The Bad Boy's Muse

Coming to America

I love America; I love New York. 

I scanned the area, taking in the sights around the airport; we touched down at Newark Liberty. I loved the beautiful scenery before me. The hustle and the bustle differed totally from New Delhi's; even the air smelt different. I walked towards the Baggage claim, inhaling rich scents of coffee, strong perfume, lemonade and beautiful women. I stood at the conveyor belt waiting for my luggage; the fatigue was setting in. Flying for 15hrs15minutes in economic (that was my father's first punishment) was a nightmare, especially if you had a family to your left, right and behind you. I had to put up with shoving, pulling off my hair, occasional tantrums by the kids and even the earphone I had on couldn't block out anything entirely. I needed my beauty to rest.

I stifled a yawn as I grabbed my luggage, wishing Mr Gupta was here already.

"Rohan?" a voice said behind me.

I turned quickly and came face to face with a man with glasses shoved to his hair, a pair of brown khaki shorts, a Black T-shirt, brown matching sandals and a leather wristwatch; he didn't look like Mr Gupta.

I turned back to grab the last of my luggage. My mom had warned me to be careful of strangers who will come under the guise of someone I knew. Mr Gupta is bot-bellied, a smile as broad as his shoulders and a deep throaty laugh.

"Jasper Rohan Arya" the same man called from behind me; Mr Gupta spoke like an India, not like this American who was accosting me.

I ignored him as I searched around for a portman; my luggage was too plenty. 

"Son, it's me, Uncle Gupta" the strange man flashed a smile at me, even his teeth were white.

I paused and squinted at the man, willing my brain to strike a resemblance with Mr Gupta I knew.

"C'mon son, it's really me, Uncle Gupta. Don't mind I look different from before, I lost a lot of weight maybe that's why I look so unrecognizable," he spoke in Hindi, watching me with amusement.

I remained mute. We were in the 21st century, anyone can speak Hindi.

"Your father's name is Farah Arya, New Delhi politician. You have two sisters Amara and Eka," he tried again.

Anyone could get that from the internet. I shrugged my shoulders and brought out my phone to dial Mr Gupta's number. Did he forget he was supposed to pick me up from the Airport?

Beside me, the shrill tone of Whitney Houston's, I want to dance, sang shrilly. I turned immediately and saw the strange man waving the ringing phone at me. Then he answered.

"Hello Rohan." he sent me a wink.

True, his voice sounded like the one I had been communicating with before arriving in New York. It truly was Mr Gupta.

"Mr Gupta?" I furrowed my brow in confusion. I wasn't expecting he'd look like this.

"It's Uncle Gupta Rohan" he sent me a wink as he places all my luggage on a trolley.

"I didn't recognize you at all. You look different from the last time I saw you." I shrugged my shoulders. We were walking towards the exit.

"You were only 7 when I left Delhi. I didn't expect you to recognize me immediately, even if you had, then it'll be a pity because I know your Father doesn't raise weaklings and people who trust easily," he chuckled.

Mr Gupta stopped the trolley bearing my luggage beside a black sedan that had seen better days. With a deck of his wrist, he carefully parked in each bag at the car's trunk, motioned for me to enter the seat beside the driver's seat. When we boarded the car, it took another 25 minutes before the engine responded and another 25 minutes before we pulled away from the curb. I was exhausted.

"So how was your trip?" Mr Gupta glanced at me before returning his gaze to the road.

"It was tiring and outrightly boring," I yawned behind my hand.

"I can imagine. 15 hours is not a child's play," he clucked his tongue in sympathy.

"Uhmm..." I responded. My eyes were closing tiredly.

"But you felt little of the stress since you travelled first class?" he asked me again.

"No, my father wouldn't buy first-class tickets for me. I flew Economic." I stifled another yawn again.

Visions of a warm bath and soft bed clouded my mind. I was that tired.

"Why?" his nose crinkled in disbelief.

"Farah would never allow his only son and heir to fly Economy".

"Well, he did" I looked out through the window wondering how far we were from Mr Gupta's house.

"What did you do to him?" he asked me.

"In the eyes of my father, I am always wrong. I am sure, he must have told you some tales." I avoided eye contact and continued staring through the window.

"Well, he said you're very stubborn; you don't listen to anyone and quite opinionated. He says one of the reason's he's sending you to New York is because you've attended nearly and if not all the schools in New Delhi. Is that true?" I could feel his eyes on me.

"Yes." I shrugged my shoulders.

"Seems like I'll have my hands full." he whistled quietly.

"How long do we have to drive for?" I asked, changing the topic.

"Not too long. I live in Manhattan with my family. About 30 minutes from where I had picked you up to the house but when there's traffic it usually takes 45 minutes".

"Okay." I nodded and continued my eye tour through the window.

"Do you have any girlfriend?" he asked after a while.

"No" I shook my head in the negative, trying not to stare down at Mr Gupta.

"You broke up with her before coming to America?" he raised his eyebrows.

"No, I didn't break up with anyone because I've never had a girlfriend." I rubbed my eyes.

"Really?" he stared wide-eyed at me, his mouth twisted in disbelief.

"Yea, really" I replied.

"Why? obviously, you're a handsome young lad. Why on earth would ladies not date you?" he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Because I have no interest in dating or relationship... both boys and girls," I added quickly.

"Wow! strange" he glanced at me and fixed his gaze on the road.

Suddenly the car sputtered and stopped.

"Damn," Mr Gupta muttered as he slapped his steering with anger.

"Sorry, sorry. This car misbehaves sometimes," he explained, getting out.

