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| Book Review: The Wandering Migrant |
Press Release
08/28/2013
A description and the book can be obtained
from: It is also available from Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=wandering+mgrant
Notes on the book
The man was on a mission. His mission was to establish, single handedly, a Gujarati elementary school teaching all subject up to fifth grade. The students were children of all ages of the Indian immigrants in Sudan. They had never been in a school. He traveled there alone, set up the school and then asked his family to join him. In the late 1940s. You are about to embark on an incredible journey with a delightful family that crosses the densely populated landscape of India, through the monsoon drenched Indian Ocean and the Red Sea, braving sand storms in the Sahara desert, to the town of Omdurman set in the elephant’s trunk shaped confluence of the River Niles…. In Sudan … to be united with him.
Excerpt from the first chapter
Her name was Ganga
“Well, this is the ultimate,†the old man with the walking stick said, staring at the dingy houses on the street his sister lived as he slowly managed to climb the four steps leading to the dusty porch. “Where does her husband get these ideas from? Why doesn’t anyone stop him?†He paused to catch his breath, wipe the tears in his eyes, clean the sweat off his brow and take a look around. During his tirade no one had come forward to rescue or welcome him, nor even come to see what was going on.
The man had an uncanny feeling of being watched. There was the familiar hassock, worn out and chewed up by the street dog called Caesar. It was then that he saw the dog that had just shown up and was staring at the spectacle that he was making of himself.
“Haaidd, haaidd.†(Command to dog) Chhagan tried to shoo the 50 pound dog away. “How do you get so fat when there is nothing to eat in the house? And what have you done with everyone?†He continued after regaining some composure. “Maybe you ate them. Yes, maybe at least him. Then that would be good riddance and I would not be traipsing down here every now and then to rescue my stupid sister from more of his nonsense.â€
It was so easy for him to forget that it was Chhagan himself who had arranged for his sister to marry Mohan without even knowing his name. She had protested just a little and he had silenced her with a sharp stare. “If I don’t get you married off now, you may never get married. I can’t take that chance. Besides girls and cows are meant to be led and settled where we men think best.â€
Caesar just continued to look at him, not afraid, not impressed, just a little curious as to the contents of the string wrapped paper rollup in his thick khadi (handspun woven cotton fabric) bag bundled up in a blanket. The dog came closer, cocked his head and dribbled on the visitor’s shoes. “Haaidd†Chhagan tried once more to get rid of the dog and in doing that, dropped the khadi bag on the ground. The contents dumped out and the lightning fast Caesar pounced on the paper bag full of sweets and ran as fast as he could, down the street, round the corner, out of sight. “Come back you rascal,†Chhagan wailed, flailing his arms like another lost Don Quixote, in the heat of May with the monsoons still more than a month away.
The dog never came back. Following the dog’s trail, Chhagan noticed that the package had started to break apart and spotted a few pendas (milk based dessert) near the wooden entrance door from which Chhagan was trying to enter. He made the trip to the door, hobbling and shuffling, collected the pendas and looked in the street. There were two more pendas on the other side, about four more ten feet away and half the newspaper rolled up package with the kite string attached another ten feet away. Chhagan paused and thought for a minute. If any neighbor was watching, it would not be right to be seen picking the food up. The neighbor was of such a lower caste that he would have to throw or donate all the food away. So Chhagan hurriedly collected all he could find, stuffing his pocket and noting that some of the pendas were wet with the dog’s saliva.
Muttering “I can wipe them offâ€, he picked up some more. He froze when he noticed that the dog was only a few feet away, in the side street, silently finishing the remains of the loot, newspaper, string and all. Eyeing Chhagan thru his shaggy hair, the dog shook his body, spread his legs and squirted urine on the hot dusty street before taking off further away in a slow deliberate walk, occasionally casting a look backwards keeping a watch on Chhagan’s movements.
……..
About the Author
Pravin Trivedi is an engineer by nature and established himself as a magnetic recording authority in various disk and tape drive industries in the computer world. He was born in India, spent his school years in Africa, went to University in England and finally settled in the Boston area.
He holds a B.Sc. in Engineering from the University of London, and a Master of Philosophy in Engineering from Queen Mary College, University of London, England. He also holds an M.S.E.M. (Master of Science in Engineering Management) degree from Western New England College in Springfield, MA, and a Master of Arts in Teaching from Simmons College in Boston, MA. As a Trivedi, he felt that at least four University journeys would be needed.
The “Go west†idea and his easy story telling nature led him to experiment in writing short stories. When he realized that people did not fall asleep or excused themselves and went home when he read bits of his stories to them, he was emboldened to write this book.
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