A New Faith: Part 2: Chapter 24

Rachel was sitting in the bar below her apartment in Brooklyn. It was a Punjabi bar that served an eclectic collection of beers from different parts of the US. The dude - Hari Singh - who owned and ran the bar single-handedly was a handsome fourth-generation Punjabi. His ancestors had made their way to California even before California was part of the US. Through the generations, his family had labored on the farms and railroads; fixed cars in garages and gas-stations; and as dentists and pharmacists in the central valley of California. Over time they had married the white and the latino folks. The notion of being a Punjabi was practically meaningless by his generation. He was 1/8th white, 1/4th Mexican, 1/4th Chinese, and 1/2 Punjabi - whatever, all that meant. 

The thing that had brought him all the way across the US to New York City was his passion of exploring alcoholic drinks from all around the world. The Punjabi men drank quite a bit of alcohol. This ancestral tendency coupled with the influence of the white ancestors who had roots in the wine country of California and the Mexican ancestors who had migrated from the Tequila growing region had ensured that Hari had developed a refined palate for alcoholic beverages. In high-school, he had quietly started brewing his own beer and then for a short-time dabbled in making wine. 

He had considered going to college at UC Davis because of the world-famous Wine Institute. But college had not really been his thing. He was great at figuring things out on his own instead of sitting in a classroom listening to lectures. He had spent all his youth doing gigs all over California learning how to make all kinds of alcohol-based drinks. In a few years, he had realized that what he liked most was imbibing the drinks and more importantly sharing them with others. He had tried to open a bar in the San Francisco Bay Area. Unfortunately, that part of the US was way too snooty for his taste. So he had packed up his bags and moved to NYC. 

He had struck gold pretty much immediately in the recently gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn, Dumbo (short for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). His bar was not quite hole-in-the-wall nor was it as large as a biergarten. Its claim to fame was the collection of beer he carried and constantly updated. And of course, his gregarious self was the biggest draw. Rachel had immediately gravitated to Hari’s Bar (which was its unostentatious name) when she had moved to NYC. She even helped out at the bar if there was an exceptionally large crowd and she happened to be around.

That day, though, she was sitting listlessly. She wasn’t drinking the beer, just playing with the almost full bottle. It was raining cats-and-dogs outside. Hari had tried to banter with her but gave up after half-a-dozen failed sorties. He had gone back to polishing the bar. He obsessively polished it any chance he got like every bartender that came before him. It was their thing for some reason. Maybe they just liked to see it shine and had a revulsion for stains. He kept an eye on Rachel while he did that. 

A couple of tables were occupied with folks who lived in the neighborhood. It was a quiet evening except for the torrential rain rattling on the glass storefront. He had missed Rachel while she was away in Africa. They had dated for a very short period of time. Then they had mutually decided to be just good friends. Rachel was just not a steady monogamous relationship type of gal. Not that Hari was looking for a long-term relationship either. 

Ever since Rachel had gotten back from Africa, he had seen her alternate between despair and zeal. Over time the periods of despair became longer and more frequent. He, of course, knew what she was working on. Unfortunately, there was not much he could do except be there as her friend. Banter around. Try some new cocktails that he was tinkering with or open a case of wine from some far away place made with some weird exotic fruits. That usually helped snap her out of her gloomy mood. That was not working today, he thought, as he started polishing the shot glasses and re-arranging them for the umpteenth time that day. That was another thing that bartenders did almost reflexively - rearranging shiny clean glasses. 

Ben swept into the bar shaking his umbrella and jacket as he dumped his satchel on the table that Rachel was sitting at. Hari waved at him. It was always good to see Ben.  

“What’s up with that wet rag?” Ben asked as Hari poured him the latest bitter he had procured. 

“Dunno what’s, especially, up with her today. I tried,” Hari responded with the shake of his head.

Ben gestured at him to come join him at Rachel’s table as he took a large gulp.

“Oooh… that hit the spot. I, so, needed that one!”

Ben nudged Rachel with his elbow as he slid behind the table. 

“Anyone home?” 

Rachel didn’t even bother to look up at him or Hari who had pulled up a chair and sat down. Hari was trying to temper his instinct of polishing the table. 

“Where did you get this one from? I like it. A lot! Make it permanent,” Ben made a loud smacking sound with his lips as he had another large gulp. Then he burped loudly. The folks sitting at the other two tables looked around and raised their glasses at the spectacularly disgusting sound.

“Can you please cut that out for chrissakes!” Rachel had finally found her voice.

“What the fuck is it with you guys!”

Now Rachel had participated in lots of who-has-the-loudest-and-longest-burp contests at Hari’s bar. So, this was completely out of character. Both Ben and Hari knew that. They exchanged a look. The whole men-women remark was also not something that Rachel did. Unless, that is, she had run into her boss that day. 

“Okaaayyyy…” Ben let that hang in the air for a bit.

“Out with it… what did that jerk do today?”

Rachel looked up at both of them exasperated. She was teetering on the line between losing her temper at them and sobbing. But seeing the genuinely concerned faces of her close friends helped her avoid both those things. 

“You know what I have been up to, right?”

“Umm… yeah… that refugee thing…“ Ben said cautiously. He had glanced quickly at Hari to make sure that there was no new thing that Rachel was working on. Ben could be absent-minded at times. He was pretty sure that he listened to his friends. But he was not one hundred percent sure that he absorbed every thing fully. 

