Wrapping up the trip

When Lady Luck finally smiles, she doesn't just smile... she laughs!! How else can you explain this? A full flight from San Francisco to Dubai spanning over 15 tiresome hours- While the rest of humanity is packed like sardines for the entire duration, I get a window seat with no one sitting either in the next seat or the one next to that!! Enough room for me to even do somersaults!

Needless to say, I found it impossible to wipe the smile off my face for the entire journey. Though I tried to avoid eye contact as far as possible (which is always risky in these circumstances), it was tough not to be pierced by shafts of envy from many a pair of eyes! Also, when providence has favoured you in such a special way, you don't want to make a hash of it by being overly chatty and inviting unwanted company! That would be perfectly fine another day. Not for a 15 hour plane journey in economy class. Hence, I tried to be as aloof and unsociable as possible and I must say... I rather enjoyed my flight!!! A most despicable attitude all right, but under the circumstances, may be, a tad legitimate.

Never saw darkness the entire 15 hour journey! By nightfall, the flight was already in the upper reaches of Canada where the sun doesn't set till about 11:00 pm. Close to midnight, the flight was near the North Pole. The sun hovered around the horizon all the time, but never set! By 1:30 am, the airplane was over the Arctic Ocean and the sky was lit up as if it was 7:00 am in the morning! From then on, it was bright sunshine all the way.. right through Russia and Iran till it reached Dubai late in the evening.

Cloudscapes are fascinating- they seem to have topographical features of their own when viewed from an airplane. Flat and creamy, they extend like ice-fields all the way to the horizon, sometimes, fluffy and jagged like rock formations and at times, like a cliff edge... they end abruptly... only to reveal the actual ground... way below... where fields, mountains and the occasional river winds its way. The rays of the sun lit up one side of the clouds and created some of the most brilliant skyscapes.

Wrapping up in the Bay Area wasn't easy- I just about had time to pack up and rush to the airport. I seem to have somehow made a lot of purchase so that the two suitcases are full. I actually had to leave behind an old pair of jeans, my old shoes and even some underwear to make room for the new stuff!
Of course, underwear wouldn't occupy space or contribute to weight. But the dryer at the Hotel had other ideas. After the wash and dry, they all appear a size smaller and seem to squeeze the life out of me! Hence, had little choice but to leave them behind (except of course for the journey). And yes, I did inform the Hotel front desk about it. Last thing you want is a reputation that Indians vacate hotels without their underwear!! This is dark humour all right, but these are facts nonetheless, which need to be documented in appropriate detail!

In a few hours, I should be in Bangalore. It's truly disorienting no doubt- You are driving around El-Camino with the mountains behind you.. with a song on your lips and suddenly, that entire world view completely changes.

I can picture myself at Bengaluru, standing at one one of the BMTC bus stops. I can't read Kannada letters or numbers. As a bus comes by, I need to holler, "Gottigere! Gottigere!! Hogatta?" If the conductor responds in the affirmative, I get on the bus. He offers me a ticket to Gottigere. But I don't want to go to Gottigere. I want to go to Kalena Agrahara!

"Why did you shout Gottigere Gottigere then?"  the conductor questions, positively confused.
"Well, that's because Kalena Agrahara is too big a name! By then, the bus would have moved on and I wouldn't have got an answer from you!!" I offer an explanation.

The conductor shrugs his shoulders... in disapproval.. completely baffled by his passengers and their IQ!!
Bengaluru, here I come!

The disclaimer

“Sir, it is our bounden duty to inform you that there is a fair chance that a snake may be found in your room! Yes, snakes here are poisonous! We are required by law to let our inmates know!”
“Thanks for the information, but is there another room which is safer?”
“No sir, this entire area is at risk.”
“Then, how about the places on the other side of the road? Surely, there is some place which is protected?”
“Well, we’ve never found a snake that we know of, but we are required by law to inform all our inmates about the potential problem..however unlikely it may be.. and yes.. to repeat, there’s no place which is free from this threat!”

This conversation is of course fictitious, but should this inform-exchange occur, you would have scared the day lights out of this gentleman. For sure, he will never sleep. He’ll be racked with fantasy centred on all kinds of snakes and in all kinds of postures… vipers, cobras, pythons.. wriggling over the bed, raising their hood from the sofa and tucked even in the restroom. You get the drift…the gentleman will be in a living hell!

