One of the many things that I love about my life is the little trips (spanning for a minimum of 20 days) that I take with my parents to places that are historically, religiously, culturally, spiritually and geographically important. I’ve been to Rishikesh and Haridwar, to Delhi forts and Mysore palaces. In this series, I shall try and recall, and list down some of the things I enjoyed doing, some that I did because I had to, and some that I did without knowing why I had to!
On July 3, 2011, my parents, my perimma, my mom’s friend and I reached the Meenambakkam airport by 8 am to catch our Delhi flight. After we finished checking in, my mom, her friend and my perimma, who strictly believe that a person should eat his breakfast like he’s the king, opened their pottlam of pongal and vadai. I hurriedly moved away from them, lest they decide to offer me a piece of the vadai as well, and embarrass me in front of the rest of the crowd (Pongal in domestic airport!) ! After seeing off my attai, cousin and paati, who, by the way, were flying to Mumbai to attend my cousin’s engagement, we rushed to our terminal to board.
I guess all modes of public transport – bus, train and flight – come together to conspire against me. Whenever I decide to use their services, they will either a)arrive late b) not come at all c) arrive, pick me up and halt in the middle of nowhere owing to a puncture or lack of petrol or 1000 other technical faults or d) arrive, pick me up and reach the destination 200 hours late. In this case, it was the option ‘a’ ! We had to wait for about 2 hours before our blessed Kingfisher took off to Delhi.
I was stunned when I entered the Delhi domestic airport. It was huge, aesthetically-decorated and had instructions plastered on all four corners, guiding the lost travellers. AKA me. It was only after 45 minutes that we collected our baggage and made our way to get inside a taxi that we had pre-booked. We went and dumped our luggage at the koviloor mutt, where we were allotted a very nice and comfy AC bedroom. While both the aunts rested, my parents and I took the Delhi metro to reach IGNOU campus, where one of my dad’s cousins stays with his family. The rest of the day, or rather what was left of it, was spent chatting with them.
July 4
I admit I’m a shopaholic. Or maybe, a window shopaholic. Which explains why I didn’t mind roaming around in the hot sun on an otherwise lazy Monday afternoon in Janpath and Karol Bagh. Apart from a couple of leggings (which I anyway can get at a cheaper rate in Pondy Bazar), I didn’t buy much. Oh, that’s if you don’t count the clips and hangars and ropes that the grown-up women got, saying they were planning to use them during the rest of our journey to dry clothes!
July 5
My mother and her friend, Geetha, are what we call, enthu pattani. Bringing the laptop and mailing snippets to my TOI editor is one thing. But catching a bus, a train and an auto to reach KVS regional office to clarify a teeny weeny doubt in some auditing is just taking sincerity to the next level. While amma and G did their job, literally, my dad, my perimma (P) and I nicely slept through the day. We then went to the New Delhi station to catch the Amritsar Shatabdi and reached the Golden City of Punjab at 11 pm. I was overwhelmed to see so many Sardarjis. I’ve secretly always wanted to meet some of them and flaunt my Punjabi that I learnt watching Akshay Kumar, Shah Rukh Khan and Ajay Devgn in films. So, when our Sardar driver came up to us (the hotel in which we were scheduled to say in had been kind enough to send us a transport), I refused to let my dad speak. Right from – tuhada ki haal hai (the driver was a young chap!) to tanva yahe vaad ji (though I could have just said shukriya or dhanyavad or thanksss!), I was literally gloating in Punjabi. Like Rajinikanth, I was talking, walking, breathing and eating the language!
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