“Earlier today, just before I was leaving my office for the day, that jerk called me to his office. He must have been drinking. I could tell from the way he looked at me. You know… like he was undressing me in his head. Fuckin’ asshole!”

However much this was a horrible incident, this was par for the course when it came to Rachel’s boss. 

“He asked me what I had been doing the last few days. So I told him. I stood near the door and was holding it open just in case he tried anything stupid.

He clearly had something on his mind that he wanted to say to me. So I waited after I was done reciting the list of committee meetings that I had been to. I knew that was not what he wanted to talk about.”

Rachel was feeling really dirty just remembering the incident from a couple of hours ago. She felt like going up to her apartment and taking a long hot shower and scrubbing herself with lots of soap to wash away that feeling.

“Then his face turned an ugly red as he said, ‘did I not tell you to not go behind my back, you goddamned dyke!’

I figured he must have found out about my offline conversation with the White House aide. No big deal. I knew he would throw a tantrum.

Then he just went off on a rant about how all the bitches like me are constantly trying to undermine real men like him.

Easy come, easy go. I started tuning all that out. It wasn’t exactly new material from him.

But then something changed in his expression. He didn’t seem angry anymore. I kinda felt scared the way he was staring at me. I was about to leave when he whispered, ‘you are really desperate to snag a few billion dollars for that pet project of yours, aren’t you?’

He laughed out loudly as he saw me squirm.

Then he added in a serious voice, ‘blow me right now and I will get you a meeting with the President.’"

Ben and Hari were revolted by the expression. Hari got up in a fit of anger. Ben’s knuckles gleamed white. How dare this asshole treat their friend in such an atrocious manner. How dare he treat any woman… any person this way. That fucker had to be taught a lesson. 

Rachel remembered the malicious stare of her boss as he saw his words lacerate her soul. She had visibly winced. She was used to her boss behaving crudely most of the time. This was different, though. She had finally seen his unvarnished misogyny. It was hideous. She had swallowed the bile that had rose up in her throat and left his office. In a daze, she had walked back to her home and instead of going up to her apartment, she had gone to Hari’s bar.

“What the fuck! You have to sue him, Rachel. That asshole needs to not just be fired but must be punished. This is nuts!” Hari said furiously. 

“This can’t go on, Rachel. Hari is right. You need to drag his ass to the court.” 

Both Ben and Hari knew that Rachel was not going to do anything about this. There was no one in the office to witness the conversation between Rachel and her boss. This was a classic he-said-she-said situation and no lawyer was going to even take her case let alone successfully prosecute it. The asshole knew that full well despite his obviously inebriated condition. There was no point in taking this up with the HR because that department was headed by the lackeys of her boss’s friends in high places. 

Sharing all this with close friends had been immensely helpful for Rachel. She had got the worst of her feelings out of her system. She squeezed their hands to show her gratitude. Then she went over to the restroom to wash her face. On her way back to the table where Ben and Hari were talking quietly, she picked up another bottle of beer from the bar. That ghoulish behavior of her boss had wounded her. But she knew that that wound would heal over time. The wound that would never heal was her absolute failure in raising even a single dime of funding for realizing the Nordic proposal. 

She sat down and sipped some beer. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head indicating to Hari that this one was not up her alley. He pulled out his phone and made a note of it. After a few minutes of them silently drinking their beer, Ben cleared his throat and asked her about the fund-raising. She made a sad face and shrugged her shoulders. 

“I ain’t giving up on it… yet. At the same time… I dunno what else to try next. Not a single nation is willing to give any cash for this project. Most are themselves too poor to help anyone else, of course. They can’t even do anything symbolic. That is how bad their situation is. The ones who have cash to spare are conveniently making their commitments contingent on the US stepping up to the plate. They know full well that the US ain’t gonna do anything. So they get to be the good guys and the US the bad guy. Well… the US is THE bad guy.”

This was no different than what Rachel had been talking about over the last 2-3 months of her efforts. Again, they sat drinking silently for a few minutes. The rain had eased up. It had settled into a sleepy drizzle. The other two tables had paid up and left. It was only the three of them left in the bar. 

“I think, Rachel, there is one other thing that you could try,” Ben said. 

Rachel looked at him questioningly. 

Hari had gotten up and was clearing the two tables. He wiped them down and was now again behind the bar putting things away for the night. It was not late. He was just not in the mood to keep the bar open after hearing about Rachel’s shitty experience. He was sad how men, especially, men in power continued to fuck up the lives of women well into the 21st century. "Will it never stop?" he wondered. What will it take for people to get over this crap? Why couldn’t people just get on with their lives and focus on the good things? Like a good beer or a sensational cocktail. It wasn’t hard. Just… you know… to enjoy life. 

“Umm… let’s see… I think I have an idea. What are you doing tomorrow? 

Ohh… nothing, of course. It is a Saturday. 

Why don’t you come with me for a day-trip? It is a work trip for me and anyway I am going alone. I could use your company and you could get a break from all this. I will explain it all on the way.”

“Where are we going?” Rachel was intrigued. 

“Texas.”

“No fucking way. Why would I want to go there!”

“I know… I know all about your aversion for the land of your birth. Just come with me. I will book your ticket and I promise, we shall be back tomorrow night. Anyway, we are not going anywhere close to your hometown.” 

“Fine...” Rachel said dubiously. 

“Go home and get some sleep. The flight is at 7 am from LaGuardia. See you then.”