Wednesday -
8 a.m - It's miserably early in the morning for someone like
me who has never been able to unscramble the so called joys of being a 'Morning
Person'. The official commitments impel the man of the house to somehow grab a
Croissant and head for a series of meetings that's going to keep me temporarily
nonexistent for him. He may not even be
able to make it for lunch and the only red carrot hanging for me remains the enticing thought of hijacking the consort's credit cards until I can have enough of all the stores of the Eaton Center which again, do not hesitate
from the (un)lawful audacity of closing down leaving the shopaholic other half in
the middle of a possible trial and error with another piece of alluring outfit on me. :D
9 a.m - Breakfast is done and we both take the elevator for our
respective destinations; the husband chooses the lobby to exit the hotel and
makes his way for a crazy day, and I head the twenty third floor. Midway down
our foray, something happens which is
completely unanticipated. Now we have a third member inside the conveyor, who,
to my understanding, is another long stay guest like us but unfortunately does
not seem to be in a very peaceful frame of mind. I do not know if it is owing
to too much of Sour Cream in the salad or the Celery has been way too crispy,
rather, fibrous for dinner last evening. Goes without saying, I have noticed
him fussing over the choice of menu at the breakfast buffet a number of times earlier, with none other
than the Falstaffian server, for whom,
more often than not, the load of the salvers appearing piping hot from the kitchen to
replenish everything that is laid out on the table for us becomes a bit extra
challenging. No wonders, cuteness comes in all shapes and sizes as he has to huff and puff at the same time clarify all the gastronomical
doubts that our fussy friend has got to submit almost every day. We find the guest fuming and fretting over some complex issue over a telephonic discussion that
doesn't at all look like getting resolved. The poor soul on the other side may
have been his subordinate and likely to have no option but to accept and put up
with a few choice words at his superior's command. As our fellow traveler
continues to bawl at the top of his voice with a grumpy tone and coarse accent
of an African -American decent, we get to have our last few minutes of
interaction before parting ways for the
time being. As an usual sight of the early hours, whenever I have my eyes on
the male members of the house and their genetically enviable Aquiline features,
the face always comes with a little spot of visible wound and traces of
coagulated blood. I have had my grandfather, father showing up in a similar manner after a clean
shave for years and now my husband is no exception. Yes, the after shave makes
it up to some extents, but the prominence of the redness on his chin can't
escape my notice now. As I spontaneously tend to raise my hand, as if, I had
some kind of soothing lotion to make it look and feel better, I realize he's getting
late and the hurt is drying up meanwhile. In a span of next few seconds, we are
to reach the lobby and I give the husband a glare that perhaps speaks volumes
on how he should be more careful while shaving and my forehead touches right on
his chin, which he very inherently, as a matter of habit, turns into a gentle
peck pulling me towards him a little closer to wish a good day ahead. All the
noise and the grumbling comes to a pause, and our fussy friend steals a glimpse
of the personal moment we are sharing and to our surprise he declares in a
starkly opposite note which is polite, soft and quite unlike what we know of
him. 'Whoaa...That is what I call deep love! You guys just made my day.'!! As the husband waves his hand and steps out
of the elevator, a tender reminder crosses my mind - A little more patience, a
pinch of compassion can make every deal in our day to day life easier. We are
humans, we work in a highly mechanical environment where we are bound to falter
and let each other down in our expectations. Expectations from our teachers,
from our families, friends, thereon from our employers. We are many a times
remunerated, applauded and recognized for what we are actually not. We are
rewarded for pretending to be someone else and reprimanded for being true to
ourselves at times. The offender of our fussy friend was most probably taken to
task for his imperfections and the trouble is all about the inability to
accept. The moment we start accepting that today is a deviation and we all
are a permutation and combination of what we 'can' and what we 'can not', there
will be barely any hard feelings left. :)
11 a.m - I receive an unexpected call from my husband when
he is supposed to be presenting his off shore team on some serious matters
relating to the client. All of a sudden I find myself in an urgency to get back
to the room from the gym and start looking for my passport while he is still on
hold inquiring if all the valuables are
still in place inside my purse. What purse? Goodness gracious! I have the whole white
Michael Kors kitty missing and a consecutive realization of the same leaves me
with some precursory symptoms of dementia. I get to believe yet want to
disbelieve : the previous evening was the very last time I had my hands on the
beautiful hand bag which also contained my wallet few Canadian dollars, my
credit cards and my PASSPORT! Yes my PASSPORT! As I am just about to slant down into a
hysterical surge, the man of the house starts accelerating his level of
calmness and patience while telling me - 'I got a call from the manager of the
restaurant where we had dined last
evening. He said the stewardess found a white Michael Kors evening bag from one
of the tables for two by the window. Could you please leave everything else
that you are doing and go and collect it?' By the time he paused, I had
collapsed into a desensitization hence unable to come into terms with the shock
this news just brought in. I was bewildered to find him still not going mad at
me, instead comforting me so that I could help myself from getting further
flustered and not curse my forgetfulness. As tears start rolling down my cheeks
imagining the terrible consequences of losing my id and passport, my superbly
confident and optimistic husband advises me to rush quickly and procure the
essentials from the venue and literally not bother or make a fuss over the
probable loss of cash and credit cards. My passport is all that he wants to
ensure as safe and to be returned intact to me. For a second, I felt extremely
sorry for him, and I know him to be as short-tempered and forthright as me.
