Las Vegas – the glittering city like the angels of the night – tries to seduce all, young and old. Show girls, magic and comedy, sound and light, gamblers’ delight and addiction, roulette table and slot machines, sound of champagne cork flying -all create a fantasy that is out of this world. She sleeps during the day and stays up all night keeping her lovers awake who crave for her company. In the middle of the desert, nights well lit by neon signs where the moon doesn’t dare to shine she stands tall and all are mesmerized by her mischievous spell. No one knows or really cares if she is the heaven or the hell. They love to flirt with her.
I visited Las Vegas many, many years ago when I too was young. Time has taken toll. The dark, thick headful of hair has been replaced by a thin layer of gray hair. If gray hair is a sign of wisdom, I suppose I am a little wiser. I am also semi-retired. I do a little independent consulting on the side if the work is interesting. I suppose for my so called experience and wisdom, some companies want some help from me from time to time.
So, here I am in Las Vegas to attend a conference. The city of vice is even shinier than I can remember from my earlier visits. There are more casinos, more palaces. From Caesar’s Palace to Pyramid to sinking of the Titanic – the place is truly a Mirage that is being chased by the mortals at night that looks like a brilliant day with million lights shining. I am just one tiny mortal in the midst of the humanity. Here I am to attend a business conference as asked by my employer. I do not have a clue why anyone would want to have a serious conference at a place like this with so much distraction. Or is it just an excuse for someone to have good time at the expense of the company? Anyway, here I am. After spending all day attending some not-so-interesting lectures and being cooped up in a giant meeting room, I walk aimlessly through the casino watching people, listening to the coins dropping from slot machines. There are young couples, honeymooners, newlyweds, old women sitting at slot machines and feeding that ever hungry machines and people like me loitering to pass time.
As a young waitress wearing a skimpy dress pass by carrying a tray full of champagne glasses, I grab one and walk around sipping that bubbly champagne. Yes, champagne is free here. All they care about is for you to gamble. They want you hooked and they will get your money anyway. They do not need to make money from Champagne. After a while I too find an empty slot machine and occupy the chair. I do not mind spending a few nickels or dimes for the simple pleasure and to kill time. And if it turns out to be my lucky day, I mean night, who knows may be coins will be pouring down from the slot machine like a waterfalls. That sound will be certainly as pleasing, if not more as Beethoven’s 9th symphony.
So, I sit down. I get some change for a ten-dollar bill to feed the machine. Next to me there is a lady. It is hard to gauge her age, but she certainly looks younger than me. She turns her head, stares at me. Our eyes meet. I say “hello”. She reciprocates and then she gets busy feeding her machine and pushing the button. I too start feeding nickels to mine while wondering about the woman next to me. I am sure she was a very pretty blonde-haired woman in her younger days. Time takes its toll. Our invincible youth and a pretty girl’s smile that lights up the world all disappear in time. Wrinkles, silver hair takes its place. We become lonely even in a crowded world. A new generation of invincible youth gets ready to conquer the world and we become mere spectators looking for our missing sands of time reminiscing the past that is etched in our brain like a crisp, clear picture of decades ago.
“Clank, clank, clank” – my machine suddenly starts singing.
“You are a lucky man” – the lady says.
“Perhaps beginner’s luck. Would you like to try this machine? May be I can turn your machine into a lucky one. Then we both can be winners.” – I reply.
“Oh, no. I have never won anything in my life. Besides, I am here just to pass time. I don’t really care that much for those nickels and dimes. It’s fun though when it starts pouring down like that”
“It sure is fun. But I too am here to kill time. It’s really not my thing. I am here with a group of young executives. What would I do hanging around with them? So, I wanted to peek at this world. I am here after a long time.” – I say.
“Where are you from?” – She asks
“Houston.’
“I am from Virginia. My husband and I used to come here occasionally, especially during winter. We would occupy two slot machines, sip champagne, and play for hours for fun. He passed away couple of years ago. So, here I am for old time’s sake”
“Sorry to hear that. But we got to keep going until it’s our turn.” – I said and then I felt stupid for saying such a thing.
“Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?” – She asks
I agree and follow her. “My husband and I used to sit at the bar over there on high chairs and order coffee, snack and watch the world around us.” – She says as we walk towards the bar.
She orders a black coffee and some crackers to go with it. I order a cappuccino, my occasional indulgence. Sipping her coffee she turns towards me and asks – “If you don’t mind, may I ask you what’s your national origin?”
“I don’t mind at all. I was born in India, but I have been in the US for a very, very long time.” – I say.
“Really!! I was born in India too. What part of India are you from?”
I was surprised to know that she was born in India. “Well, are you familiar with India? I was born in the remote northeastern state called Assam.”
Her eyes lit up as if in utter disbelief. “It’s amazing. I too was born in Assam in early 1950s in a place called Gauhati by a big river.”
I almost choke on my cappuccino and spill a little on my shirt.
“Are you ok?”
“I am fine. What’s amazing is that I too am from Gauhati, now they call it Guwahati. Here we are in Las Vegas half-way around the globe from Guwahati and our past is linked to that remote place. I too grew up on the bank of that river near Pan Bazar. Our house by a Shiva temple used to face a giant gate on the river that was built in honor of Lord North Brook’s visit to Guwahati during the British era.”
