Wednesday, 17 July 2013

D for Drama

D for Drama

Oh come on now! You never saw this coming? I am Indian (and me) how can I not write about drama?

On the 7th of March 1992, in an unknown hospital in a dusty town in Kerala, I was delivered. With the first scent of the drama that my life is going to be, my little self launched into a long, tortured cry which was mistaken by the doctors to be a normal 'just-got-butt-slapped-by-the-doctor' cry. 

Fast forward to 2013 and here I am, a 21 year old wearied woman who has seen all the lemons that life has to offer. Well, most of 'em.

"What's wrong with this weirdo?", isn't that what you are thinking. No, don't hide it. It's too late. Plus, unlike Sheldon Cooper's mother, my mom didn't get me tested. So I can never really be sure if I am not the very house of crazy.

The thing is, drama pursues me no matter which corner of the world I go. My life has this very irritating habit of recreating worn out Bollywood clich├ęs just for the heck of it. I can see your raised eyebrow, so here's an example:

In my 21 years, I can count on one hand the number of times I've boarded a train without, um, dying. The rest of the time, I've had to run like a crazy woman, buckets of sweat pouring out of me, and my fifty thousand bags clutched to my chest, finally to get into the train in the nick of time. And just when I am about the flash the victory sign I realize there's a good 10 minutes before departure. What am I to do with all the adrenaline lying around after a sprint through probably the most crowded railway station in the world? Well, my now jittery body decides I can just make it worse and hit every single person on the way to my seat with my bags, and maybe step on a few toes too. 

Oh my public transport woes don't end there! There was once when I ran behind a moving bus (like all good Indians do) and jumped into it. It was my first time and I was elated. Till I found out I was on the wrong bus. Imagine my embarrassment when after all this-oh, I don't know DRAMA?-I had to make the driver stop the bus. I could FEEL the disapproving eyes of the entire bus on me as I got down.

No, this is not the end either. My life decided that buses and trains weren't enough and I should embarrass myself in international airports too. First things first, my family has this very weird obsession of carting things back and forth between countries. By my family, I mean my mother. So every time we fly to Italy, to my dad, our bags are filled to the brim with all sorts of pickles that the world has to offer, CLAY POTS ( I am not joking, my mom apparently HAS to have it to make 'authentic Kerala fish curry'), and an assortment of  Indian snacks and sweets.  And from Italy to India she carts back Italian cutlery and culinary contraptions.  The worst thing is that we are almost always carrying more baggage than we are allowed. This inevitably results in a few frantic minutes of rearranging luggage (where we take out the excess baggage and stuff it into our handbags in front of the entire airline staff) praying we are let through. 

The worst incident so far happened on our recent trip to Langkawi island, Malaysia. We reached the check in counter exactly 15 minutes before the boarding time. So we weren't allowed to check in our baggage despite me procuring a few tears and begging them to let our precious bag in. The stone faced lady at the counter printed our boarding pass and told us we could just take our cabin bags in. This resulted in us basically just sitting on the floor right there and emptying everything in our suitcase. I don't know what people thought of us as they saw us stuffing  undergarments and sanitary napkins (which seemed to have reproduced themselves in the suitcase) into plastic bags. My beautiful red suitcase was left behind in the cold airport floor and we boarded the flight looking like a family of sweaty nomads.

What terrifies me is that this is probably just the beginning of a lifetime of last minute luggage betrayal. *Sigh*

And this, my friends, is just an extract from the 'Transport' section of the volumes that make the drama that is my life. 

Another section for another day...




7 comments:

  1. Oh my God sweetheart, your blog posts make my heart swell with pride. We obviously share more than the same name. This post had me laughing for a good 15 minutes until my husband peeked in and checked if I had finally actually lost my mind. Great going niece!!! Rock on...

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    1. Hahaha! Thanks Nachu itha (or elema?)!
      I am glad you liked it :)I am a big fan of your blog. Love to read what lil'Mehreen is upto and now that Zayaan has joined your family, it's all the more fun! :D

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  2. I can relate to your "claypot" drama :-) dont worry nasreen, my mom buys a 100 of them everytime we come from ernakulam... it must be some sort of 'mom thing'!!!

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    1. Hahah...I know Kanju itha! We should put our mom's in rehabilitation :D

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  3. I really like the way you write mashaAllah!

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Thoughts?