Splat! It missed my feet by inches - a colorful concoction of beetlenut-leaf juice and human saliva.
This sudden external stimulus was akin to a viper spitting venom. The momentary defensive response gave way to volcanic aggression. Anger, disgust and rush of blood joined hands to become choicest Hindi expletives!
Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&*#, teri *&^ *@!
All in vain. The anonymous enemy had disappeared into the motley crowd of passengers, visitors, taxi drivers, policemen, beggars and stray dogs. Could there have been a better welcome outside the Mumbai internatioal airport?
A few deep breaths later, I had time to reflect on my behavior. The queue for taxi-booking was proverbially a mile long. "Was your outburst commensurate with your image? An MNC manager returning from US - does 'Bh@#%^&#' sound nice emanating from you? Relax! Control yaar!" I told myself sarcastically.
"Hold on, just a dozen more heads before your turn comes..hold on!" I reassured myself. Hot and humid evening, a crowd of sweaty smelly people and the mountain of luggage I was lugging along formed a potent combination of irritants. But the destination was visible now. After almost half an hour of jostling, the paan-stained glass-shattered taxi booking counter was finally visible.
Not so soon.
In walked from the passenger exit, a big-burly figure wearing a spotless white pathan suit. The area upwards of his forehead was as infertile as the Thar desert. All vegetation had moved to the face it seemed. His thick, dark beard made him look
ferocious. "Surely a Jaat from Haryana" I thought. I hated the very look on his face.
He walked towards us assuredly and calmly turned straight towards the counter. I was infuriated. I summed up my courage and raised my voice.
"Boss, humlog ek ghante se line mein khade hain. Aap line mein kyun nahin aate?"
I then looked behind, ahead and sideways for support. None came my way.
The only thing that did - was that big-burly figure. He said in an unperturbed deep-baritone voice, "Aapko koi taqleef?".
After a brief pause, I wiped the sweat off my forehead, took a gulp, looked 'up' at the looming figure and replied nervously -
"Umm..aaa..Nahin Sir, taqleef kis baat ki. Aaa..Aap ko jaldi hogi. Koi baat nahin Sir!"
"Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&(#, teri *&^ *%" came out yet again as the Jaat turned his back. Only that the decibel level was much lower.
I had paid Rs. 300 for an old dilapidated yellow-black taxi for a 7 km distance - a princely amount by Indian standards. This was my chance to relax a bit after the 16 hour air-travel. More than a 'bit' actually - it generally takes an hour to cover 7 Kms in Mumbai.
I tossed some luggage into the back-seat and settled in the front. I had just about closed my heavy eyelids when the vehicle came to a screeching halt. As I opened my eyes, a woman and her kid smoothly crossed the road - barely inches ahead
of us! Despite being so close to a fatality, nobody seemed to have been alarmed!
Was I the only one that felt the goose bumps?
I realized I was done in by six months of conditioning - driving in the US. The next half an hour was a nightmare to say the least. Aggressive lane cutting, absence of traffic signals at important crossings, pedestrians jumping in impulsively - whuff! Price tag on human life seemed so cheap. Pedestrians put their life at risk, so did drivers and so did the general public that inhaled the deadly polluted air. My pulse rate raced. So much for wanting to relax a bit.
In the last leg of my 7 Km journey, a thousand comparisons between US and India flooded my mind. I had lived a regal life back in Atlanta - a huge apartment with a swimming pool and tennis court, an awesome car and terrific clean roads to drive on. There were systems and processes setup for everything and more importantly, everyone adhered to them.
Comparedly - India, like before, seemed so unruly. Everyone had to fend for themselves in the daily struggle for survival. And in that struggle, people seemed to have adapted to anarchy. Indians seemed to have resigned to Jungle Raj, and I would have to fall in line too, in due course.
"You chose to!" I reminded myself. I could have extended my assignment, but had felt home-sick, and decided to return.
"Was it the right decision?" I contemplated seriously.
I rang the door-bell. I was exhausted from the ordeal of the last 24 hours, and perhaps a little bitter.
Ma opened the door. It had been six months since having seen this expressive face. Expectancy in her eyes turned into childish joy. It warmed my heart.
Shveta came out of hiding from behind Ma. She had been a perfect wife - a source of dependable support for the family in Mumbai and also for me from so far away. Her smile said it all. She was relieved to have me back.
Dad and younger brother were more conservative in their welcome. The familiar smell of the small yet cosy 2-BHK apartment felt nice. My fatigue melted away effortlessly.
At the dining table, over my first helping of favorite home cooked food, only three things stayed with me. Ma's expectant eyes, Shveta's relieved smile and the sweet smell of what I knew as home. I somehow knew instantaneously that this ecosystem could not be replicated at or exported to any other place. I realized how critical these factors were to what makes me as a person. I would not say that in that one moment, my inferences were all rational. But one thing is for sure - there was absolute clarity.
I was convinced that I could not give this up for anything in this world - not for the daily conveniences, not for the quality of life.
I had afterall made the right decision. Paan spits and the great Indian anarchy were compromises I could live with :)
