Lost in Fremont
By: Sanjit Sengupta
Tags: Short Story, Life Lessons, Flash Fiction, Life, The Junction

“…you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.” — Maya Angelou

Ravi, Rashi, and I worked at CMC Limited, a computer, software, and services company in Bombay in the mid-1980s. In fact, we worked in the same office, our cubicles near each other. We were in our mid-twenties, young and single. Sometimes we would go out with colleagues after work for snacks and drinks. We represented CMC Bombay at national interoffice competitions in sports and theater. CMC was a company ahead of its time and place, with an open office plan, artwork, cafeteria, and other employee benefits.

After my short tenure at CMC, I got married and moved to Berkeley, California for graduate studies. Friends from Bombay would visit occasionally and give us updates. I learned that Ravi and Rashi got married and moved to Chennai. My wife and I moved from Berkeley to Maryland where our kids were born, then moved back to Walnut Creek in 1996.

In the Fall of 1996, a postcard from Ravi arrived in the mail. Originally sent to my Maryland address, it was forwarded to my new address in Walnut Creek. Ravi’s postcard said that he, Rashi, and their kids, Sid and Serena, had moved from Chennai to the Bay Area in April 1994. They were now living in Walnut Creek! Ravi had provided his phone number and I called him immediately. We renewed our earlier friendship and spent many pleasant hours hanging out at each other’s homes.

As a talented youngster in middle school, Sid gave a public speech at Veteran’s Day celebrations in 2001. I was fortunate to attend. He spoke eloquently about what America meant to him and the promise it held for his future.

***

Over the years, the kids grew up. Ravi and Rashi moved from Walnut Creek to San Ramon. This reduced the frequency of our meetings. After high school, Sid went to the University of Southern California (USC) to study business. He graduated and came back to work in San Francisco for Morgan Stanley. We heard from Ravi and Rashi that he was dating one of his classmates from USC, Shreya. Then we heard Sid proposed to Shreya and she accepted.

Sid and Shreya’s engagement party was on December 21, 2013, in Shreya’s parents’ home in Fremont. Shreya’s parents invited my wife, Arati, and me. Arati left for India on December 20 so I attended the party by myself. I used to drive a Prius. That night, our son Arjun had taken the Prius so I drove to the party in Arati’s Honda Odyssey minivan. I used WiFi at home to enter the party house address into Google Maps and got turn by turn directions.

The house was on a hill five miles from the freeway exit with many right and left turns along the way. I arrived around 7:30 PM. The dress code on the invitation said festive attire so I went in an Indian churidar and kurta. It turned out I was the only one in Indian dress. This seemed underdressed compared to all the other men in suits and ties. I congratulated the newly-engaged couple and got introduced to other guests as Ravi and Rashi’s friend. I enjoyed the wine and conversation. A delicious vegetarian dinner was served buffet-style around 9:30 PM and dessert around 11 PM. By midnight I thanked the hosts, bid farewell to my friends, and got back in the Odyssey to drive home to Walnut Creek.

I took some turns based on gut feel to get to the 680 North freeway but couldn’t get there in about 15 minutes. When I realized I was lost, I stopped curbside and turned on my phone. There wasn’t any AT&T signal. I could neither see my old Google Maps directions nor could I enter my home address for new directions. A grey screen with a spinning wheel stared at me. I could have called Ravi and Rashi or driven back to the house but felt too embarrassed to admit I was lost.

While fiddling with my iPhone, it fell from my hands into the narrow space between the seat and the door. I groped around the space with my left hand but couldn’t find the iPhone. The key was still in the ignition. I opened the door and hopped into the street to better explore the narrow space where my iPhone fell. I was able to open the door and get out. Then the door swung shut due to gravity. I got locked out of my car with both my iPhone and car keys inside. I felt helpless like a little duckling separated from its mother.

What was I to do? I was on Paseo Padre drive, a wide street with big independent family houses on either side. I thought of ringing the doorbell of one of the neighboring houses. Treyvon Martin, an African American teenager was shot dead in Florida by George Zimmerman earlier in the year. This dominated the news for several months and deterred me from ringing a stranger’s doorbell after midnight.

Behind me was Concho Drive. I saw many cars from Concho drive turn left and pass me on Paseo Padre drive. I tried to wave at the passing cars. No one paid any attention. My objective was to stop a passing car and request the use of the driver’s phone so that I could call AAA for assistance. I went back to the intersection with Concho Road, crossed the street, and stood curbside at the zebra crossing. Cars that stopped at the intersection could see me under the street light. I grew more desperate over time shouting “Help” in addition to waving. In Indian clothes, under the street light, I presented a strange sight. I was also cold but that was the least of my worries.

