Ripples – Daljinder Singh brought to you by western union
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Written by Renita Bakshi
1978 was a year where much in the world was changing. Indira Gandhi was finally imprisoned for her wrongful doings during her self-declared Emergency Administration in India. Moreover in Iran, the country was experiencing the buds of what would become a revolution that would impact Iran for years to come.
Amidst all of this, my father’s world was also forever changing. At the time, what he merely thought was going to be an adventure, would alter the whole course and direction of his life.
In early 1978 my father, Daljinder Singh, was an avid 20-year-old tourism student at Delhi University. While on a college trip to Ladakh, a northern region in Jammu Kashmir, he and four other classmates decided that they had greater feats to accomplish than the 380mile journey from Delhi to Ladakh on their motorbikes.
They wanted to set a world record and so they made a plan to embark on a 9000-mile expedition from Delhi to London and back to Delhi on their motorbikes.
The five friends created a travel plan, sought sponsors and submitted it to Delhi University. They were even supported by the External Ministry of Foreign Affairs in India. British Airways made banners that were posted all around Delhi to promote and support the students.
STIC Travels arranged a press conference to give them publicity. Escort provided the five students with three custom 90CC motorbikes (the smallest engine on the road at the time) with enlarged tanks for fuel. With barely $500 dollars each, the students set forth on their quest. They doubled up on the three motorbikes, and placed their luggage on the motorbike with the vacant spot. The whole city was excited about their adventure.
They started from Delhi University and continued through Amritsar, Punjab. However, Pakistan did not approve their visas so they had to fly to Kabul Afghanistan. The Indian government warned the adventurous young men that they had to check in at the Indian Consulate at every stop so that the government could monitor their safety and provide any further instructions as well as inform their families of their whereabouts.
On their way to London, they made several stops, which included, Kandahar, Herat, Taybad, Babol, Istanbul, Athens, Belgrade, Frankfurt, and Holland. From Holland they went to London via ship with their motorbikes. As they did not even know a soul in these foreign countries, they either stayed in Gurudwaras (the Sikh House of Worship), garages, the YMCA, or in the tent they lugged all the way from Delhi.
The journey was not as easy as they had expected. They had survived many life-threatening incidences. For example, as they were passing by in Iran unaware of the political rift, a stranger pulled them into their garage and shut the door. The next thing they knew, gunshots were being fired.
It was a time of political unrest in Iran as an Islamic Republic was trying to rise to power. In Germany, they were completely lost and could not find their way because of the language barrier, luckily a kind family gave them shelter and food. Moreover, many of the times the road conditions were extremely hazardous with narrow lanes and in some cases unpaved roads.
Once, one of the bikes almost derailed off a cliff. Furthermore, in one instance, one gentleman that was a vegetarian had to put his religious beliefs aside and eat meat because there was no food available in Afghanistan as the Russians were bombing the country. They miraculously survived and realized what did not kill them actually made them stronger.
In November 1978, the five young men arrived and thereafter, spent six months in London. They had wanted to return back to Delhi earlier but unfortunately, the Iran border had closed due to political unrest with the fall of the Shah of Iran. The youngsters at this point were out of money and thus, they had to find work. They did anything and everything from painting houses to selling jeans in Piccadilly Cirus.
During their stay in London, they resided at a Gurudwara in South Hall for thirteen days. Later, they met a very generous Indian fellow named, Jeevan Singh Dhillon, who let them stay for free in his house. At the end, they gave him one of their motorbikes as a token of their appreciation and as an offering as Jeevan’s wife had birthed their first son. ( I was fortunate enough to meet Jeevan Singh Dhillon on a family visit to London)
One day, the Indian high Commissioner had invited them to his house for dinner impressed by their bold journey and questioned them about their stay as well as if they had any problems. It was the first winter they had ever experienced and so they innocently stated that London was way too cold for them.
That is all that it took for them to get a visa to the United States. The High Commissioner suggested that they go to America. The 1st secretary Meera Kumar wrote a letter to the US Embassy and the five men were approved for a visa for America. However, two decided to go back to India, as they were homesick and took the motorbikes with them. One went to California, and my father and his friend arrived in New York in April 1979.
In New York, my father stayed with his friend and friend’s relative, Bhushan Arora in Briarwood, New York. They found work at an Indian restaurant called, Tandoor, in Manhattan on 49th street between Park and Madison. Bhushan was the manager of the restaurant. Both friends worked there for six months and decided that they wanted to see more of America.
Economically challenged, my father and his friend bought a Grey Hound Bus travel pass for thirty days. They went everywhere from Buffalo, New York to California, to Las Vegas, Wyoming, and Miami. The two visited 24 states in 30 days. They would sleep in the bus at night and roamed the streets throughout the day. They would shower at local YMCAs.
After that vacation, my father returned to New York and had set his mind that he would to go back to Delhi. However, Bhushan convinced him to stay and work at Tandoor as they would sponsor my father for permanent residence. My father’s friend decided to return to Delhi.
Eventually, my father became the Dining Room Supervisor at another popular Indian restaurant at the time, Raaga, which was owned by the reputable Taj Group of Hotels.
Occasionally my father would still have thoughts of returning to his family and homeland. As time went by, going back seemed less and less feasible. In January 1988 my father met my mother at Raaga while he was working and three months later they were married.
Going back to India was no longer and option and he and my mother started their life in America together. My father started his own exporting business in 1988 and later that same year I was born.
When my father had left Delhi in 1978, he had never thought that he was going to leave the life that he had in India. He had no idea that ten years later he would be settled in a foreign country over 7000 miles away from what he had known to be home.
He now knows that only one thing in life is constant and that is change. One thing that he has taught me is that change must be welcomed with open arms and that to survive one must adapt.
