It was the day after Christmas in New England.
My flight westward was canceled after a 28-inch snowstorm took the Northeast by surprise. For two days I sat idly, blood churning, stricken by the frustrations of forced immobility. As I sat on hold with the airline company for four hours, the back end of my holiday break went from cheerful to dismal in less than a moment’s notice.
When I finally re-booked a flight out of New York City three days before New Year’s, the situation worsened. I entered John F. Kennedy International Airport to encounter a diabolical mess in more of a shambles than the snow-covered highways outside.
Customers yelled at employees.
Security lines stretched like the Nile River.
Stranded travelers slept on haggard green cots provided by the Travel Security Administration.
The chaotic nature of airports brings out the worst in people. Whether it is the moldy underbelly of their intolerance for uncertainty — or their general short fuse during high-stress situations — airline travelers resemble a 100-deep pack of starving hyenas up against a handful of armed poachers. Yet no matter how hungry, sleep-deprived and angry they are, the poachers (cheap airlines) still have the firearms.
Within the turmoil stood a familiar face, unaffected by the insanity surrounding us.
I recognized him from across the terminal, and when our eyes met his seemingly perpetual smile brightened a bit more. We had met on countless encounters at 13th and Kincaid, right in front of his “Students ‘R Boss” gyro cart. He had always fatefully picked me up at my worst, offering free gyro, espresso or vegan treats.
And there he was, almost 3,000 miles from Eugene, Ore., waiting for the same flight to Portland that had just been delayed another four hours. I approached him as I had done so many times near the University — in shambles, but in search of some hopeful inspiration.
“Hey, man,” Mahi Chowdhury said. “I knew we would run into each other one of these days.”
I was bewildered by his composure during such an encounter.
“Yeah, this is crazy,” I half-grinned.
“I know people from all over the world, man. It’s good though. If we get stuck here, you can come back to my family’s place in the city. We’ll feed you and put you up for the night.”
Such generosity was inspiring during the travel-fueled despair.
Originally from Dhaka, Bangladesh, Chowdhury left his mom and dad at the mere age of 10 to move to the states. With a sister in Knoxville, he had no choice but to hang his hat in Tennessee.
“I was the only foreigner in class,” he said. “They constantly looked at me like, ‘Whoa, this guy’s totally different.’ I was always being challenged.”
Whether it was math or science, Chowdhury’s classmates always measured their grades against his.
“It was always like, ‘What did Mahi get?’” he said.
Yet Chowdhury did not let typecasting judgments dictate his future. He spent countless hours studying, all the way until his medical school graduation.
It was here that he entered the health care industry — one he would ultimately leave.
“I was the chief of the cardiovascular profusion department in three different hospitals,” Chowdhury said. “United States’ health care has no hope. It’s a disaster. The rubber band is stretching, and it’s going to snap. The only way it will improve is after we see that collapse.”
Chowdhury lived the high life before moving to Eugene. When he worked in New Orleans, his car garage showcased a Hummer, a Mercedes and a Land Rover. His loft windows towered at over 14 feet. Yet today, he claims that he would never leave his gyro cart — no matter what offers sat at his feet.
Because Chowdhury’s vision is a lot bigger than selling gyros.
“(The) University is a time when students are first experiencing their independence,” he said. “They have complete freedom. Who’s guiding them? The teachers are teaching them. They are saying this paper is due, 750 words, and it needs to be in by 6 p.m. Friday.”
He hopes with his gyro stand that he can not only nourish students, but inspire them. Through customer interaction, listening, and storytelling, he strives to make students think differently about their future.
“I have enough experience to make someone make a better choice,” Chowdhury said. “I want to give them guidance, so that when they go into the job market tied down with student loans, they will say, ‘I am not going to do this because Mahi did it and it didn’t work.’”
Chowdhury talks about everything from health care to humanity with his customers. While many booths and stores display signs that read “No outside food or drink,” he welcomes students with outside food with a free glass of water and a stool to sit on.
“It’s all about giving,” Chowdhury said. “I don’t even know how many times per day I give things away. I don’t even keep a count. I have limited amounts of items I can give away, but I have a limitless amount of love that will never run out. I’ve got universes filled with love. And I give it away every day.”
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Costigan: Canceled flight, turmoil unite unsuspecting friends
Daily Emerald
February 10, 2011
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