I can’t help it, whenever I travel, I find stories. Either they follow me or I eavesdrop too much. Sitting at Jodhpur airport as I looked at some of my fellow passengers ( and for want of stories, I do stare) I realized they can be easily classified as
- the normal class like me and you, jeans and shirts types, who pack their bags with Jodhpur goodies like कचोरी and घेवर and then huff and puff with their luggage ( but who forget the glares even when travelling to the sun city in May).
- then there is a local class ( no offence- they are the locals of Jodhpur) easily identified by their paunches, distinct gait, accent and clothes. Men typically wear white pants, white shirt, gold chain and earrings, black shoes and black glares (even in the shade). Women in their synthetic saris and heavy gold jewelry with their head respectfully covered and carrying varieties of printed and embroidered थैले and kids.
- there is the tourist class who go for the express reason of visiting the fort and because it is en route to Jaisalmer. They insist on wearing thin and frayed ethnic ensemble with multiple layers, headgear, scarves, inner shirts and outer shirts, all of different but indistinguishable colors and still manage to look paper-thin. ( even they remember the glares)
- finally the elite class, who wear the designer बंधेज suits and their glares are always perched on top of their puffed hair ( how they manage that, I fail to fathom, when I try that, my glasses insist on falling off- maybe my head is the wrong shape) and their obnoxiously big flashing diamond rings on multiple fingers, designer looking bags, the western accent and oh the arrogance, returning from a destination wedding.
I had the pleasure of sitting next to an elite family yesterday who were discussing loudly about the wedding they just came from. In the 10 minutes, I felt almost as if I had been there. Catered by the Taj group, 1000-1200 people invited, family in diamonds business worth few thousand crores (gulp), had invited Shahrukh Khan ( who probably did not do the honors) . The big fat Indian wedding dinner was a 7 course meal costing 7000-8000 Rs per plate. Thank God, the menu was not elaborated upon. The 7 day festivities with polo match and cricket match and bachelors party and couples dinner and संगीत and of course, the wedding. The 2 couples discussing this were related and the better halves suitably waved their diamond glittered hands every once in a while. I was feeling decidedly poor on hearing and seeing the display of wealth. Had I taken a selfie, you would probably see my mouth hanging open ( maybe even drooling). Jodhpur airport does not have a lounge so even the elitists have to sit with us normal class and we are exposed to the world we know close to nothing about. But I always enjoy sitting next to people who can talk of thousands of crores as a matter of complete insignificance.
Another old episode I remember vaguely concerned a गुज्जु family ( again, this is not a racist post, they were from Gujarat, so ). This was an international flight and I had an aisle seat and people were still walking in. This military looking husband walked in with a frail bird-like wife hovering behind carrying loads of luggage. I realized their seats were in my row so I got up so they could move in. I had to stand for about 10-15 minutes as husband dear tried to find space for the number of items they were carrying- opening every overhead compartment, moving everything around, all the while cursing loudly. Finally they settled in with some pieces of the luggage on and around them (if you have been on a train before in India, you can visualize the scene). And then the overbearing husband had to point out his “ज्ञान” to his ever suffering dutiful wife of forty years- about aircrafts, about runaways and what not. When she could not tie her seatbelt, he had to do it for her. When she fumbled with the TV screen, he leaned forward aggressively to help but could not even after multiple finger pokes, finally I had to pitch in to get it working for her. And when the tea was served- the wife promptly took out the Marie biscuits from one of the numerous bags and served it. Had they offered the थेपला, I would probably have taken it. The long flight with the अचारी smells and other aromas of dubious origin coming from right next seat kept me company throughout. (I thought I had posted this story sometime back, but could not find it).
As kids when travelling by train, I remember my dad carrying his aluminum suitcase and 5-6 थैला around his neck, one carrying medicines for all possible ailments (but if you needed a Crocin, that may have been forgotten) , one carrying food and biscuits, one- a towel and chain complete with lock and key and a few handkerchiefs , bowl and spoons, coins, nail-cutter and also some cleaning clothes- just in case (and rest I never really got around to- since I was not allowed to peek inside them). And of course multiple water bottles and vacuum flasks. Over time the suitcase became a trolley, the train journey became a flight but the count of झोलाs of थोले Banerjee as he was named did not reduce.
My bro is another unique piece. Once he was planning to visit Pune during November and asked me whether it was going to be cold. Pune and cold? When he turned up for a 2 day visit, he had a big suitcase and a bag along with an overnighter. When I tried to enquire about the too much luggage- he told he has a set of clothes for summer, a set of clothes for mild winter and a set of clothes for extreme winter. !!! and of course it could rain, and there has to be a change of wear for every season. I am only glad he did not bring along a Parka and snow boots and bandana. And his overnighter can only carry his vanity case with all his creams for the face and foot and fingers and arms and other anatomical parts. (not to forget the Boroline without which our family never moves an inch).
When I send my son back to college after a vacation, I pack all possible foodstuff I can lay hands on and that would fit in his reasonably big suitcase bursting at the seams even though he has to pay excess luggage. But the काजू and बादाम and मसालाs and ready-to-eats and cooked सब्जीs and रोटीs and पराठाs have to go. After all, the genes and the baggage crosses over the generation boundary.