Chapter 1

How it started

I have always wanted to write something, something that made me feel good, something that made me say, “Raj, I am proud of you.” I have always been critical of my writing. Every time I started writing something, till about the time it was half done, I would procrastinate, because endings scared me, and I feared that people wouldn’t read my work. I won’t care about what people think this time, I will just write, I won’t stop, I told myself. Even today, I have no idea what my ending is going to be, but I trust my gut that I will figure something out. I have a feeling that something amazing will come out of this effort and turn this book into a superstar.

Well, the idea of becoming a writer came to mind when I was in school. I used to fantasize that one day, I would become a big shot writer. Besides, when I was in junior high school, I was blessed with a chance to visit the United States of America.

I had learned a bit of the American accent and some words which were at that time not so popular in my school back in India. I thought I would become a writer because I was good at creating stories and imagining. I was good in extracurricular activities and practical exams, but I was so bad at studies. The only reason I passed was because the Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) introduced a rule that the school could not detain a student.

During the first two years of high school, I actually passed my exams because of drama and other practical activities. In the third year of high school, I was detained in all the majors, but since the headmaster of our school was a relative, I passed.

The scariest part was the last year of high school, when the board holds a national exam to see if the student is ready to compete in the world. This is literally pathetic, not because I failed the exam, but how can you actually force children to compete with each other instead of teaching them humanity? One fault in the education system is that till the second year of high school, we were so privileged that it didn’t matter what we did, we were sure to pass. The third year of high school, status and money worked and they wanted all the results in the last year. Well, I was detained in my last year. Later, I had to pay some money to my teachers to pass through a different board, the National School of Open Learning.

Till then, I used to ridicule the government because it was corrupt, but now I was part of this corrupt culture. It was the first time my teachers taught me corruption. Later, I went to the college, which was again a blessing, as that was where I learned hatred, love, respect, and friendship. That’s where I truly started to value my friends, my real friends.

Although I could not pass college, till the end I was in love with the cutest girl I had ever seen and was heartbroken on the last day of college. But let’s talk about her on some other page.

So, after I was heartbroken, I migrated to America because I no longer wanted to live in the city where my ex-girlfriend resided. In America, I started working as a security guard, then a pizza delivery boy and ended up being a truck driver which was again a blessing for me. I used to drive trucks for hours at a stretch, locked in a cabin, reflecting on my own thoughts, thinking, thinking, and thinking.

I thought about several things like who am I? What have I achieved in life? What am I doing? What will I do? How will I do it? The conflicts revolved in my mind like a Ferris wheel and that’s where I was stuck all the time. I was a nobody, I had no name, and no one knew me. Not just that, I had no friends there. I was all alone by myself. I was lonely and I had to find my soul, I had to find myself. I was Jugraj Singh Barring, a common man, an immigrant, a truck driver. I had no standing anywhere in this world.

I look back on the day when I was on Highway 5, going from Oakland to Fresno. A story just struck my mind. I thought I could write it but was scared. What if people don’t like it? What if people don’t accept me? Still, I somehow managed to write eighteen thousand words of the story, but I abandoned it in the middle because of all these fears.

As I drove, something struck my mind. Was it poetry or prose? I don’t know. All I remember is pulling my truck over and writing it down.

Just Write,

You Just Write,

Don’t Think What The World Says,

Don’t Think About The Review,

You’re Writing For Yourself,

You’re Writing For Self Satisfaction,

Just Be You,

You Don’t Want Money,

You Don’t Want Fame,

You Want Happiness,

And Them To Like Your Game,

You Just Write,

Either Way Haters Will Just Scrutinize,

Let Them Do What They Love,

You Just Write,

You Just Stay Real,

Just Follow Your Intuition.

I just wanted to be myself. Even before this point, I had written some stories, but had never completed them. Yes, I was scared, but this piece of writing gave me encouragement, and this was when I gained confidence and started writing voraciously. That day was a blessing. Indeed, it was. From then on, I recollected all the memories of my life and noted them down.

Chapter 2

I love/hate airports

December 28, 2019, Bengaluru airport, 7:55 a.m.

My best buddy Johnny had just dropped me off at the airport and when I went to the check-in counter, I found out that I was an asshole. I will tell you why. Actually, Johnny had called me an asshole. I had never agreed to it before but today, I had to accept that he was right.

As I was checking in at the counter, the lady looked at me and said, “Sir, don’t you think you have arrived a bit too early?”

I said, “Ma’am, my flight departs in an hour.” She pointed towards my itinerary which stated that the flight was booked for January 11, 2020. Well-done Johnny! You know me pretty well.

I was just starting to write the book, but unfortunately, I had to leave for my father’s house back in Kashipur, Uttarakhand. I think, to write, you need some inspiration; you can’t sit on a couch at a crowded place and expect to write some good stuff. I am always inspired to write in isolation, but sitting here at the airport I was nostalgic.

I had lots of stories to tell. And I hated airports. I was seven or eight years old when I first set my foot out into the world. I would fly from New Delhi to San Francisco. I also flew domestic but never missed my family, probably because we were never apart. I had never missed any of my friends because until high school, we were together, and once they went away to college, they used to visit me every month or two.

