India Diaries - Day 4

Early to rise, the husband and I were all set to fly to Indore. The husband ordered an Uber but since neither the husband or I had any data plan on, we were kind of lost as soon as we stepped out of the house. The Uber driver was equally confused and picked someone else who also happened to have Joshi surname and who also happened to be going to the airport with a big bag. Only when the husband called the driver, he realised the goof up, asked the passenger his full name, dropped him back where he picked him and came back to pick us. That is one reason why I haven't changed my surname I told the husband who was not impressed by the reasoning. Anyways, the driver probably wanted more money and decided to take a longer route via BKC to the airport. Additionally, all along the route, we were confused if the domestic flight is departing from the Santacruz or the Sahar airport and were nervously trying to call the helpdesk to confirm the same. After a good one and half hour of incessant traffic, we finally made it to the correct airport in time.

The check in was fairly organised and we made way to the security. When I passed the security, I saw three young kids, 20s something shouting at the security personnel who was stamping the tags on the bag at the security. Apparently they were not impressed by the fact that they were asked to remove and scan their ankle length boots and also added that the woman at security was extremely rude to them. Now I admit that being rude to passengers at immigration and security has solely been patented by Americans and no one else, therefore practising it in India was a clear violation of the patent but I personally only saw the security asking the girl to remove the shoes and when she resisted, she gave her a good sounding which I think is fair. Try resisting in America and that is the last time anyone will ever see you resisting anything because you might rot in one of their cells framed for a crime that you haven't heard of. Anyways I was disgusted by the way the kids (yeah they are kids in my eyes) were shouting and I wanted to give them a piece of mind myself but then I saw the husband walk towards me so I shut up as I feared being called the bully.

We made way to the gate and I saw a young couple occupying 4 seats, two for themselves and two for their bags. Now since there was no other seat, I signalled the girl to pick up the bags and put them down, but she completely ignored it and behaved as if she didn't know what I was saying. For a good 30 seconds she kept staring at me, and vice versa, and I pointed to the bag again but to no avail. Just when I was about to pounce on her, two other seats were emptied and having sensed my next move, the husband quickly redirected me to the empty seats, lest I unleash the wrath on her. I did make a passing by comment however that 'Seats are for people not for bags' and the husband was smiling from ear to ear having proven the bully point. He calls me 'gadadhari bheem' sometimes and 'angry bird' the other but in my defence, I believe that being silent while witnessing the crime is same as participating in the crime itself.

Anyways after this morning haggling, we were finally off to Indore. As soon as the plane hit the tarmac, you notice that there is no other plane in sight in the entire area, at a distance is the old terminal which is prettier but now abandoned for a new glassy terminal, the ground staff stroll lazily attaching the door to the tunnel to step out. Funnily the front half of the plane disembarks through the tunnel while the other half are asked to climb down the ladder, board the bus to be taken to the arrival lounge, aah the inefficiencies we introduce in our daily life. Anyways the baggage arrives quite swiftly, as we step out in the land of Maa Ahilya Devi Holkar.

Indore, even though considered a tier two city has good infrastructure, specially near the airport and the new IT corridor that is being built. Special lanes have been built for buses and new sprawling malls, hotels and restaurants are seen everywhere. Yet, it still has a charm of a small town , the lazy mornings, the slow afternoons and late nights, everything moves at its own pace and you can feel it as soon as you step out. Inspite of this, cars, scooters and buses seem to be always in hurry of going somewhere, and till date it's a mystery to me. If you think the traffic in Pune is horrible, you have to visit Indore for there is utter disregard for any sort of lane discipline and everyone seems to be colour blind because no one stops at any signal. I consider myself a good driver but I rather not test my skills there.

So anyways, after zigzagging and criss crossing several bylanes, we finally made it home. The house in Indore is massive, beautiful and well kept and can easily give Jalsa some though competition but like any other town, the eerie silence is deafening as I am used to living in small flats with constant ringing of door bells or the honking of the vehicles from the road below.

We settle down on the table and we feast on the vada pav that I have carried from Mumbai. This has become a routine now, I am the delivery girl who carries Mumbai's vada pav for the in laws and brings back Indore's kachori for the parents, both being my favourite as I love everything that's fried. After a scrumptious lunch with all sorts of sweets ranging from cake, gajar halwa , gulab jamun I retire to the room and am unable to fight the sleep any more.

In the evening, the inlaws insist that we visit the MILs sister who is quite old and lives on the other end of the city. Now I have no recollection or clue on who we are visiting because barring his few relatives that live in UK or US, I haven't heard from any of his relatives post the wedding. But I gathered from the conversation that she is quite old but independent and I was looking forward to meet her as I love meeting old people for a reason that I will elaborate soon.

Much as expected, the MILs sister was overjoyed to see us, and with whatever little she could hear, she was happily participating in the conversation. She immediately summoned her son to come back to the house so we could meet him too. The conversation was a feel good one and only filled with blessings. Not one time there was any nasty remark or comment on my clothes, on whether I cook or not, on whether I wear the jewellery that I should be wearing to announce to the world that I was married. This is what I love about old people, they have seen a lot in their life to know what matters and what doesn't. This is the same with my grandparents and their friends. Their friends are usually just simply overjoyed that I took time out to meet them, and even if I don't manage to meet them everytime, that is fine too because there is no ego there. I feel we are the best when we are young or when we are old, because both times the heart is pure, the mind is clear as that is when we truly follow this, knowingly or unknowingly that whoever minds don't matter and whoever matters, don't mind.