Prologue

I’ve just eaten way to much at my aunt’s place, a meal of aamras, mataar chi usal, rassa. This was supposed to be dinner, but I’m having it at 4pm. Atlanta is jam packed with people to meet and places to go to. It has been two hours since I ate a lot of amazing Pav Bhaji. (It has been 14 hours since I ate some amazing but slightly less good, Pav Bhaji at another friend’s place.) I drink another cup of aamras, and my “dinner” is done. Its time to leave, take an expensive Uber (or Lyft, but Lyfts in Atlanta are likely to be populated by a fierce-looking guy who is probably stoned, and a really strong smell of gaanja gaanja that makes me suffocate) to a local Walmart, where my co-hikers shall be waiting for me, and for my expertise for picking out the best hiking equipment. We’re planning to do the first section of the Appalachian trail, something I have wanted to do for years.

My aunt asks me if I have booked a cab, and if I have an ETA, and I confidently tell her: “I’ll book it once I’m outside the house”. I like sitting outside in the sun, cross legged basking in the warmth. (I don’t tell her this part). She’s about to leave for some other event. (These boomers in Atlanta suburbs have a buzzing social life and everything figured out). I look at my phone battery. 27%. That’s almost as good as full charge, because my phone’s battery passing 42% is an event which requires astral alignment. I walk out of the house, sit cross legged in the sun, and book a cab on Uber.

And my phone dies.

And I have no idea what to do.

I’m here in a suburb, forty miles from Midtown Atlanta, in a community of fancy houses named “River Plantation”, with no cash, a discharged phone, and a microwavable container of amazing Pav Bhaji which I first refused, and then (inwardly really happy) was happy to accept. And I have no idea what I’m going to do. I remember no phone numbers, know that there’s no MARTA here (because “with the MARTA comes crime!”). First, I consider this an opportunity for quiet reflection and meditation. “This is a rare opportunity” I think “I can now surrender to the will of the world for the next two hours, for there is nothing else to do”. I am very full of myself. This lasts for about ten minutes. I shall not tell you why.

Then I notice that there are people moving around in the house beside my aunt’s house. “Aha!”. I think. “People!”. Before there were phones, there were people, and they spoke with one another. I rehearse exactly what I am going to say. I know that this is the US, and a stranger knocking on a door raises eyebrows. I rehearse and give myself confidence and think “Even if they don’t help, this is life experience”. I do such things from time to time. “This’ll build character” I tell myself “A muscle is only strengthened when I use it” “If I can jump across this slippery rock to the next, then I’m going to do well in next week’s interview” “If you eat too much beetroot, your piss will turn red. Remember, you are not bleeding, the color comes from the pigment in the beetroot. This will last for a day or two”. Lived experience, you see. But let us return to our narrative for now.

I knock on the door. A woman with a frown pops up behind the door. She waits for me to go away, for a couple of minutes, then finally opens it with a frown. There is a babe on her shoulder and a child peeks at me from behind her. I recount my story, and ask “can I please charge my phone?” then quickly, I add “I don’t even have to come inside, can you please charge it for me?”. Very safe. Well played. The woman tells me that she does not have an Android charger, and imagines slamming the door on my face. “Do you know of a way to contact the neighbors?” I ask. “No, I just moved here. You can ask those neighbors” she says, pointing to the house across the street “They might know”. Then she closes the door, her patience exhausted.

I gaze at the house across the street. White wood, with some kind of flag outside it. I walk across, and look at the doorbell. But hark, there isn’t one! The board says “Protected by Ackermann security” Hmph. I lowkey suspect a plot to get me shot. Better not bother these people. I walk the roads of River Plantation to reach the freeway outside its entrance. The roads are winding and rolling and are lined with nice houses. I hum “Run Rabbit Run” from “Get Out” to myself, imagining that I am in some movie. I try to remain aware of the turns I take, and markers along the road, hoping for some version of Adriane’s string that will let me walk back to my aunt’s house if my expedition fails.

Across the freeway, I see two commercial institutions. There’s a “Kids R Kids”, and there’s an Extra Space Storage. I make a mental calculation- a stranger walking to a “Kids R Kids” will be even more scandalous than a stranger ringing a doorbell. I look to the left and look to the right, and then cross the freeway. I run across a patch of grass, and enter Extra Space Storage. There’s a nice man at the counter, and I explain my story to him. He has a USB-C cable 1, right at his desk. I plug the phone in. It starts up, flashes a screen, and shuts down again. This goes on a few times. I start brainstorming alternate plans. I walk him through my thought process “I’m trying to think of a way to solve this if my phone does not start up. I have friends in Altanta, but I don’t remember their phone numbers. Perhaps I could grab their phone number off the web?”. The nice bald man behind the counter offers to do that. He searches for my friend who is doing a PhD, opens his linkedin, opens his resume, and tries to call him. The call goes to voicemail. A customer walks in, and the storage executive goes off to help her, doing his real job. He’s gone for a few minutes, but when he returns, the phone flutters to life. On its own. The battery is at 25%. It wasn’t charging, then, it was divine intervention. Thank you manager of Extra Space Storage 1699 and your parents whoever they might be. I note down multiple phone numbers on a post-it note, stick it to the back of my phone, and book an Uber.

I book an Uber share to save 4$. The cab arrives (at Kids R Kids). The ride goes on and on, and picks up two passengers before it drops me off, one of whomis a really big construction worker wearing fluorescent gear. I drift in and out of sleep, my head thrown back on the seat, because I am aggressively sleep deprived. I dream of many things, and walk out of the cab slightly disoriented, yet fresh, in a feeling that resembles an afternoon’s sakhar zop.

I ponder about this incident later, and decide that this would be a nice story to tell about the US. In the US, in America only CommErcIal InSTItuitiOns HavE aN inCenTive tO helP yoU, nOt PeOPLe. Very deep. I’m going to write that on my tombstone.

  1. “I don’t have an Android charger” is no longer a valid excuse, because its cheaper for Apple to put USB-C on every phone than to separately manufacture phones that conform to European standards while scamming customers elsehwere. (Apple has USB-C chargers now, the woman could be lying) ↩