I remember that whenever I visited the airport to receive someone and saw families and friends hugging each other, crying and kissing, I would be like damn, these people need to grow up. I used to judge them. Why are these people creating drama in public places? I felt icky. Even when my family would drop me at the airport when I was just going away for two to three weeks, mom would cry. I would feel embarrassed in front of all those people.

But as they say, your mindset doesn’t change until you go through the same situation. I had experienced it first hand when I saw my friend Karanjeet Cheema four years after high school. He was my best buddy, who now lived in the city of flowers, Brampton.

I had visited him on my birthday, as I was really depressed because I didn’t have any friends back home in the States and the people I knew, I didn’t really consider them as friends. Friendship is something far more than we think it is. Friends are people we choose ourselves. We can’t choose our siblings, parents or relatives, but friendship is something else. If you can’t love your friend unconditionally, then you are not true friends with that person. You can still hang out with them but friendship asks for love, blood, life, and sacrifices.

According to me, if you’re friends with someone and you go to their house for a meal, his mother becomes your mother, and his sister becomes your sister. Love that family the same way you would love yours. Even if you are no longer friends with that person, it doesn’t mean you’re no longer a part of his family. This is a typical way of thinking for Indian guys. But that’s how it is supposed to be.

When I decided to meet Karan, I was feeling lonely, and I had no idea what to do for my birthday. I recall driving through Santana Row in my city of Santa Clara. I was just roaming around, not shopping, just meaninglessly wandering about with one question in my mind. Should I go to Canada this year for my birthday? I called Karan but that asshole didn’t answer my call. I waited and waited but he didn’t call back for an hour. I did not want to go back home because I had a fight with my family and yes, I still lived with my parents at the age of 21. It’s not easy for a brown man to move out of his parents’ place. I was depressed and thinking about life, cursing it and suddenly realized that life was a dream.

Life is a dream,

Once you’re born,

Your time starts to die,

You take it for granted,

You don’t feel the vibe,

You want a crutch,

You want someone to help you,

You are enough for yourself,

No one’s going to depart with you,

No material, no money, no belonging,

All you can take to heaven is love and memories,

Give them something good,

Something good to smile about,

When you die,

Don’t be a man who gets cursed even after

his breath ceases,

Live life to the fullest,

It will pass as a dream,

Look back on your childhood,

Now you are over 23,

Stay happy,

Stay real,

Share it to the fullest,

Tell her you love her,

Staying quiet is easy,

Be a man of your world,

Just live life to the fullest.

As I thought about all this, I called another buddy, Daljeet Mann, whom I will refer to as Mann sahab (Sahab means sir). He answered the call. While talking to him, I suddenly got a call. Yes, it was from the least expected person who never returns your calls. It was Karanjeet Singh Cheema. I answered the call and the three of us were in a conference. I asked him if I could fly to Canada for the weekend and of course, the two were eager to see me. They abused me and believe me, Karan used some really bad words just because I had asked him to come to the airport, instead of me just dropping like a bomb at his place.

He asked me to book my ticket and forward him the details. I instantly did that. I bought a ticket to the magic castle where my friends lived. I couldn’t believe I was going to meet Cheema and Mann sahab. I couldn’t believe that I was going to Brampton. Cheema and Mann sahab were the main priority in Canada but many of my juniors and seniors from high school lived in Brampton. I was very excited and went to the airport two days later. It was a six hour flight with a layover in Chicago. Those six hours were probably one of the hardest flight hours ever. I couldn’t read anything, couldn’t write anything, and was not even able to sleep during the flight.

Finally, I reached the Toronto Pearson airport and while I waited by the baggage belt, my heart beat so fast that I was sure this shit would tear my chest apart and expose my beating heart. I saw my bag, picked it up, and started walking out. As I looked for Cheema with shivering legs and sparkling eyes, I suddenly heard an oye.

There was a gigantic man running straight towards me. He was really heavy, probably 260 or 280 pounds. I was afraid for a second. He shouted again, “Oye…” It was Cheema. As he approached me, we both looked at each other for about ten seconds. I had tears in my eyes and Cheema started laughing at me. We both had changed a lot physically. I had just lost about 80 pounds and Cheema had gained over 100 pounds. After this brief pause, he gently hugged me and I tried to hug him back but my hands couldn’t wrap around his back. My hands were somewhere near his man boobs. Suddenly, another voice sounded and I saw a tiny man walking towards me. It was Mann sahab. He had lost some muscle and I was shocked to see what had happened. Why was everyone looking so different? But that was the first time I realized how beautiful airports were.

O Airport help me,

Please help me control my tears,

Not the tears of sadness,

It’s happiness instead,

They are the emotions I had been

Controlling over the years

Don’t you people at the airport

Confuse these tears with sorrow?

My body couldn’t control the joy,

The tears rolled down.

Let them flow,

Let them flow,

They wanted to be released,

I just couldn’t hold them in,

Let them flow,

Let my friends know,

What they mean,

To some it may seem like drama,

Apparently, it is love,

Not everyone receives,

Lucky are those,

Who have received it.