From Bombay to New York

The SS Orsova that I boarded in Bombay on 27 July 1963 had earlier docked at other Asian ports, picking up passengers who, like me, were headed to the US on travel
 grants. There were about 150 of us, half of whom were from India. Among the Indians, 10 of us were physicists proceeding to US universities for PhDs. Quite a few were from the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR) in Bombay with a background similar to mine, except that they were on leave from positions to which they could return. My academic future was less certain. The following month I would start my PhD at the Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh.

For most of those passengers, the journey to America was likely their first ship voyage. As for me, I experienced an unaccustomed luxury. The small but well-appointed cabins, the upholstered lounges, the drapes and fittings, and above all the abundance of food and drink in the restaurant made a strong impression.

On my very first morning, a steward knocked on the cabin door and brought in a tray with juice, coffee, a printed sheet with the day’s events on board the ship, and even a little newspaper with a summary of the news. Lunch and dinner in the restaurant featured delicious and authentic Goanese curries. The opportunity to talk and make friends added to the general bonhomie. For relaxation, passengers could retire to an on-board library or listen to news or music on BBC radio.

The second day, however, the mood began to change. The ship was now in the middle of the Arabian Sea, and strong monsoon winds were causing it to pitch and roll in a disconcerting way. Passengers started to get seasick, and lost interest in food. Even the sight and smell of food induced nausea. When not heaving, people retired to their beds, wondering why they had left the solidity and familiarity of their homeland to set out on this foolish voyage.

By the third morning, the sea seemed to have calmed. The ship was sailing into the port of Aden on the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsula. We docked there for three hours, and I could go ashore to do the shopping I had carefully planned in advance. I went straight to a particular dealer in watches and bought a Favre Leuba watch for $35. For another $5 I bought a terylene shirt that was supposed to be drip-dry for traveling convenience. The shirt did not last long. After wearing it for two days, I tried to wash it in a machine on board. It came out looking like a rope.

Once back on the ship, we headed into the Red Sea and toward Port Suez. Although the Suez Canal had reopened for passenger ships after the destruction caused by the Suez Crisis of 1956, movement was v slow. Ships took 10 hours to sail the 102-mile length of the canal.

At that time, it was customary for passengers to disembark at Suez, take an excursion through Egypt, and rejoin the ship in the evening. Our excursion took us to Cairo, where we lunched, and then on to the Pyramid of Ghiza. On the way back we stopped again in Cairo to visit the Egyptian Museum and the Alabaster Mosque. In the evening we dined in Alexandria.

It was a whirlwind tour, during which I glimpsed a rich civilization thousands of years old, but of which I had no inkling. At the same time, the present-day Egyptians, their economy having been devastated by the war, seemed poor and sullen. They needed our tourism, but one could sense their anger and resentment.

The next day the ship entered the Mediterranean Sea. The water was placid, the sailing was smooth, and the atmosphere on board became more jovial. The ship’s captain threw a gala with food, drink, and music. Haunted by the memory of sea-sickness, I was circumspect in my food choices. I selected a fruit salad and a glass of orange juice, not realizing that both were laced with vodka. I had a headache all night.

With the ship sailing smoothly, the crew laid out a table tennis set and arranged a tournament. I placed as runner-up and received a pigskin wallet as a prize. Since the weather was sunny, some sports were organized on the open deck. I took part in a limbo competition, and once again was runner-up. Today I have a hard time imagining how I could slither under that rope. My prize was a ballpoint pen with a miniature replica of the ship floating in the barrel.

The crew also introduced some games of chance. I took part in a bingo event, and won twice in three attempts. With winnings of $15 in my pocket, I decided to go to the ship’s salon for a haircut. It cost $5. I tipped the barber $1. He seemed genuinely pleased. “Thank you, sir,” he said “and take care of yourself.” Somehow, I was moved by that remark. He seemed to be twice my age, with graying hair. It was the first time somebody older than me had addressed me as “sir.”

The ship was now passing through the Strait of Messina between Italy and Sicily. The lights on the two shores were a lovely sight. We finally docked in Naples. There was to be a three-day halt, after which the voyage would resume on a different liner, the RMS Mauretania of the Cunard Line.

Disembarking in Naples was a relief after so many days at sea. The view from Naples was quite exotic, with the sea on one side and Mount Vesuvius in the distance. Horse-drawn carriages lined the boulevard along the beach. We walked up and down the pavement, trying to make sense of the signs in Italian. People on the sidewalk were eating something that we could not recognize. There was speculation as to whether it was meat or fish or vegetable. It turned out to be lasagna.

The city seemed less than prosperous. We had been told on the ship to be wary of people offering attractive exchange rates. Despite that warning, one person in the group changed money, only to find a bundle of newspaper cuttings in his hand.

The organizers had arranged a full program of sightseeing. The day after arriving in Naples,
 we traveled to Pompeii. The sight of this ancient Roman city—buried under the ashes of a volcano, and recently unearthed in its original state, complete with calcified bodies of the people who had been trapped—was riveting. The next day we were bused to Rome. As we whizzed past the Coliseum and other monuments, I had the sensation that a 2000-year old civilization and history, of which I had little prior knowledge, was flashing before my eyes.

