A Capitol experience

By P. P. S. Gill

NEVER mind the fiasco on the very first day of my arrival in New York. That was the last thing one expected to happen; yet it did happen — making me change by travel plans.

Come to think of being in a place, for the first time, at the end of over 12,800-mile air journey and not finding the host home. Even a brief stopover at Heathrow (London) is inconsequential in such a journey from IGI, New Delhi to JFK, New York.

May that be so. But that bright sunny afternoon, with a light breeze kissing the skyscrapers, remains fresh in the recesses of my mind. The winter had slightly overstayed, delaying the arrival of spring and sprouting of fresh leaves and opening of flowers.

An acquaintance at the airport was more than one could have asked for in that land of plenty. His presence to receive me was not inadvertent; it was like an operation cover-up; the mission was successful in more ways than one. The first night in New York —the city which "never sleeps" — was comforting. But why the city never sleeps is another story and also how it acquired that sobriquet. To find that out I had to return later during my stay in the US and Canada. On that another time.

Having changed my plans I was to move on to Washington the following day — April 1. To enable myself get a "feel" of the place I opted for the train rather than flying to the nation’s capital. The experience at New York’s Penn station must be told here. Travelling light is an added advantage. Even before I took off from New Delhi I was told that clothes do not get spoilt for there is "no dust." My sojourn in the next weeks convinced me that indeed there was no dust.

As I stood at the edge of the escalators trying to free one hand to hold on to the railing, a man suddenly appeared from nowhere and just snatched away one of the brief cases and slided down. Lali, a friend who had come to see me off, saw it and knew what was to be done. At the ticket counter the man demanded $ 5 — a vagabond out to make a fast buck. Seeing the predicament, Lali motioned to a cop because the man demanding dollars had neither been hired nor had been asked to lend a helping hand. For that one knows there are "red caps" or authorised porters around. That was the first brush with the uncouth, who vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

En route, one caught glimpse of the American countryside. The three-hour journey by train took me through Philadelphia and Baltimore. The houses in the countryside, as also in the cities, are kept immaculately clean, polished and painted. The lawns are well mowed and manicured. One noticed there were neither hedges nor boundary walls demarcating plots. Even on the motorway grass has been planted on the berms burying the dust. All along the way it was a picturesque view. The train itself was spacious. The Shatabdi between Chandigarh and New Delhi is a poor patch on this privately operated Amtrak train.

The "Union Station" in Washington nearly took my breath away. Its size, magnitude, polished marble floor, flower pots, shopping arcades and restaurants were simply out of this world. The station looks like a mini township.

As I drive through the nation’s capital, past the Washington Monument, the White House and (some distance away) the US Capitol Hill and close to the Lincoln Memorial and across the potomac to go to the crystal city, I found Washington landscape and parks more greener, brighter and cleaner than those of New York, where trees were still barren and brown and bazar overcrowded.

From the look of it, I could make out we were driving close to the Pentagon; my host confirmed that. During the fortnight I spent in Washington, I stayed in an apartment atop the 16th floor which gave a panoramic view of the city. We were close to the domestic airport and could see the Arlington National Cemetry besides the sky-kissing Washington Monument.

The nation’s capital is a city of government buildings (much like Chandigarh), museums and people: About 600,000 people have their homes here; mostly in rented apartments besides the ones who have property in the suburbs. Besides the grey, gigantic government buildings what takes the credit is the broad Mall, America’s front yard and showpiece with its variety of outstanding museums, monuments and cultural activities. This dominates the federal city, drawing millions of visitors every year. The Mall is the site of concerts, competitions and contests, a place for picknickers, players of softball and frisbee; it is a place of heroes, ideas and living institutions.

One gets a beautiful view of the Mall when one stands on the US Capitol Hill and looks towards the Washington Monument all day. planes graze past this monument. Washington has something for everyone to see and savour — from sophisticated hospitals and hotels to museums and parks.

Take the Smithson Institute. This has some 16 museums and galleries and the National Zoo. At the information centre it was learnt that it has, perhaps, the world’s largest collection of some 140 million artefacts in its trust. The institute is also a centre for research.

The institute was established in 1846 with funds bequeathed to the USA by James Smithson, an Englishman — a scientist — for the "increase and diffusion of knowledge". Even if one does not wish to take one of the numerous guided tours of the capital, one can walk miles to have a look at selected museums.

Walking the length and breadth of the city and driving around to some distant places one observed that newspapers were available at specially designated places — where each newspaper organisation has installed a vending machine. Just put in a coin and out pops the paper of your choice. Washington Post, invariably, was omnipresent. Browsing through the newspaper and other dailies, I observed that for the American media the world does not exist. World briefs are like "regional briefs" in this newspaper and "New Delhi" never got a mention!

India, for instance, did not appear in the print media, while, the electronic media — television — is dominated by the CNN with its wide network around the globe. The only time India or dateline New Delhi appeared was when Pokhran-II happened in May. Invariably the reference to the Government in New Delhi was worded "Hindu nationalist government." The Washington Post editorial was captioned "India’s nuclear irresponsibility". Pages after pages were full of anti-India writings. Even on TV, the image of the Indian ambassador appeared just for a fleeting moment.

Either the American media did not bother, or the Indian embassy failed miserably to project its own views on the nuclear blasts, either way, as a journalist I could feel lack of communication on the part of the embassy staff. The professional in me made me travel all the way to the Embassy. It took me over an hour to locate it; thanks to the host’s some vague sense of direction and directions by a friendly cop.

The woman at the reception was glued to telephone. My presence for several minutes made no difference, she kept jabbering. Ostensibly it was a long-distance call. Despite my introduction and purpose of visit, she proved to be of little help. So much for the embassy, which wore a drab and unkempt look.

Nevertheless, the blasts did echo in Washington, where I found the older Indian generation "happy" with the blasts while the younger generation was "upset". The latter seemed to be more Americanised in their thinking than even Americans. But the failure of the CIA to predict and forewarn the US government about the blasts got an equal drubbing in the media. The electronic media hype was more on Pakistan than India.

During one considerably windy afternoon after lunch at an Indian restaurant, as I walked the streets — it was a Sunday — I discovered that an average American was more helpful than an Indian. One rubs shoulders with a variety of people from all over the globe.

Moreover, there is not much fuss created while allowing visitors into the White House for a guided tour through some parts. The same is true of the Capitol Hill.

But getting a ticket on the subway is a technical matter. Unless one knows the art, one may miss a train or two. Given the infrastructural development, application of technology, use of computer in communication, availability of cell phones and the number of cars — one can only sigh and pray: When will India grow up?

In fact only two questions are asked (mostly by Indian hosts and, out of politeness, by some Americans): How do you like the country? How do you compare it with India? My answer is simple: America is a land of plenty, where food and fuel are cheap, where work culture dominates. comparison does not arise.

It is time to move to Canada — another long journey; this time by road.