G VENKATESH

Johannesburg, Jo’burg, or Jozi. This was the first foreign city I visited and stayed in. At the age of 32. Quite late, for someone to embark on a foreign trip.

My parents have, of course, never been abroad, but I am comparing myself with coevals here. What a sojourn it was. Quite like a cricket Test match for a debutant where he gets into his own and looks forward to many more stints at the crease, or more overs to bowl. And, there are many names that stand out in my mind’s eye — Rhoda [an Anglicised version of Radha], Richard, Ruleman… Interestingly, the people I interacted with the most, during my short stay in the city, have names beginning with the letter R.

Careful Please!

Before I embarked on my journey, and even after I arrived, I was told that Johannesburg was notorious for the rampancy of crime — car thefts, knifings, muggings, rapes, daylight robberies, and what have you. “Never take any valuables with you when you go out.” “Well, man, even if you do that, they will put a knife on you and ask you to give them your shorts and trousers, and the ordinary footwear you would be wearing… These are guys who need to sell things to get money for their drugs, you see.” “Take care, friend, your first visit to our country should not leave behind bad impressions on your mind. We want you to take back good memories and share them with your folks and friends in India.”

I would hear these words of advice from almost every South African white and Indian I would meet during my stay there. They cared and never let me venture out alone anywhere. Many offered to drive me down wherever I wished to go. I felt protected… a kind of informal Z-Security, unasked for. But, perhaps, I felt safe, maybe imprisoned and fettered. It is hard to say.

I arrived in the city with the intention of meeting a publisher who was keen to employ me, if it would be possible to obtain a work permit for me from the Government of South Africa — a gargantuan task even now. I wanted to get away from India, experience different working cultures and live a fuller life — professionally. It was at this magazine-publishing office that I met Richard and Ruleman — Richard of Dutch and English parentage, working as the editor of a mining magazine, and Ruleman of Zimbabwean origin, employed as the office-boy.

Memorable Time

Photo: Richard Jansen van Vuuren

While every minute of my stay in Jozi was memorable, considering that this was my first sojourn outside India, the last two days left a lasting impact on my mind. The dream of obtaining a work permit were shattered, and I started making plans to wend my way back to India. I had purchased a return ticket and would have travelled back in any case — of course, to return if the work permit was granted. On the penultimate day, I was working late in office, in order to do full justice to the project which was assigned to me, even though I knew I had no future in the outfit, or the city.

Only Ruleman was waiting, sensing that I should not be left to work alone — burglars had broken into this office as well, I was told, a few months ago, and taken away some computers.

Ruleman came into my room and assured me that he was waiting downstairs — I could call him if I needed anything. At around 5.00pm [work normally is wound up in Jozi at 3.30 pm... they start work at 7.30 am] — which by Johannesburgish standards was late. I wound up, and walked down the stairs.

Ruleman nodded, smiled, went around running a last-minute check of the doors, the lights and fans. He then escorted me out of the office.

Dropping Home

I used to walk back home — it was a 20-minute walk. Ruleman’s house was on the way. As we walked down, he asked me how I liked my stay here. He felt sad that I would be leaving. He asked about India, and said he had always considered India as the “Land of Mahatma Gandhi.” I recalled that the African cabbie who had driven me down from the Jan Smuts International Airport, two months ago, had also told me the same thing. We reached his house.  He told me that his parents would be delighted to meet me, if I could come over for tea, the next day. I smiled and said that I would love to.

I thought he would bid goodbye for the evening. He did not. “I shall drop you at your doorstep. You see, this is not a safe time to be walking around in this city… I do not want anything to happen to you just when you are about to leave Jozi.” I was thankful, though I would not really have bothered about walking down alone. “My father talks a lot about India. He had a lot of good Indian friends when he was working in East Africa in his younger days. You should come over tomorrow. He would be very pleased, and so would I.” Ruleman dropped me off at the gate of the house I stayed in as a tenant and bid me goodnight.

Next day, when it was time to leave, I remembered Ruleman’s invitation. However, till the day I had walked down with Ruleman back home, Richard used to drive me down to my place of residence before turning right and heading home. This being my last day, Richard wanted to drive me down at 4.00pm, for one last time. Ruleman said that he wanted me to visit him, as decided on the previous day. I did not know what to say, or do. If I had told Richard that I would visit Ruleman, perhaps, it would not have been appropriate. Turning down Ruleman’s invitation would also not have been a very nice thing to do. And, clearly there was no via media.

Beyond Control

Richard drove me down eventually. I rued my decision. I may possibly never see that ever-smiling, do-gooder Zimbabwean again. I sent Ruleman a card from India on my return and Richard wrote to me conveying Ruleman’s thanks for the same. Small consolation, perhaps. We sometimes talk about looking for the via media — the middle path [I'm not talking of the Zen perspective] — the path, or course of action, which would leave none the worse for it. There are occasions where a middle path does not exist at all.  A take it, or leave it, situation stares us in the face… just to remind us that no matter how hard you try, there are many things beyond your control.

However, when one sees goodness around, care and concern for strangers who one would possibly not see again, one’s faith in God’s kindness being expressed through human agents gets reinforced.

Jozi taught me a lot of lessons. This changed my perspective towards life immensely. I was a totally different person on my return to India — calmer, spiritually aware, more respectful towards my parents, and, in a nutshell, “grown-up!”