Her eyes are wide open now. She is looking at me as if she is trying to read me. Our coffee is getting cold. “Sorry, we have been talking and we did not even introduce each other. I am Mary – Mary Jones. You can call me Mary” – She says.
“I am Luit Barua and everyone calls me Lo, I suppose it’s easier to say for them” – I reply.
“I will call you Luit. That’s the native name of the river in front of my childhood home. Do you recall the primary school next to a theatre hall? Our compound was right on the other side of the school facing the river. People used to call our house – Padre’s Bungalow. My father was stationed there by the American Baptist Mission. There was a church close by our home where my father preached and there was a hostel next door for the boys from places like Naga Hills, Khasi Hills to stay in Guwahati for their studies. It was the Lewis Memorial Hostel, better known as L. M. Hostel.” – She keeps going.
Now the past was coming back to me like a clear picture. A big Assam type bungalow at an elevation, a side-sloped terrace flowing down to a huge lush green lawn extending towards the major road by the river, native flowering trees surrounding the house, two rows of date trees in the lawn below with a walk-way between these two rows of trees – a dream house for the poor natives. The whole compound was surrounded by a 3 to 4 feet tall fence and hedges. I remember my older brother and me climbing over the fence to get inside to collect ripe dates. No one ever said anything or chased us away. Our Gamocha (an Assamese thin cotton towel generally weaved at our village home) would be full of those yummy dates. Everyone at our home would cherish those. It was for free. Our father could not afford to buy those stuff anyway. No one even scolded us although we got it from the Padre’s yard without permission. I remember once I had gotten inside Padre’s yard to pick a large green grape fruit. Grape fruits were hanging from so many trees in that yard. I just needed one to use it as a soccer ball. I recall, as I was picking the fruit, there was a little girl with golden hair wearing the most beautiful dress running around. Her golden hair was flying in the wind. As I was picking the fruit, I looked her way to see if she had seen me and if she would run home to complain to her father. Our eyes met. She smiled, but did not say a thing. I collected the fruit, looked back her way to see if she was still there. She was still looking at me and smiling. I got home, but never forgot her face. We softened up the grape fruit by pounding it on hard ground until it was playable with our bare feet. We could not afford to buy a soccer ball. We had to make do.
“What are you thinking?”
I come back to the present. “Oh, nothing really. Yes, I remember a lot. I was a student at that primary school. Do you remember your house overlooking the river and the lawn with two rows of date trees?” – I ask.
“Yes, very much so. Although I was only about 5-6 years old, that place was very dear to me.”
“Do you recall a young boy who came inside your yard to steal a grape fruit?” – I ask.
“Yes, yes – I wondered about that boy for a long time. Was it you? I had even asked my father why the neighborhood boys and girls did not come to our church. You know I had no one to play with. No one of my age came to our church. Father had said that the neighborhood children were Hindu children and they went to temples to worship their God. I did not know much about all these religions. Father had said that we were all children of the same God. Anyway, I was hoping that you would come again to pick grape fruits or to collect dates from our trees. Father did not mind. There were so many grape fruits and dates in season that they were getting spoiled or rotting on trees. Even the birds could not eat them all. Oh, I remember there were so many local birds. Is my childhood home still there? We moved away, you know, to Africa from there. Our father was stationed in Luanda, Africa after that. I missed the house on the river so much.”
“Oh, Mary, that boy was me. And you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Then suddenly you all were gone. Eventually that boy graduated from a college and I left for America with eight dollars in cash in my pocket. I too miss that place. But the place you and I knew doesn’t exist Mary. Your house is gone. In its place there is a medical college hospital. There stands a big hospital building for patient housing where the lawn used to be. My primary school is gone too. The road between the primary school and your old home doesn’t exist either. There are no date trees. The giant flowering trees, we used to call Krishnachura by the riverside are gone. I am sorry Mary, the past exists only in our mind.”
“Any more coffee, folks?” – The bartender asks. We order more coffee and a hamburger each. It is past dinner time anyway.
Mary pulls a picture out of her purse and shows me. It is a faded picture. The old Padre’s bungalow with the lawn and the rows of date trees peek at me. There is a little girl with golden hair posing for the picture. I suppose her father had taken this picture. My mental picture of the past was captured in that piece of paper. I cannot believe Mary has been carrying this picture for over five decades.
“You know, in Luanda initially I missed my home on the river. Then at the church I became friends with some black children. They were very, very poor you know. My father used to visit their houses and distribute food and whatever he could. I even gave some of my dolls to a girl who became a close friend. She was trying to learn English from me and I in turn learnt some Portuguese. One day my father caught malaria. We returned to America for his medical care. They could not save him from malaria. He gave his life in the service of others. I grew up with my mother in Virginia. I like Virginia. It reminds me of my old place in Guwahati with ever green hills, valleys and rivers. In time I went to college where I met John. Eventually, we got married. My children and grandchildren live in faraway places. They have their lives. So, it was just John and me in the empty nest. Now he too is gone. As you say, we have to go on until it’s our turn.”
We talk and talk, finish our hamburger, exchange phone numbers and email addresses promising to stay in touch. We get up and hug each other. We become teary-eyed. Eventually we say “good bye”.
Now I am walking back to my hotel room through the casino. I hear no sounds of slot machines or no human noise. I only see the little girl with golden hair wearing a beautiful dress smiling at me from a distance. We are from two different worlds; but our invisible bond, our destiny has reconnected us after such a long time. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.
