Meeting Aristotle, Chiku and Laadla in Seattle

Almost every summer, we visit Seattle to be with our son, Sawan, and his family. There is a sizeable population of Indians in Redmond, Sammamish and Bothel, the suburban towns of Seattle. Most of these desis (as they call themselves) are software engineers, developers, marketing, management and HR professionals working for IT companies.

Hardly had we made it to our second home in Sammamish when Sawan informed us that we were invited for dinner at a friend’s place. Since we know many of Sawan’s friends, I asked, “Which friend is this?” “You don’t know him dad. He’s just moved in our community. Husband, wife, two kids and a pet.” There was a long pause. Like all pesky parents, I asked his name. “Aristotle. He is Aristotle,” Sawan said with a grin.

“Aristotle can’t be someone’s name. Come on!” I said and he countered, “No, he is Aristotle. His dad gave him that name.” Sawan tried to appear more genuine this time and asked, “Do you know how we met?” I signalled a go-ahead. “Well, I was out on an evening walk with our pet Buddy when I saw a Latin-american looking man walking his pet, a Golden Retriever like ours. We began talking when his pet went off the leash and strayed on to the street. Chiku! he called out. I said that was an Indian nickname. I am an Indian too! he said. Desi? I shrieked and he grinned back.”

When we met Aristotle in the evening, he said that his dad wanted to name him after a thinker. “Uncle, the name had the approval of my grandfather, who was a scholar in Lucknow.” “So, how do you introduce yourself back home in India?” I couldn’t help asking. “Arastu Vedant,” he said.

There was another family at Aristotle’s place that night. This family was from Bihar and the gentleman who Aristotle introduced to us was Naveen Prabhat, a retired bank officer. Having known that I had served the Indian Police Service, he recounted his having been abducted by goons of an MLA when he did not clear a loan for his son. Amid laughter, he talked about his big family in India. They were four brothers and he was at number two. While his brothers moved to Patna, he still lived in his village home with his mother.

I asked him about his holiday plans. What he told me touched my heart. He said that he had to return home for his nonagenarian mother. “I am her Laadla. She lives with me,” he said and corrected himself almost instantly, “I live with her.” There was a childlike innocence on his face when he said that. “My elder brother told me over the phone that mother missed me and that she might call it a day if I delayed my departure.” I could see his eyes had gone moist.

Aristotle intervened to say, “Aren’t we all temperamentally desis to the core, uncle?” I mumbled a proud yes.

WHEN WE MET ARISTOTLE THAT EVENING, HE SAID HIS DAD WANTED TO NAME HIM AFTER A THINKER.