He lifted the bonnet of the car as smoke filled the air.

"I think it needs water," he bent down to explain to me from the side of his car.

I stared indifferently at him, wondering if he thought I was with water. Why was he telling me?

"I see a store across the road. I'll just cross over and get water. I'll be back," he added before dashing across the road.

In minutes, he came back with several bottles of water and fed the car. One by one, he emptied the car until there was nothing left. He dashed across the road and came back with more water.

All this while, I was trying not to frown. If this is a deliberate plot by my father to ruin all of my plans and kill my morale so I could give in and become a puppet in his hands, then he had definitely failed.

"You could stretch your legs for a bit, the water needs to settle in before she comes alive," Mr Gupta leaned through his window and suggested to me.

"No, thank you. I'd prefer to remain in the car." I smiled.

"Okay." he nodded with an amused smile.

After some minutes, he reentered the car and told me she was ready to move. After several attempts to get the engine started, Mr Gupta told me it had to be pushed.

He opened the car; placing one hand on the steering and the other in between the crook that connected the door and the car.

"This car won't push itself. I need your help." he fixed his gaze on me.

"I don't know how to push a car" I had a slight frown on my brows.

"Neither do I when I first came to America. They did not build Rome in a day. My boy, except you, prefers to sit while the mechanic locates us; I can imagine how tired you must be".

I narrowed my eyes in disbelief as I opened the door of the car. This must be a very huge joke. 

"Go to the trunk and push," Mr Gupta instructed.

I swallowed in anger and settled behind the trunk of the car with both hands on it.

"After three counts, we push," he instructed again.

"1-2-3, push" he shouted. 

I placed my hands on the trunk, pushing as far as my strength could carry me.

"Push harder, Rohan," Mr Gupta urged me. 

I was trying my best.

"Harder still, you're a man" he nagged again; I hated nagging.

I pushed with all the strength in me until the car sputtered and came back to life. Mr Gupta jumps into the car while still shouting that I push harder. 

I obliged him and continued to push with all my strength. After what seemed like an eternity, the car roared to life and moved with such speed that I nearly fell. I regained my composure as I bent, placing both hands on my knees as I panted to regain my energy.

"Run Rohan, we cannot allow the car to stop or else it's hard work again," he shouted from the moving vehicle.

I froze in disbelief, thinking it was another joke while the car continued down the road slowly.

"Rohan, you better run, if you want to meet up with me" his thick voice cut through my hazy memory, spurring me to run. I ran like a maniac as I tried to catch up with the car that had picked pace.

Dressed in a Balman shirt, designer's jean and Gucci sneakers; this was not exactly the way I planned to spend my first hour in New York. 

As I ran past a billboard by the side of the road, Red letters stared mockingly at me

"Welcome to New York," it said.

Welcome indeed.

***

By the time we drove through the estate and parked in front of Mr Gupta's drive, the only thing on my mind was sleep. I was two times more tired than I had first been. My sneakers were untied, I was sweaty, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. I opened the door of the car and fought the urge not to bang it. 

Throughout the remaining journey, Mr Gupta had stared at me with amusement. He said I was running like I was in an Olympic game. 

"You are supposed to jog, not run. You're lucky the people of New York were subtly busy today, else they would have pegged you as a thief," he snorted. I was amusing him.

"Honey, I am home," he called out happily. 

I had to admit that what he called house was really beautiful. A two-storey apartment with a lot of flowers and trees planted on each side of the house. They painted the exterior with two shades of green, while the roof tiles were brown. The French window was as clean, with flower decorating each sill.

A woman in her early thirties opened the door and threw her arms around Mr Gupta, kissing him on the lips. She was black.

"So, this must be Rohan?" she eyed with a smile, tucking her curly hair behind her ears. She was beautiful and not the type of woman who ends up with the likes of Mr Gupta.

"This is my wife. Her name is Ada, and she's from Africa." Mr Gupta stared at her with pride.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," I muttered, clasping the hand that was stretched before me.

"You look worn out. I am guessing Gupta's car broke down again." she smiled warmly at me.

"It was nothing," I responded. I wasn't in the mood to talk about my first New York experience.

"You needed to see the way he ran when the car finally moved. I wished I had it on record," he laughed heartily "it would put Usain Bolt to shame if he's to run with Rohan".

"Don't be naughty, Gupta," his wife chided him. "the poor boy looks worn out. The least you can do is to bring his luggage into the house".

"Before I show you to your room, I would like you to meet our girls." his wife smiled.

"Girls," she screeched. 

From one corner of the room, three beautiful girls with tanned skin file out. They were tall. 

"This is Priyanka; she's the oldest" she pointed at a long-legged girl who had earphones on. 

"Hi," she muttered. 

"Priyanka is 14," her mother supplied.

"This is Deepika, she's 11" she pointed at another girl who looked like the prettier version of Mr Gupta.

"Hi," the girl waved at me shyly.

"And we named the last, Chioma, after my mother" she pointed to a big-brown-eyed girl who stared at me with curiosity "she's 5".

The young girl rushed towards me and hugged my leg "Welcome to our house," she giggled.

Immediately, my heart warmed, and I smiled as I reached down for her and raised her, planting a kiss on her hair.

"Thank you for having me" I smiled at the girl who smiled back and snaked her arms around my neck.

"Mom, can I call him big brother?" she turned towards her mom who watched the exchange with an amused smile.

"If he doesn't mind," she shrugged.

"Can I call you big brother?" Chioma stared at me.

"Of course, call me big brother Rohan," I said with a smile.

She reminded me a lot of my baby sister. Seems like New York wasn't bad after all.