When it comes to carrying parcels for family halfway around the globe, we Indians are the most obliging people on the planet. Check out the suitcases of NRI relatives or desis going abroad and you will see what I mean. I was next in line to a guy called Sailesh at JFK recently and when the customs officer’s brusquely instructed him to ‘open up and show him everything’, he displayed the sort of haul one would expect in a looter’s basement.
Although instead of perfumes and jewellery, poor Sailesh was burdened with ten types of farsaan, five varieties of mithai, nine packets of pickle roughly divided between homemade and commercial, fleaseed husk (recommended for constipation), underwear of the sort best described as chuddies with long string nadas, a plastic mug, tongue cleaners and two dog-eared copies of Asian Babes. Just about par for the course for a month’s holiday abroad but the Yanks are fanatical about allowing stuff into the Land of the Free, especially chuddies. The customs guy was staring at Sailesh with the kind of horror a paramedic may have displayed on being asked to provide mouth-to-mouth to a Zika patient.
I didn’t hang around long enough to find out what transpired although I did advise him to sing, Don’t check my bags if you please, Mr. Customs Man, on his next visit. But I’m a fine one to talk. Back when I was young and foolish enough to believe that ‘Mothers are a boy’s best friend,’ I hand carried some fresh meat from Bamburies for Mummy. It was packed up nicely and I sailed through security with a merry tra-la on my lips. Unfortunately the scanner was on the blink and the security guy, who sported an ominous triple caste mark on his forehead decided to investigate the contents manually.
The next thing I heard was a sort of piercing shriek no human seemed capable of producing, not even a post-operative member of the Vienna Boys Choir. It brought to mind the keening, ululating howl of terror emitted by the actor in Godfather after waking up next to the severed head of his prized racehorse. It was clearly a moment to stand up and be counted, so I raced for the plane. I could hear voluble protestations from my innocent fellow traveler but like Brer Fox, I lay low and said nuffink. The man looked like a queue-jumper, not a vegetarian.
Some years later, one of my confirmed bachelor uncles X decided that the time was ripe to find someone to share with him his declining years. Several prospects were identified and rejected: too short, too tall, too parochial, too clever, too dim-witted, too much makeup and so on. I felt the bar was being set rather high, given that he wasn’t exactly a great catch himself, but again, like Brer Fox, I lay low. Eventually his siblings zeroed in on Yolanda, an NRI lass of some thirty summers with all the right attributes, plus a green card.
X was scheduled to meet Y and see if their chromosomes matched. There was a delicate matter of protocol as in who should make the first approach. Ardent swain is fine, I counseled, eager beaver is distinctly uncool. “You’re the one who plays bridge with her father,” I was told, “You fix it up.” For reasons we won’t go into here, I have long since retired from the matchmaking business. Nevertheless, after being badgered for a fortnight, I hit upon the Fedex strategy. X could play the role of ‘family friend delivering parcel’ while simultaneously checking out whether “Barkis was willing.” The problem was the father wouldn’t cooperate. Despite paying him rich dividends on the bridge table, the stingy git hadn’t showed signs of coming up with even a bottle of pickle.
There was only one thing to do: delving into a cupboard used to store re-cycled presents, I found a green ceramic ashtray. X travelled to Poughkeepsie and checked out Y, but failed to click since apparently she was absolutely rabid on the subject of tobacco and passive smoking. Well before the peace pipe could be lit, she opened the parcel and hurled the offending “gift” in the fireplace, smashing it to bits. X is still a bachelor boy, but on his frequent trips abroad the only tune he sings is “Travelling light”.
