Blue Bird of the Pacific Island

Blue Bird of the Pacific Island

  By Ratan Lal Basu

  Copyright 2014 Ratan Lal Basu

  Contents

  Part-I

  Part-II

  Part-III

  Part-IV

  Part-V

  Part-VI

  Part-VII

  Part-VIII

  Part-IX

  Author

  Part-I

  The office of Miss Felita Parades was at the fourth floor of a magnificent four storey building at the corner of two streets at the outskirts of the Pagadian City of southern Philippines and I was really amazed at the interior design of the reception room which gave the impression of the petal of a lotus and the walls were adorned with picturesque landscapes of Filipino islands. The spiffy girl at the reception greeted me and examining my visiting card she checked up the appointment list and said with an apologizing smile, ‘sir, your appointment schedule is from 1 to 1.30 P. M. Please wait.’ She pointed at the upholstered sofa. It was barely 11.30 and I had to wait one hour and a half. ‘Where’s the smoking room?’ I asked the reception girl. The girl smiled affably, ‘no smoking room sir, but you may smoke freely on the corridor.’ This is an advantage for smokers like me in Philippines that one may smoke inside premises in many office buildings.

  I pushed out the side door and lighted a cigarette. I again felt the trepidations in my heart. The name was the same and her face in the photo in the ad had resemblance with the girl in spite of difference in age. However, Filipino faces are deceptive to the foreigners, all faces looks almost alike and the name is a common one. It was impossible that the poor girl could become such a rich business woman in course of only twenty five years. Still uncanny feelings coursed through my heart. I slowly traversed the long corridor lined on both sides with office rooms and got to the end. Through the glass were visible distant hills lined with clusters of trees and the undulating road right beneath was crowded with pedestrians, tri-cycles and fast moving jeepnies. In front of the studio at the other side of the street, young boys were buying food articles from a four wheeled mobile footpath stall.

  My visit of Pagadian City was a sudden decision. Our Philippines Mission was on behalf of the renowned commercial journal ‘Modern Bengal’ to survey prospects of India-Philippines foreign trade and our area of survey was confined to Metro Manila and Cavite Province. We had initially lodged at Tal Vista hotel at Tagaytay. While recharging my mobile sim-card at the Robinson market I overheard a boy at the counter informing a customer that he also worked as an agent of a hotel at Pagadian. The name of the place incited my nostalgic reminiscences and I hastened to ask the boy if he could book me a room at the hotel for the next few days. The boy promptly checked up a computer list and gave me the printout of the types and tariffs of vacant rooms at the hotel. At my request he got a hotel room confirmed over telephone after he had an online booking of my flight by Cebu Pacific Airlines. My colleagues expressed their displeasure at my whimsical decision violating my duties.

  The irrational thought again and again sprang up from the inmost recesses of my mind and made me shiver with the uncanny feeling of exhilaration and thrill. ‘If it were the girl, she must have already recognized me from my name on the visiting card.’ I thought, ‘how would she react after finding me unexpectedly? Would she jump up with excitement?’ ‘What a fantasy!’ I admonished myself, ‘the poor girl could by no means rise to these heights in course of only twenty five years’, I tried in vain to restrain my silly imaginations.

  Time flowed like torrents and a glance at the wrist watch alerted me and I hastened to the office and the counter girl greeted me with an appreciating smile, ‘you are right on time sir.’ So the crucial moment had come at last. I felt morbidly nervous and my legs started giving way.

  Part-II

  It was a gift from heaven for me when my professor Dr. Sarkar proposed me to accompany him to Sandakan in Northern Borneo. It was a real thrill to me as I never before had any opportunity to visit any foreign country and I even did not have any experience of air travel. From the very beginning of the new academic session I had drawn the attention of Prof. Sarkar by answering difficult questions and I had soon become his favorite. The professor was a renowned zoologist specialized on primates, especially the Hominidae. He was invited by the Malaysian government to visit the Sepilok Orangutan project at Sandakan and help them with advices to overcome problems connected with stunted growth of Orangutan offspring.

