It was noon, a cloudy day with a sunless sky expanding to the horizon. It was one of those regular visits to the Thorncliffe Park Library, a branch of the Toronto Public Library, with my daughter. She would spend at least an hour there. In the meantime, I had to occupy my time reading a few books or magazines of interest.
While I was looking for an interesting read, I saw him approaching me. That was the first and, as it turned out, the last time I met him. In his six-foot-tall frame, he resembled Sidney Poitier, the famous Hollywood actor from the 1960s.
"May I help you, friend?" he asked me.
He was not a library staff member but a hired security guard.
"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer," I said as I continued my search for a book.
I thought he was going to leave me. But, he continued to stay beside me and carry on his conversation.
"Hi friend, I am going back to Chicago tomorrow," he said. I was totally surprised hearing his words. I sensed a kind of frustration in his tone. I also felt some nostalgia.
I also wondered why he wanted to have a conversation with me. He was not a friend of mine, and I have not met him before. I wondered what made him want to talk to me. Was conversing with me bringing him some sort of satisfaction?
Many thoughts sprung up in my mind. Anyway, I felt compelled to continue the conversation with him, maybe due to the tone of his voice. I sensed that he wanted to let out whatever was bothering him inside, that he wanted to get rid of those thoughts. If his conversation truly helped him find solace, why should I oppose that?
"Hi friend, why do you want to go to Chicago? Do you have any relatives or friends living there?" I asked him.
"Hi friend, Chicago is my birthplace. I am a Chicago boy, do you know?" he winked.
"Oh! Then you are an American, aren't you?"
"Yes, my friend, I am an American," he said to me.
You are an American. What are you doing in Canada?" He looked like a riddle to me. There was a feeling of curiosity that developed in me, wanting to find out more about his background.
"Hi friend, it's a long story," said he.
"Make it short," I laughed.
For a moment, it seemed like he regained his enthusiasm. A jovial feeling developed in his voice. But in the next moment, his state of mind slipped into a nostalgic mood.
Again he said, “Hi Friend, I am going back to Chicago. I am certain. This time it's 100 percent certain. You will see how certain I am.”
“Hi Friend, may I know the reason for your migration to Toronto?” He must have heard the curious tone in my voice.
"There are many reasons, but the main one is Jennifer," his voice expressed a bored feeling.
"Who is Jennifer, my friend?"
"My girlfriend, my friend. She is the one who insisted that I come here. Only for her, I have come here, but this is not my place. I am a Chicago boy. I am an American."
When he said the words 'an American,' I could sense his nostalgia. Compared to Chicago, Toronto is not that large; it's small. Toronto is not as vibrant in its nature.
As an immigrant, I can identify with his feelings of expatriation. 'East or West, home is best,' isn't it? His love brought him to the land of his girlfriend, but I felt that he couldn't adjust to it.
"Daddy, I am ready," said my daughter, appearing next to us.
He looked at my daughter and said to her, "You have a good dad." Then he turned around to my side and said, "My friend, you have a beautiful, intelligent daughter. I am proud of you. I wish you a wonderful day, my friend."
"Thank you, my friend. I wish you the same. By the way, if you don't mind, what's your name?"
"George, my friend. What about yours?"
"Ram, a shortened version of Ramachandran."
"Ramachandran. Wow, such a long but nice name."
“My friend, you really look like Sidney Poitier."
When he heard my words, he chuckled and said, "Me! Sidney Poitier?"
"Yes, my friend, maybe you can try your luck in Hollywood. Good luck."
"Thank you, my friend. You really have made my day."
On my way back home, my thoughts revolved around him. When I left, I also felt a kind of sadness from parting with someone very close to me.
Some encounters with people become memorable, even if they are very short. My encounter with this Chicago man was one of those.
It was a pleasant encounter. He must have been looking for someone to share his feelings in an alien land. It must have been unbearable to live here, leaving relatives, friends, and familiar places far behind. Otherwise, why would he have found solace talking to me?
Though the encounter was brief, I enjoyed it. I was entranced, being a part of that conversation with him. Talking with him gave me the feeling that I was talking with a long-time friend.
The lines from one of our famous poets, V.I.S. Jayapalan, immediately came to my mind:
'... like a camel who lost its way in Alaska, I am in Oslo.'
But he is not the only one, I thought to myself and chuckled.
My daughter looked at me oddly, wondering what the reason was behind my chuckling.
girinav@gmail.com
Courtesy: Sirukathaimanjari , February 2024
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