A prominent coffee joint has just this kind of information displayed at its store. To paraphrase, it says-“When coffee beans are roasted or when coffee is brewed, it releases a chemical which is known to cause the most dreaded disease (whose name must never be mentioned)”. The display ends with an Act number to add credence to the notice. This is displayed strategically- just where the sugar sachets are placed so that it will never be missed. Also,  It’s not specific to  *a*  store- every store displays it now.  Through this pronouncement, the entire world of coffee from Guatemala to South India is suddenly under the scanner.
What do we do? May be, I can give up coffee.

Next, I entered a workplace in another part of the city. Right beside the main entrance is another notice- “This facility and areas surrounding it have chemicals which are known to cause reproductive defects and the most dreaded disease (whose name must never be mentioned)." As in the previous case, another “section” and “subclause” formalise this decree.
Now...What do we do? Move to a different location or change the job?

In dismay, I went to cool off in one of the reputed “Art and Crafts” store. Surely, paints and brushes hold no threat. But no! Some paints are marked with a disclaimer that they contain lead which can of course lead to deleterious consequences.  Then, "self-hardening clay"…that most ordinary material... used even by school kids..is also marked with a warning- the ingredients are again questionable.

So now, I’ve come to a pass where I can’t drink coffee, I can’t go to the workplace and of course I can’t pursue a hobby.

In what way am I better equipped with this piece of information, if it is not accompanied with a viable alternative?  Other than providing an employment opportunity to the sign board painter, in what way is it beneficial to anyone else?
More people are likely to be mentally traumatised and sick in mind than those who could contract the ailment, if at all these findings are actually substantiated.

I wasn't willing to let it pass. I went to the attendant who worked at the coffee store, pulled him out and asked him what it meant? He screwed his eyes... looked at the display for the longest possible time and finally said "Weird! I've never read that one before! But it's been there for a long time!!"

"Dude, this is your store. You run it, you don't know what it means?"

"Sir, I swear... no one.. no one.. till date has ever read it. You're the first one!!"

Rental car

"Steven, there is a problem with this car. I can't get the keys out after parking it. I need help!" I complained, just after I rented a Nissan Versa and had barely taken it for a spin in the parking area. Steven had a quick-fix. "Sometimes, the steering wheel gets locked. Move it this way and that. You will be able to get the keys out." "Steven, I've tried that out. If I apply any more pressure and try to yank it out, the steering wheel will soon be in my hand! I already fear that in my effort to get the key out, I've possibly broken it into two!"
The problem was strange. For the next 15 minutes, the two of us tried to troubleshoot the issue together. "I don't want this car... I can't call you each time I run into this key-stuck issue! Just get me another one!", I protested- a bad beginning didn't auger very well. Steven didn't listen to me and was busy trying all sorts of things. Suddenly, it clicked..."Sir, you have the gear set to neutral! It should be in "parking" to get the key out." Looking at his furrowed brow, for a second, it looked as if he would cancel my rental car policy. Obviously, you don't want to hand over the keys of your car to a rookie who has starting trouble.. this basic! I mumbled a quick apology and raced out of the rental complex!

I got my first license in North America....that too, with an automatic transmission. But in 6 years of driving in India with a stick-shift, a point as fundamental as this had got erased completely from memory! Driving in these two places is literally poles apart and I felt tentative and uneasy. You can't make a mistake when you drive in the US. Every move has to be spot-on and calibrated.
In India, there are no mistakes! We accommodate everyone- you can drive on the opposite of our "highway" too... just ensure that you blink the headlights a few times! If your car is stalled, no problem! You can leave the car in the middle of the road. Just pluck a few leaves and twigs from the way-side tree and decorate your car with it. That's signal enough for other cars to move out of the way! As simple and practical as that!!
Plus, the ease of yanking your neck out of the car.. and asking any car speeding by or any biped on the road for directions..... makes us feel in control... all the time! Just remember one basic rule- if you are in North India, you ask for directions beginning your sentence with "bhaisaab"; in Karnataka with "Guru!"... and in Tamil Nadu with "Saar.. saar hello!"



