He Opens Another Door: … Fascinating Saga of Courage and Perseverance in Adversity

© 2013 Deepak Sethi. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 7/10/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-7169-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-7167-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-7168-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911692

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Table of Contents

Preface

Part One

The Finale Of The Story

1 Oh, Thank God

2 Connecting The Dots

3 Oh My God

4 Swinging Between Hope And Despair

5 College Station

6 Farewell To Arms

7 My Second Innings

8 Another Eventful Year

9 Over The Hump

10 Apocalyptic Year, Cataclysmic Events

11 Entering Mainstream Academia

12 A New Chapter

13 The Global Project

14 Virginia Beach

Part Two

Where The Story Began And How It Unfolded

15 Down Memory Lane

16 Snippets From Next Two Decades

17 Realization Of A Cherished Dream

18 A Journalistic Coup

19 The Take Away

About The Author

Dedicated to my parents,

Late Sri Ram and Kamala Sethi

And to

My wife Purnima, daughter Mona, son Rahul,

Son-in-law Rajiv, granddaughters Anahita and Anika,

and

My professor the late Steve Guisinger

Preface

To write about my life experiences was an irresistible temptation, especially since those stem from two worlds on opposite ends of the globe. The first five decades of my life were in India, which included an exciting 31-year career in the Indian Army. I have spent the past 17 years serving in academia in the United States. Even as this transition was atypical and quite amazing, even more remarkably I had never contemplated making it, or planned about it proactively. The book presents an account of the series of unforeseen and dramatic circumstances, many seeming stranger than fiction, which forced this transition upon us.

This book however, is not a narration merely of the incidents that led to our move here, nor does it purport to be a comprehensive memoir of all the events in my life. It is my recollection of those significant episodes of troubles and triumphs on both sides of the time and space divide, which His Grand Schema orchestrated for me. More pertinently, as the book’s title suggests, its central theme is to highlight and acknowledge the numerous occasions when He baled me out of tricky situations by opening another door for me. I believe readers would also find glimpses of the cultural, social, and military milieu in India equally fascinating, especially since now she is a strategic partner in the emerging geopolitical dynamic.

The book is in two parts. Part One, starts with the dramatic events that triggered this relocation, and after that, it covers our experiences up to this day following our move to USA. Part Two, contains a broad overview of the first 50 years of my life in India, and provides a perspective of my persona through snippets of landmarks in my personal and professional life.

Although many of the events happened several years ago, I am confident that their dates and accounts are factually correct, since those have remained deeply etched in my memory all these years. I have cited all conversations within quotation marks and italicized them, but those might not be the exact words in some cases, and readers must assume the suffix ‘or words to that effect’. In essence, however, the conversations are quite accurate. At several places in the book, there are sentences or passages that are italicized, but are not within quotation marks. Those are verbalized representations of my thought processes at that particular time.

The choice of words, and certain phrases might appear unfamiliar to American readers. I had my schooling in India, learning Queen’s English, and if language scholars in England and America have not been able to reconcile the differences between them all this while, I do not think I am to blame for the oddities in my syntax.

The book is merely my take on events as I saw and experienced them then, and my reflections thereupon with the benefit of hindsight now. My intent is not to pass judgment, criticize, justify, rationalize, or seek self-validation. This is primarily the tale of a soldier who unwittingly strayed into academia. I sincerely hope readers find it interesting.

Part One

The Finale of the Story

1

Oh, Thank God

The ‘Big Day’ finally dawns

D awn on 6 January 1997 was just like any other day. The magnificent golden orb of the sun diffused its soothing warmth as it emerged over the horizon; incessant chirping of lovebirds in the two aviaries, the trumpeter sounding reveille as the ceremonial guard hoisted the Formation flag atop my official residence; all these were no different from any other day. However, just as I stepped into the yard to offer salutations to the Sun - a traditional Hindu practice symbolizing direct reenergizing for the day ahead - my staff car drove into the porch. This however was unusual, as it had arrived much earlier than the normal routine. Later that morning my son Rahul and I were to drive from Alwar in Rajasthan, where I was commanding an Artillery Brigade, to the international airport in New Delhi 100 miles away. That night Rahul was to board a flight to USA to enroll into the Masters in Statistics program in University of Texas at Dallas . This was the long-awaited Big Day, which made that winter morning so special, especially since it had dawned after a harrowing process spread over several years.

