wooden post. All were patiently waiting from whatever vantage point they could find, paying their last respect and saluting him as the train passed. Here was America united and together, grieving in unison for a fallen leader. That is the America I remember just six months after arriving in this great land.

CBS News replayed some of the videos on the 50th anniversary of Robert Kennedy’s death. I urge you to click on the link below and watch this historic train journey.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZsKqr1Tz3Y

At MSOE, one of my first engineering courses was ET-101 for basic drafting. In this course, you learned about the top view and side views of different shaped objects. The object shapes became complex as the class progressed. The first shape was, of course, the simplest one, the Earth. Everyone drew a circle for the top view and two other circles for the two side views, obviously because the earth looks round from the top and any side. But I thought I knew the teacher well and felt that he was very friendly to me. So I tried to be funny. I drew a circle for the top view and two long rectangles for the side views. The teacher asked me why I drew earth in rectangles. I said I believed that the earth is flat, so the rectangle shows how the earth would look from aside. He laughed and said that was funny but promptly gave me an F because it was a wrong answer. For the rest of the course, he referred to me as Mr. Flat Earth. Being funny was not so amusing after all...

Are you a Grimbay fan?

Students coming from India had good knowledge of English, but we had our own Indian English accent. In the first quarter in MSOE, all the foreign students had difficulty understanding American English. We could barely understand the words being said. Our English language teacher, Ms. Malm, advised us to watch maximum TV to handle American English better.

In one of the other classes, the professor seemed to talk a lot about sports, but we could not figure out what sport he was talking about. One day he asked the class, how many of you are Grimbay fans?

Almost all raised their hands.

My Indian classmate and I were sitting in the last row on either side of the aisle. We looked at each other puzzled.

What is this about? And what is or who is Grimbay? I asked my friend.

I don’t know, but everyone has raised their hands. We better raise our hands.  My friend said.

While the professor was casually looking at the entire class, we hesitantly and half-heartedly raised our hands. The professor noticed the delay and hesitancy and figured out what was going on.

You two guys don’t know what I am talking about, do you? he asked.

Like partners in crime, we admitted that we did not understand the question.

Look guys, Green Bay Packers is a local football team, and they have recently won the Super Bowl for the second time in a row. Our team is the world champion again. You probably don’t know this, but Green Bay is just north from here, and the team plays some of their home games here in Milwaukee. You should also support the Packers, He explained.

Just to remind you, American football is not soccer, He said. He probably had to explain that to some others before.

Later on, we learned more about the game and the Green Bay Packers. We did not have a connection to any other football cities or even knew their team names. We naturally became Green Bay Packer fans.

Later that year, Green Bay coach Vince Lombardi left the packers and joined New your Giants. The Super Bowl trophy is, of course, named after him. His departure from Green Bay was a huge story of constant radio and TV coverage in Milwaukee at the time.

Chapter 5:  My first summer job

After arriving in the US as an international student in Milwaukee in late 1967 and getting settled in, one of the things I wanted to do was to get a part-time job and earn some extra money. But foreign students were allowed to work part-time only on campus at any time of the year or work full-time anywhere in summer. If caught working outside these conditions, Immigration and Naturalization Services or INS could deport you. Despite that, some foreign students were illegally working. Some had provided financial support documents with the student visa application but had no financial resources in reality. They had to work illegally as they did not have enough money or any family support for education. In my case, I had full financial backing from my family, so I didn't need to work, especially work illegally. But I was excited about making an earning on my own, which I hadn't done before in my life.

As the 1968 summer approached, I started thinking and inquiring about a summer job.

Go to Chicago or Gary, Indiana. There are so many factories needing workers, you will have no problem finding a job there, suggested one friend who claimed to have some knowledge in this area. So I managed to find a ride to Chicago and stayed with one helpful young couple who had gone thru a similar situation. They advised me to go to Skokie as it was known to have many factories.

I was dropped off in an industrial area of Skokie. Remember, this was 1968. America was perhaps at the peak of its industrial age. I started walking and saw many factories on the left and right that had a help wanted