"I don't think I can drive here! It's way too difficult! I just cannot use my right leg and left hand. I'm used to driving with both my feet and using my right hand for turn signals!!" Each time I negotiated a turn, I used the right hand by reflex... and had the wipers swinging madly. It was terribly frustrating. Plus the right turn had to be taken immediately in the US. Left turns had to be wide.
Like a right hand batsman told to bat left... that too against Dale Steyn's pace on a green-top... it was challenging to put it mildly.

But I took my time. Just to the office and back.. the first few days. I also chanted a mantra loudly as I drove... "left hand.. right foot... left hand.. right foot... right-turn immediately... left-turn wide... left hand.. right foot...right-turn immediately.....left-turn...!!"
And then.... it all came back. By the fifth day, I was driving on 237 and El Camino and San Tomas... with the ease of a pro. The pleasure of driving in the US... Ah!!

Not that I was driving a Ferrari! Steven ensured that he rented out the most basic model to me. This car was a hatch-back which would not even lock all doors together. You had to manually unlock the door to let someone in. As far as the windows were concerned, they had a manual lever. Surely, even TATA Nano has better features than this! But I liked my Nissan Versa... as basic and utilitarian as a car should be- chalti ka naam gaadi! Kyon? Aap sehmat hain naa.. meri baaton se!!? Kyon!?

Indian stores

India has moved on, but Indian Stores in the Bay Area haven't. Like those protagonists in films who suffer from selective amnesia, these stores are stuck to an India which is passe and simply refuse to grow up. 

It's the last weekend in the Bay Area and it was a good opportunity to swing by the Indian stores we used to frequent years ago. The current pictures matched line-for-line with those etched in memory.....just the way we align a picture traced out.... with the original copy!  So exact was the match!

Spotting an Indian Store is simple. You don't need Google maps. The scent of spice will waft through the air and drag you into the store! This is not an overstatement. I've no idea how the fragrance (for want of a better term) is contained in India. India anyway has all kinds of sights, sounds and smells- there is no one thing which particularly overpowers you. But in the US, these stores draw your attention like no other. The entire air enveloping the store... the parking lot, the pavement, the street.. right down to the other side of the road is redolent with a heady mix of garam masala and a host of other pungent spices.

The Indian store is well...like..... India. Bronze idols of Sai baba, Ganeshji and Nataraj sit side by side without the slightest protest... next to bottles of  gongura achar (pickle) and Dabur Chywanprash!!  It is the sheer bewildering variety....from the sublime to the seemingly ridiculous that you are assailed with... almost as if a child in mischievous glee...emptied the entire toy box face down...and watched the contents scatter away in all directions!

Agarbattis, puja bells, parachute oil, vicks, amrutanjan, calendars with garish pictures of Durga Mata with bold letters in vernacular, rusks, chikkis, chivdas... suddenly a wooden elephant or a porcelain Buddha..tins of Bournvita, Horlicks, Boost..... a boxful of "rakhis", asafoetida ("hing"), toothpowder, DVDs of mindless movies in Hindi, Tamil and Telugu...all piled up in a haphazard heap... the list goes on and on! Mukesh's mournful melodies from a dim and distant past provide the perfect backdrop to complete the picture.
One corner is reserved for Indian dresses. For sure, no one wears anything other than Punjabi suits, saris and embroidered kurta-pyjama in India! Buying a dress from one of these stores comes with an inherent risk. Garam masala would have permeated into the innermost pore of these dresses- you're sure to be a head-turner at the next party...unless of course... it is a sinister move on your part to ensure that your party host is hospitalised with a sudden bout of allergy.... driven by incessant sneezing!! You would have made a style statement... and a smelly one at that!

India has always been a land of the exotic, but this one unsettles the most seasoned Indian. Arranged on one of the shelves was this most innocuous bottle of oil ("tel") labelled "Narayan tail"! Our fertile imagination runs riot on the many possibilities. If a new breed of "vanaras" take over the Bay Area, we know which magic potion did the trick!!

