I stood at the Pearly Gates on a hot, humid summer day. The queue was very long. But I wasn't bothered. I knew my troubles would end soon; I would be delivered straight into the Promised Land -- America -- shortly. And so I waited in front of the American consulate in Madras. After six hours I was finally allowed a darshan. The presiding deity appeared in a brown gown, not particularly graceful, but definitely fair and beautiful. She took pity on this poor sinner, and after a few questions, gave me a pass to Paradise. I was overjoyed. I needn't suffer the scorching sun, the dusty roads, the crowded streets anymore. In a few days I would be in America, walking on air-conditioned roads, plucking dollar bills from the money trees there. So finally Hozé (that's what my surname Jose sounds with a Spanish accent) Benoy was delivered into the Promised Land. Moses was there to receive me, rather than lead me into the Promised Land as had happened long ago. Times change. Moses must have changed too. The land was indeed beautiful. Beautiful trees, long, neat roads, big traffic boards so that even the dumbest could find his way... but I could not find the AC vents anywhere. Maybe they had hidden them below the roads. "Are you hungry?" Moses asked me. How could I be when I was in the Promised Land? But truth be told, I was hungry. The food on the flight up was terrible. Not to worry, I told myself, I can now sup at flowing rivers of milk and honey for the rest of eternity. Goodbye dal and rice, I am about to receive manna... We entered McDonald's. One chicken burger with lettuce and cheese, one large Coke, one medium French fries. After a short wait, my manna came in neat McDonald's foil, with a million instructions on it. "What is this, a chicken burger? This is just a piece of dry chicken between two buns!" I couldn't help exclaiming. "Shhh!" Moses said urgently. "Bun is not the right word. It's grilled chicken and lettuce on a roll!" I did not know that the girl at the counter was so clever. How did she know I have a history of hypertension and am not supposed eat spicy food? Her cleverness notwithstanding, she made the mistake of taking me for a nomad who ate raw meat. Anyway, that's fine. People make mistakes. I decided to give the burger my attention. I first checked it for hidden cameras. Then I proceeded to get a large quantity of ketchup, pepper, salt and all other things that looked spicy. I opened the burger, disposed off the big leaf, rescued the chicken piece, made sure it wasn't alive, and spread a lavish coat of ketchup on it. I sprinkled loads of pepper and salt and proceeded to devour it. It tasted edible now. Next, I attacked the bun, er, roll. I tried eating it with French fries. But the fries tasted better alone. I wished I had taken tea. Then I could have dipped the roll in it. I washed down the fries with Coke from the big bucket and packed the rest to take home with me. I was looking for a place to wash my hands when I saw that I had an audience -- an embarrassed Moses and quite a few other heavenly inhabitants had been watching my adroit juggling with the dead chicken. Moses immediately felt I needed a course in table manners before he presented me at job interviews. For the rest of evening, he proceeded to educate me on that aspect. And that was how my American dream began. I have been chasing it for over a year now. No luck yet. Maybe it's because of the short nights here. But I am optimistic. I get up every morning at 0600 and join the millions who throng New York subways looking for those money trees. If anyone has had any success, please let me know. I promise to keep it a secret. In any case, I carry a large bag. You can never tell when luck will strike. Please keep your fingers crossed for Benoy Jose. Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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