Then why this noble act of forgiveness and letting me go without getting
upbraided for the grave charges of losing the only document that allows me to step beyond the Canadian frontier and accompany him back home? :(
12 noon - Soon it starts drizzling outside, and the
uncertainty drenches my residual hope thoroughly. What if I don't get it back?
What if the person concerned denies any responsibility to have held my
belonging in his custody for so long? What evidence will I have to claim that
I'm the owner of the bag? I'm sure they haven't installed a CCTV to record the
entry and exit of each and every guest in a private fine diner. And I of course
do not wish to disturb the man in the middle of his work to solve my ordeal. My
dad's words begin to chase me. They had significance galore which make more
sense now. I remember him once telling me - 'One day you will be so consumed with yourself, that you'll miss out on many important things going around.' I could
figure out a clear cut connection between
his then statement (which definitively wasn't a delight to my ears) and
my current predicament that has crippled me mentally. The fact remains same
that however vocal we appear, however independent we stand in our status,
choices and decisions, we have been brought up in a mighty protective and delicate fashion, which
somewhere has empowered us with an unconscious and brutal bravery to shove the
culpability of most of the things in relation to our lives on someone else's shoulder. It's not that he doesn't like it or treats it as a liability, but
isn't such blind credence in a special someone to take away the lead always a bit
scary? Earlier it's our doting parents, later it is an extra ordinary man with
many hats who's in charge of setting things right. But the dilemma for me keeps
growing manifold as the twenty first century woman in me with numerous super
powers to run errands, domestic as well as official can't accept the other
gender as more proficient multitaskers. The basic idea is that we all are humans and it means we are (supposed o be)
multi-talented. :D
12:15 p.m. - I put all my postulations to rest for the time
being and arrive at the sight of my lost and found possession. With a warm welcome the hostess
introduces me to the manager. Over a round of casual quip and a freshly brewed Cappuccino,
the fifty-something gentleman restores back
everything that I had misplaced with utmost generosity and hospitality. I know a lot of people may not like me being
blatant and pointing it out, but truthfully, could I have expected this gesture
in a country where I am raised? The answer is perhaps a big NO. *Sigh*
12:30 p.m. - On my
way back to the hotel, I turn on the front camera of my Iphone for a quick
selfie of a rather gleeful Ushasi grinning away in glory followed by an instant message to Mr. Vasu Mallik with a loud exclamation - 'Yippie'! What also
doesn't escape from storming up my memory bank is a chain of several experiences of mine
during my India days. One of them had unquestionably left me in a lurch and a very
bitter taste in the mouth. A Sunday
evening it was, and I was busy grabbing some random stuffs from a
departmental store. My fellow Indian from another (anonymity intended ) state
craftily managed to flick my cell phone away without a trace at the check out
counter standing right next to me in the queue. Only after paying and picking
up my packet, I realized that the device didn't beep at the notification while
the money was duly debited. Having left with no option I had to return to the same
shop whose owner satisfactorily showed me the CCTV clip of the mastermind eying and successfully pilfering my phone and leaving the store. This was in
my very own Dwarka, New Delhi, 2011. And yes, I did file an FIR too, as my
mobile contained personal texts, my bank details and pictures in the gallery as
well as the whole set of contact numbers of my folks. I even went to the extent
of lodging a complaint and following it up for next couple of months with the
higher officials of Delhi Police, but my hopes that some serious action will be
taken against the mugger gradually dried up in smoke. Pardon me for generalizing, but I haven't had
such luxury (encounter ending on a positive note) before. Sorry Mango people in
a Banana Republic! You missed out on getting blogged by me. Start believing in
a slice of blessing every day and spread some love. ;)