I kept waving to strangers in their cars and calling out “Help”. Still, no one paid any attention. After about 15–20 minutes, a young woman in an SUV rolled down her window and asked, “What kind of help do you need?” I pointed to the Odyssey parked on the other side of the intersection and, in a desperate voice said, “That’s my car. I’m locked out with my keys and iPhone inside. Could you please call AAA on your cell phone and request assistance? I have a AAA membership.”

When the lights changed, she turned left on Paseo Padre and stopped curbside in front of my Odyssey. I crossed the street and went up to her car by the driver’s side window. She asked me for the number I wanted to call. I pulled out the AAA membership card from my wallet, and read her the 800-number on the back. She typed in the numbers and when she heard the ring she handed me the phone. I got an automated response with an estimated wait time of 5 minutes and the hold on music started. I told my benefactor I would be on hold for a few minutes.

When the AAA customer service agent answered the phone, it was about 1 AM. I told her what had happened and that I needed help with opening my locked Odyssey door. She asked for my location and said a tow truck would arrive in about an hour. I thanked the agent, ended the call, and handed the phone back to my benefactor. I thanked her for stopping and letting me use her phone. I noticed she was a young Asian American woman in her mid-twenties. She said she was going to get some fast food and would I like anything? Food was the last thing on my mind so I declined. She drove off and I thought that was the last I would see of her. I sat on the curb and tried to think of pleasant thoughts while waiting for the AAA tow truck to arrive.

After about 30 minutes, my benefactor, in her SUV came back, parked, and got out of her car with a bag of fast food. She said, “I can keep you company until the AAA truck arrives”. I protested, saying I would be fine but she brushed off my comment. She sat on the curb next to me and began eating her sandwich. We started up a conversation. She told me she worked in Seattle and was visiting her parents for the holidays. She was hungry so she came out to get a midnight snack. This was her neighborhood growing up. I told her I was invited to Fremont for an engagement party and the circumstances which resulted in being locked out of my car. She was a good listener. It was nice to be able to talk to someone in the dead of night in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was great to not have her judge me for my stupidity.

Soon, the AAA tow truck driver came by. I got busy showing him my membership card and signing the form on his clipboard. Taking a deconstructed clothes hanger from his truck, he inserted it into the channel of the glass window. Slowly he pulled up the mechanism inside the window with the hangar until the little black plastic tab popped up. Then he pulled the door handle and, voila, it opened. I immediately grabbed the keys from the ignition and found my iPhone next to the driver’s seat. I thanked the tow truck driver who wished me a safe drive home and left.

I turned again to thank my benefactor but she was gone. She left while I was busy with the tow truck driver. Oh no, I didn’t get to ask her name or thank her properly. I got into the car, turned on the iPhone. After reorienting the iPhone in different directions I was able to get a weak AT&T signal. I punched in my home address into Google maps, got the directions, and memorized them. I was able to get back home all the while regretful that I could not say goodbye to my benefactor.

Isn’t it ironic that sometimes in life we pay a lot of money for little value in return and at other times the help we get is priceless? On that night, the help I got from the young woman was divine providence, yet I could not adequately thank her.

***

Fast forward almost 6 years. On a bright Sunday afternoon in October 2019, I was biking along the Iron Horse Trail in Walnut Creek going north. At a major intersection, I noticed an elderly woman dressed in a headscarf, a full-sleeved blouse, and a long skirt down to her shoes. She waved and talked in a foreign language. It was obvious she was in distress so I stopped my bike next to her. She talked fast in a language that seemed to be Farsi. Although I do not know Farsi I discerned that she was lost and needed help getting home. I asked her in English if she had a cellphone and she shook her head indicating no. I took out my iPhone and asked her if she knew a phone number of a relative I could call. Again she shook her head. I was flummoxed for a while then the solution came to me.

I had an Iranian colleague at work. I called him and explained my predicament. He kindly agreed to talk to the woman. I handed the iPhone to the woman who engaged in an animated conversation with my colleague for about five minutes. Then she smiled and handed the iPhone back to me. My colleague was still on the line. He said he could not understand everything the woman told him because of her accent. He understood that she lived near Trader Joe’s. If I could show her the way back to Trader Joe’s she would know the way back to her home. Aha, of course, I knew where Trader Joe’s was, who doesn’t? I thanked my colleague and asked the woman to follow me as I walked my bike on the Iron Horse trail heading south. After about 10 minutes we came to the intersection with Treat Boulevard. I pointed in the direction of Trader Joe’s. She had her bearings and sauntered off without saying thanks.

Six years later I paid forward the debt I owed to my benefactor when I got lost in Fremont.

Acknowledgment: I would like to thank my friends Ravi and Rashi for their comments on an earlier version of this story.