Every year, hundreds of students from India go abroad to pursue higher studies. Although admission, financial documentation and visa procedures vary from country to country, the processes are now quite streamlined, and ample guidance is available from embassies. Three years earlier my daughter Mona also had gone to USA for her Masters, and later Doctoral studies. On that occasion, we had not felt similar anxiety or sense of relief, even though all processes were an uncharted course for us at that time. One could therefore ask, what is the big deal now? Excitement over an academic career abroad is natural, but why should I be over-hyping the sense of relief we felt that morning? By itself, this event certainly could not be characterized a big deal. However, when seen against the backdrop of dramatic circumstances that preceded it, one would better appreciate our heaving a sigh of relief.

God’s Grand Schema

Among the core tenets of the Hindu faith, to which I subscribe, are two profound notions; karma meaning action, effort, and deeds; and dharma, which encompasses duty, righteousness and spirituality. One has duties towards family, society, country, humanity, and environment, all of which one is enjoined to perform. In case of a conflict between these duties, one has to exercise judgment which duty takes precedence in the given circumstance. The essence of this faith is that one must perform his or her karma without any expectation of reward. The reward is entirely His prerogative, and is part of His grand schema. A quotation my father often used to cite best encapsulates this principle, Do thy duty that is best; leave unto the Lord the rest.

When I look back at this episode, as well as to several others in my life, I cannot but marvel at God’s scheme of things. However, it is only later with the benefit of hindsight that we are able to discern His grand design for us. Often things suddenly go wrong despite the most meticulous of planning, sincerest effort, and hard labor. Amazingly, on other occasions when the situation appears bleak He opens up another door, and leads us by the finger on to an entirely new avenue. When I have longed for something and worked very hard to attain that goal, many times I have failed. The resulting dejection has often led me to question the very utility of hard work, and the justness of God’s ways. However, on many other occasions He has miraculously baled me out of seemingly impossible situations. What right therefore do I have to complain? Perhaps in my weaker moments I forget the core tenets of my faith that I described above.

Many of you would have had spirited discussions, grounded in respective religious or personal beliefs, whether there is any such grand schema at all. If everything is indeed predestined, then what is the role and value of effort? Often we connect the dots of isolated past events in our lives, and then attribute our current situation to be the outcome of His grand design for us. That outcome presumably comes about irrespective of the direction and scale of our efforts. Nevertheless, many others view life’s events as random occurrences with random outcomes. To them effort or karma does matter, but the outcome is affected more by the theory of probability. They believe one’s current situation is the consequence of the path chosen and action taken during life’s journey at each preceding event. Like Mintzberg’s notion of emergent strategies, they argue that although we start with an intended strategy on life’s path, the outcome is the cumulative effect of all decisions and actions, intended or otherwise, at each intervening event.

There is no way I can posit a definitive view on this aspect. Personally, I subscribe to existence of a grand design, wherein karma or action on one’s part is important and indeed mandatory, but its outcome lies within the realm of His grand design. In the autumn of my life, I am even more convinced of this belief based on my life experiences. This is a much more comforting, almost escapist, belief to hold. I can always claim that I tried my best in the given circumstances, and lay the blame of my failures at His door. After all, it is His grand schema is it not.

The dramatis personae in this tale are my wife Purnima, and our two children Mona and Rahul. The tale is about our family’s immigration to USA, something that we had never aspired for, and had not contemplated even remotely. It describes a chain of events that led to my following in the footsteps of my children to USA, and starting my second innings as a student again. I had to make this life-changing transition when I was over 51 years of age. Moreover, after having served the Indian Army for 31 years, the last three years in the rank of Brigadier, I was eagerly looking forward to higher ranks and responsibilities before the culmination of my career. How unforeseen events in our lives forced a course correction, and how orbits of our respective destinies intersected to create a radically different scenario thereafter, I believe should make a fascinating narrative.

I have always viewed disapprovingly students going abroad for higher studies and not returning to serve the country. In 1963, the year I joined the National Defense Academy as a Cadet, one of my cousins earned a scholarship to join Yale University. Since she was the brightest in the family, everyone idolized her. However, when she did not return to India after her PhD, I had lectured her on the bad consequences of brain drain for the country. Ironically, years later even I have not returned to India after completing my PhD. However, in my case I can emphatically state that my not returning certainly did not cause a drain on India’s brainpower.