The three days of placid sailing on the Mediterranean gave me an opportunity to spend time in the lounge conversing with the other Indians traveling to graduate schools, particularly those from TIFR. N. Mukunda and J. Pasupathy were both bound for the University of Rochester; Tapas Das was bound for the University of Pennsylvania. All three seemed to have a strong background in mathematical physics and quantum theory, and it was clear that they would be doing research in theoretical physics.

By comparison, my own training and aptitude at that time was in a more experimental direction. The MSc courses I had taken in Chandigarh had an emphasis on atomic and molecular spectroscopy. My master’s thesis had involved setting up a vacuum UV spectrograph. At the Saha Institute in Calcutta, too, I had been drawn to experimental work on nuclear spectroscopy. Those differences in background notwithstanding, when I joined TIFR as a postdoc five years later, it turned out that the four of us had all acquired overlapping interests in theoretical particle physics!


After the intermission in Naples, we resumed our voyage on board the Mauretania. It was a bigger ship that shuttled between Europe and the US, picking up passengers from Italian and French ports. The ship halted briefly at the Italian port of Genoa and the French port of Cannes, and then proceeded to the Strait of Gibraltar. There was a pause of three hours in Gibraltar, allowing passengers to shop in this duty-free port. I bought a colorful gown for home wear. It had all the flora and fauna of the jungle and a couple of parrots. It was exactly the kind of design that people either love or hate. I loved it, and it served me well through all my years in Pittsburgh. Another thing I picked up was a portable alarm clock that could be easily folded into a case. This clock turned out to be a nuisance. It was loud, and the alarm would go off at strange times.

Having entered the Atlantic, the ship was headed straight toward New York City, with no further stops. For that part of the voyage, which lasted six days, the seas were calm.

Arrival in New York harbor was scheduled for 18 August, three days after India’s Independence Day holiday. The ship’s crew organized a small celebration, with an Indian flag, some snacks, and entertainment provided by one of the passengers from Bombay, L. K. Pandit from TIFR. A jolly, outgoing person, he regaled us with some Harry Belafonte songs.

The relatively quiet trip across the Atlantic gave me time to finally think about physics and ponder my prospects. To avoid carrying excessive weight, I had not packed any books, but I did bring some files containing hand-written notes that I had compiled over the years. The notes included material on spectroscopy based on Harvey Elliot White’s Introduction to Atomic Spectra and Gerhard Herzberg’s Spectra of Diatomic Molecules. There were notes on nuclear physics, the basics of quantum mechanics, relativity, statistical mechanics, and cosmic rays.

Going through the notes was my way of brushing up on physics. I also had with me the catalog that described the research interests of the physics faculty at Carnegie Tech. Of greatest appeal to me was Sergio De Benedetti, whose research included experimental work on positronium, muonic atoms, and, most recently, on the Mössbauer effect.

At last the skyline of New York came into view. We had been traveling for 22 days, and were eager to reach the destination. Our arrival was trouble-free. The organizers had arranged that people on travel grants would be taken to an orientation program. We spent one night in New York, long enough to be amazed by the buildings soaring into the sky, the thunder of trucks, and the sirens of police cars.

The next day we travelled by bus to Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut. The orientation program was designed mainly for people new to the English language, and those likely to have problems in cultural adaptation. They gave tips on fast-reading techniques, and some idea of American history and customs.

On my first day in New Haven, I developed a serious toothache, which turned out to be a sprouting wisdom tooth. I was not able to chew anything. When we assembled for lunch in the dining room, a waiter went round the table asking people what they would eat. There were several who indicated their restrictions on religious grounds: no meat, no beef, no pork, and so forth. When the man came to me, I said, “No solids—liquids only.” He looked at me quizzically, as if to ask, “What religion is that?”

The last part of the orientation program was a visit to an American home. The home I went to was a lavish residence, with half a dozen cars parked in front, and an adjoining tennis court. It clearly belonged to an upper-class family with several adult children. Another family had been invited for the afternoon. I was a bit shabbily dressed, compared to everyone else. However, they were kind and tried to set me at ease. I told them I was from India, but that did not seem to make much of an impression. Then I said I was on my way to study physics at Carnegie Tech. The family said “Wow!” in unison.

Orientation over, I boarded an overnight train for Pittsburgh. The city’s station was a gaunt structure, whose walls were black from soot. I was met by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Pearce, who would be my host family for the duration of my stay in Pittsburgh. They were members of a voluntary organization called Pittsburgh Council for International Visitors. They took me to their home in the hilly suburbs of the city.

The Pearces were unassuming, cheerful, and easy to talk to. They had a son, Ricky, about my age, who was studying theater in New York. They remarked that I reminded them of their son. Once they said wistfully they wished that Ricky had stayed in Pittsburgh, as Carnegie Tech had also a good drama school. But in the US it is accepted that people follow their dreams, and sentiment does not intervene. In a way, I too was following a dream, ten thousand miles from home.

After I had spent a couple of days with them, Mrs. Pearce dropped me at the place where I had arranged temporary accommodation. The fall semester would begin the next day, and with it, a new chapter in my life.

Lalit Sehgal is a retired nuclear and particle physicist. He lives in Aachen, Germany.