Munna!...Aye Munna...!  If you actually need "Horlicks" or "Nutramul" for your milk, "Narayan tail" for your scalp and "armutanjan" for your headache.....you're suffering from severe home-sickness!! You'll never make it in the Bay Area. You bloody well (sorry for the expletive!) should be taking the next flight back to India!!

Continental breakfast

The term "continental breakfast" at these hotels always confuses me. Why would it be called "continental"? After all, one hopes that every breakfast is going to be served and eaten on some continent.... unless of course, you're adrift on a ship!! Are breakfasts on a ship called "oceanic breakfast" to keep the nomenclature uniform and consistent? Anyway, "oceanic breakfast" would mean a lot of sea-food and that wouldn't exactly be my cup of tea.

So, here I am... stuck with continental breakfast for the last one month- no crisp butter dosas, no steaming idlis floating in spicy sambar, no bread pakodas sumptuously doused in pudina chutney, no upma, no poha, no pongal, no kesari bath, no khara bath, not even chow-chow bath!

I should acknowledge that coming from India, I've grown up with a complex. I always feel  that I am going to be "short changed" by someone or the other. I fear that that foodie with his mountainous appetite will gobble up the entire breakfast and leave me high and dry when it's my turn.... or perhaps, the milk is in short supply and will run out... or may be, the donuts will all be eaten and leave me with some tasteless wheat bread.
The other issue that's I've grown up with is the necessity to plan for a rainy day.... leave alone Plan B, I need a Plan Z if all plans from A to Y fail! 
And yes, if anything is "free", I need it and I will grab it- I don't care that I am totally bald, if a shampoo comes for free, why not!?

It's essentially a problem of paucity of resources- it make us the fierce competitors that we are, in every field, including consuming continental breakfast! But America is a land of plenty where milk and honey flows- at least during continental breakfast time, but it's tough to mend quirks and oddities acquired over the years.

If there's just one pastry standing on the counter, the urge is simply irresistible- I don't mind reaching over someones shoulders, even it means.. brushing his ear ....and with one swoop of an elephant's trunk..snatch it and pocket it...just when the other candidate's fingers are inches away from the priced possession! There is a Mr Bean like impish delight in the act; a trifle impolite though it may surely be.

The milk cartons are neatly stacked in a glass case on the lower shelf. At times, I don't have a choice- especially when the cartons are few. I have to crouch, reach between someones legs who is also at the same counter, have him jump and squeal in absolute shock....and mumble, "Sorry! I was just trying to reach out for the milk cartons- I need one for breakfast, another for my afternoon coffee and one for the night. I don't get sleep without milk you see!"

When it comes to "cheerios", yes, I made a hash of it the other day. It's not exactly my fault. They are stored in cups and sealed with the most stubborn lid..which when it finally gave way.... exploded and scattered all over the breakfast floor.. in a torrential rain of tiny cereal! It's always prudent to make a quick getaway at these times- you don't want to suddenly be an object of singular attention and look absolutely silly and shamefaced!

The ketchup sachets are particularly frustrating. There's no easy way to rip them open. Others seem to have it so easy... possibly, their packets are less obstinate or may be they have sharper nails- which wouldn't be hygienic of course. In India, we use our teeth- we open even Coca Cola bottles that way. The only hazard with this approach... when it comes to the ketchup sachet... is the plastic bit which is now stuck in your mouth!
In India, with nonchalance, you simply spit it out... wherever you are. In the US, you need to be more discreet. Obviously, you can't swallow plastic- it is not bio-degradable. You can't dash out of the breakfast room either... that too with plastic in your mouth and a dash of ketchup across your cheek! The only recourse is to break into a sudden paroxysm of whooping cough...have your mouth well covered with your fist...and hope that the plastic bit also is also blown out...silently and unobtrusively!
Life is essentially..... simple!

Just when I was racked with remorse for some of my questionable acts, I was a tad relieved.  The caretaker brought this bunch of bananas and placed them in the fruit bowl. It was refreshing to find another enterprising candidate who seemed to borrow a leaf from my book. In a trice, he pinched it... the *entire* bunch.. and dashed out, much to the horror of the others around. I understand him.After all, continental breakfast is the only meal that the hotel provides.
What do they expect us to eat the rest of the day!?