So where do I start connecting the dots from? Which were those isolated and seemingly random occurrences whose outcomes cumulatively brought us to that long-awaited Big Day – 6 January 1997, when we all said, Oh, Thank God Why did we feel so relieved and thankful that day, somehow convinced that all our troubles were behind us?

2

Connecting the Dots

Turning points in life’s journey

R ight from childhood, both my children were very clear about their career choice; it was one less worry for us as parents! Mona, the elder of the two, wanted to follow in the footsteps of Purnima and study medicine. Rahul on the other hand did not wish to follow me for a career in the Army, and wanted to join the Navy instead. Fair enough, I thought, at least he would be serving in the Indian Armed Forces and not Merchant Navy, which was a popular career option with boys those days.

Enthusiastic aspiring doctor turns reluctant pioneer….

The first dot in the chain was an event in 1989 when I was commanding my regiment in a high-altitude operational sector of Sikkim, on the India-Tibet border. During that tenure, my family shifted to the state capital, Gangtok, where Purnima set up her medical practice for the umpteenth time, and my children had to seek admission into yet another new school. This was an especially critical time for Mona since she was to take her Class 12 Board exam that year.

Sikkim is a tiny state, and does not have a medical college or an engineering college of its own. Students topping the Class 12 Board exam from Sikkim get reserved seats in designated medical and engineering colleges outside the state. If a girl tops the exam, she is entitled admission into Lady Hardinge Medical College in New Delhi, a prestigious institution exclusively for girls. Since this was also Purnima’s alma mater, it provided strong motivation for Mona to work even more hard. She topped the exam and we all were thrilled beyond words.

Our joy however turned to dismay when the State government refused to release the medical college seat to her. I met several officials and the Minister, and cited relevant regulations, but to no avail. I could not meet the Chief Minister, but Purnima and Mona later got an appointment to meet him. However, he too refused, even though he acknowledged the legitimacy of Mona’s claim. He candidly asserted that regulations notwithstanding, he would release the seat only to a permanent resident of Sikkim so that the State benefits. As recompense, he offered Mona a seat in any engineering college, since Sikkim’s girls rarely opt for a career in engineering. Barely concealing her scorn she blurted out, Thanks – but no thanks! and stormed out.

Mona was heart-broken, just as we feared. Going ballistic, she announced her decision to quit studies altogether. We were familiar with similar pronouncements before every exam, since she always felt she had not prepared well enough, earning the sobriquet drama queen. Rahul’s approach was different, and his stock reply about preparations was, Quite well. Whenever asked, How did your exam go, always it would be, Great! His philosophy was; let life remain peaceful until results are declared. If those were bad, he would think of some excuse. This time however, Mona was exceptionally agitated and it took weeks of cajoling to persuade her. Finally, she relented and joined the Honors program in Biology at Miranda House, an elite women’s college in Delhi. Over next three years, I moved on posting thrice, but this time for a change, she could continue her studies uninterrupted.

With time, Mona overcame her deep angst against the injustice. Several factors aided the healing process; the camaraderie and pranks of hostel life, thrill of bunking classes to watch a movie and eating out with the gang, or attending SPIC-MACAY sponsored classical music concerts. Not the least was occasional trips to grandparents for pampering, after narrating sob stories of atrocious hostel food. Winning a competition can work wonders for a sagging morale, and after she won the title, Miss Zoology Mermaid, life turned rosy again. We became hopeful she would regain enthusiasm for her career and take the Civil Services exam, about which she was earlier dismissive.

Suddenly she sprung a surprise, and demanded we must let her pursue the Masters program in USA. What! Given the expenses involved, we had never contemplated this option even remotely. We did appreciate Mona was disillusioned with the flawed higher education system in India, with its quotas and reservations, but study in USA was like asking for the moon. Apparently, she had been researching this avenue seriously at the United States Education Foundation in India. Thus, she had ready responses for all my ‘ifs and buts’, particularly the financial aspects. Painting a rosy picture, she sought funds from me only for first semester, after which she hoped to get Research Assistantship to defray costs. I knew this was overoptimistic, and besides there was unease over sending her to a distant land. More significantly, there was high risk of escalating expenditure, from which it could be impossible to extricate ourselves once she was already abroad. However, I just could not bear the thought of Mona regressing into despondency and gave her, the go-ahead.