  The unexpected offer made me overwhelmingly ecstatic but I was highly dubious if my parents would approve my travel. However, my professor could persuade them and in a few months passport, visa, flight booking, all were ready in a few months. The visit was scheduled during the Summer Vacation so as to avoid loss of classes and soon the all important day approached and I was overwhelmingly thrilled at the first experience of a plane journey.

  Part-III

  I collected my nerves, and pushed open the slide door to the lady’s chamber and said, ‘may I come in?’

  ‘Yes’, I was welcomed with a nonchalant grave voice. Without raising her eyes from the papers she was examining, she pointed her finger at the chair across the table and said in a subdued tone, ‘get seated please.’ I dropped on the chair like a lifeless zombie. My heart sank. This matter of fact business woman had hardly any remote resemblance with the desired girl. ‘But why should I be disappointed?’ I asked myself. All successful business magnets, male or female, are like this. I had interviewed many similar ladies. But this time did I expect someone else to be here -- that girl being turned into a rich lady, by some demon of Aladdin’s lamp? I felt pity for myself.

  The lady raised her eyes, caste a sidelong glance at me and said in a robot like voice, your papers show you’re from an Indian commercial paper.’

  ‘Yes madam’ I replied politely.

  ‘India is a highly populated country and inexhaustible market,’ the lady continued, ‘and how do you think your journal is likely to help our company in this regard? Ads in your journal? I’ve already tried and of not’

  ‘No Madam’ I interrupted, ‘I’m not thinking in terms of ad at all. It’s a different idea.’

  ‘Clarify please’

  ‘What do you think of the idea that we publish an exhaustive article on your firm in our journal.’

  ‘Good idea, it may work, but your interest?’ her voice was purely formal without much enthusiasm.

  ‘Popularizing our journal in Philippines.’

  ‘O.K., may I see a copy of the recent issue of your journal?’

  ‘Certainly Madam’

  I handed her the current copy of the journal which contained an article by me on Indo-Phil Textiles.

  She kept it on the table, pushed the bell for the attendant and asked him to give me brochures of the company including exhaustive price list.

  ‘Okay you go through the brochures and price list and compare them with products available in your country. I’ll also go through your journal’

  The counter girl peeped through the swing gate and said something. The lady hastily looked at her wrist watch,

  ‘Sorry’ she said politely, ‘your time is over, I’ll contact you over phone later on.’

  I avoided the lift and climbed down the stairs and lighted a cigarette and crossed over to the other side of the main road congested with footpath vendors with mobile four-wheeled stalls. I forced my way through the crowd of variegated buyers and groped for a coffee stall. After much searching in the jungle of vendors I could at last locate the coffee stall. To my satisfaction it was under a Durien tree at a distance from the cluster of other stalls. Large durians were dangling from the branches, anyone may mistake them to be Jackfruits with a spiky ski
ns.

  Like most other Filipino makeshift stalls, this too was run by a husband and his wife. Both of them were in shorts and sleeveless shirts. The hair of the man was disheveled, but the wife around forty was careful about her hair, arranged neatly in a chignon held with a large violet clip. The man was busy cleaning a kerosene stove and the wife looking for customers.

  As I approached the stall the lady greeted me with cordial smile

  ‘You must be a tourist.’

  ‘Yes. Can you prepare Nescafe?’

  ‘Certainly. milk, sugar?’

  ‘Sugar, but no milk’

  ‘How many’ she held up a few small packets of brown sugar.

  ‘Only one is enough.’

  ‘Which country you’re from’ she asked while preparing the coffee in a crude way, mixing instant coffee manually in hot water.

  ‘India’

  ‘Oh my god’ she got elated ‘it’s a great country, my cousin lives there, married to a businessman at Bumbai city, you know the city?’

  ‘It