She cleared the Test of English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL) with ease, and got a very high score on the Graduate Record Examination (GRE). She had to do the first year of the Masters program in India itself, since the three-year Indian undergrad degree does not meet the 16-year education stipulation of US universities for admission into a Graduate program. Then we began short-listing universities. Although Mona’s high scores could get her into an ivy-league school, ironically our criteria was not university rankings; it was affordability, assistantships, and application fee.

As I had feared, aggregate costs were prohibitive even for second and third-tier institutions. Getting an Assistantship after first semester was almost impossible in premier institutions, but odds improved marginally for middle-rung universities. The typical $75 application fee did not let us apply even to three universities to increase her chances. To put this in perspective, my monthly salary as a Colonel was equivalent to only about $450 at the prevailing exchange rate of $1 = Rs (Rupees) 38. Further shock awaited me when I was to furnish evidence of Financial Adequacy with her admission applications. Annual aggregate expenses were around $15,000 even for so-called inexpensive universities. Even if a university were to accept Financial Adequacy just for first semester, how would my bank certify even that amount? After liquidating all savings and fixed deposits, my account would have just 35% of the first semester expenses. Universities disallow inflated bank statements using temporary loans from family and friends, and besides, I too was averse to any such ruse or misrepresentation. This indeed was crunch time!

Then He opened another door. In 1992, the President had conferred India’s highest civilian award, Bharat Ratna – literally meaning Jewel of India – upon Mr. JRD Tata, the doyen of Indian industry. Now what does that have to do with Mona’s studies abroad? Let me explain. A few months earlier, on 27 December 1991, I had the privilege of interviewing him for a film, ‘Pause to Ponder – Ethics Values and the Soldier’ that I scripted, anchored, and co-produced for the Army. I inherited this project on posting to Army War College as Instructor in the Senior Command Wing. How I was able to interview him, and the erstwhile ambassador to USA Mr. Nani Palkhivala, was a journalistic coup. But let me not digress; I will narrate this fairytale episode later in the book.

Coming back to the narrative, in 1993 during a trip to Bombay I had gone to Mr. Tata’s office to present him a copy of that film, and congratulate him for Bharat Ratna and U.N. Population Awards. However he was not in office, and I spent some time exchanging pleasantries with his Secretary, Mr. Raymond D’Souza, who I had browbeaten (as Mr. Tata had put it) to get the interview. During our conversation, he suggested Mona should apply for JN Tata Endowment, and if selected she could get an interest-free loan of Rs 30,000 to pursue studies abroad. Wow! This was music to my years! She submitted the application and was selected for the interview in Bombay, and eventually awarded the scholarship. She also applied to other Foundations that offered similar endowments, and many of them selected her. While some smaller amounts were outright grants, the larger amounts such as Rs 50,000 from Kirloskar Foundation, and Rs 40,000 from Keshub Mahindra Foundation, were interest-free loans. Although actual monies arrived later, formal scholarship award letters met the Financial Adequacy requirement of US universities.

The next phase commenced after Mona received the Acceptance Letter from the university along with the I-20. Universities issue I-20 only after comprehensive scrutiny of academic, financial and eligibility requirements, and it is vital for applying for US Visa. If we thought US Visa now would merely be a formality, several horror stories about visa denial alarmed us. More paperwork was required to substantiate Financial Adequacy with original pay slips, bank and property documents. Also required was ‘credible evidence of intent’ that she would return to India after her studies. As an aside, how does one underwrite intent?

I accompanied Mona for her scheduled visa interview at the US Consulate. The long wait outside the Consulate was as agonizing for me as the wait at the hospital when she was born. Only this time she emerged beaming end-to-end, her face saying it all. Then followed final preparations; booking of passage, farewell trips to Delhi to seek elders’ blessings, packing, and the unending list of dos-and-don’ts. We saw her off late on a wet August night in 1993, and resumed breathing only after receiving her safe arrival phone call 24 hours later. Mona was thus the pioneer in our family to go for higher studies to USA. She did the extensive exploratory work essential for such an endeavor all by herself. She was a reluctant pioneer though, since she never aspired to proceed down this avenue. Destiny thrust this role upon her when Sikkim government denied the Lady Hardinge Medical College seat to her.

I suspend connecting the dots in Mona’s tale here, but will resume the thread two years down the timeline. I need to link events relating to Rahul, which were the real precursors to that Big Day. The spotlight was actually on him that morning of 6 January 1997, when he was getting ready for his journey to USA for higher studies.

Sailor runs aground…

Somewhat overshadowed by Mona’s academic travails, Rahul was waging a quiet struggle of his own. Unlike Mona, he was not overambitious about academic excellence, and often questioned the relevance of some topics in the curricula to his future life. In 12 years of schooling, he changed 10 schools due to my postings, and thus could not really settle down. Still, he always passed with reasonable grades.

It was my fondest hope that Rahul should graduate from my alma mater, the National Defense Academy, the cradle of leadership for all three Services. My son wanted to join the merchant navy but ultimately opted for the Indian Navy. He cleared the entrance exam and the Services Selection Board interview in his first attempt, and was asked to report to the academy in January 1993. But, to our great disappointment, especially mine; it was to Naval Academy in Goa instead.

In April, we received news that Rahul had fractured his ankle during training. We were not too alarmed since such mishaps often occur in military academies. It was fun to see him hobble around in a cast during the term break. When he went back, X-rays revealed the fracture in his Talus had not healed completely. However, to avoid losing a term he assured the doctor he felt no pain, and attended the training camp that term. To avoid putting pressure on his right heel, he literally remained on his toes all through the camp. In a show of chivalry, he even carried the backpack of some female cadets. Due to this imbalanced gait, he sustained hairline fractures in two toes, and further aggravated the ankle injury. He was mostly in hospital during next two terms. When the Talus fracture turned into a chronic condition, the Medical Board discharged him from Service. The aspiring sailor’s ship ran aground due to that fateful hard landing and fracture.

Rahul received credit for his Naval Academy academic results, and got admitted mid-session into the second year of undergraduate program at Wadia College in Pune. However, he could get only the mathematics stream, not his favorite, since the more in-demand streams were full. So he had to trudge along, literally and figuratively. When I moved to Alwar on promotion, Rahul shifted into the college hostel; a far cry from the elegant Naval Academy environs and facilities.

Mona, meantime, was making good progress in USA. True to her word, she secured a Research Assistantship, and then onwards financed her own studies. While we were looking forward to her return in May 1995, she sprang another surprise by wanting to pursue PhD studies at Texas A&M University. Her contention; despite excellent credentials for a top-tier university, she had to do Masters from East Tennessee State University, because of its affordable fees. This had hurt her self-esteem, and so we must allow her to do PhD from the more reputed Texas A&M University.

Mona’s technique for getting her way was different from most girls. Not for her the puppy-eyed, sweet-smile, p-l-e-a-s-e approach of the popular TV commercial. Instead, it was always thumping the table, no further discussion style, which actually should have been my prerogative. While I have always encouraged children’s pursuit of academic excellence, she instinctively sensed I would be nursing regrets about my inability to marshal resources for her admission into a ranking university commensurate with her credentials.

Yet she also knew it would not be easy to get her way this time, and she would have to face our arguments such as; "We can’t let you go for 4-5 years! What about your marriage?" Quite smartly, she preempted them by providing family details of Rajiv, one year her senior at East Tennessee State University, who had begun PhD studies at Texas A&M University. She seemed to be telling us, Fine, go ahead and fulfill your most important parental obligation of getting me married! And knowing the mindset of typical Indian parents about arranged marriages, she seemed to be saying with a chuckle, So ‘arrange my marriage’ with all the pomp and splendor you want. But I give you only two months, since I’ve to fly back for doctoral studies.

So we all went into a tizzy again. It turned out that Rajiv, an engineering graduate from Roorkee, came from a highly educated and prominent family from Kanpur. I thought; Thank God, he is an Indian. Had it been an Eskimo I would be flying to Reykjavik to meet his family. He was a tall, handsome, and soft-spoken lad with a pleasing demeanor, and we were very impressed. I also thought with a sense of relief that then onwards he would be the one to tackle my turbocharged girl, so help him God! Preparations started in full swing in the blistering 46°- 48° Celsius summer heat of Alwar. With all those activities, I do not know how I still managed to perform my official duties.

The wedding day, 16 June 1995, was not without hiccups. While waiting to receive the groom’s party at the Circuit House, where we had arranged their accommodation, a severe thunderstorm uprooted all wedding arrangements on the lawns of my house. Ceremonies were to begin barely two hours later, and my father uncharacteristically showed signs of nervousness. But hats off to my phenomenal staff; they had everything up and ready within no time. The thunderstorm turned out to be a Godsend since it brought immense relief from the sweltering heat and