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back home

As quite a few of my blog readers must be aware by now, I was in the United Kingdom for the past 5 months. However, a lucky break which came about partially due to Diwali and partially due to my absolute refusal to work anymore, has resulted in my getting to make a short rejuvenating trip back home to India.

And so it was that I boarded the Virgin Atlantic flight to Mumbai.
Aside: How can it still be a virgin after I rode it on my way out to the UK?

Ok bad one. Couldnt resist it. Anyway, all was fine until the plane had landed safely at Chhatrapati Shahuji Maharaj International Airport Mumbai. I mean, the flight itself was the usual boring bit, hot stewardesses, the mandatory gay steward, the choice of red and white wine and very small helpings of food, nothing more.Even when I was accosted by a chap before the customer counter who profferred to take me through customs without any checking for 20 pounds, I was not bothered too much. I mean, India is a poor country and this is obviously a fast track service designed with the time conscious traveller in mind.

Corruption, you say? What are you talking about, you non-understanding moron. All these agents had official ID tags affixed proudly to their chests. Corruption, indeed. Humphh. Though I did not have anything that customs would anyway have been bothered about is something that skipped the attention of this particular chap despite being reminded about the same about six times is probably the only sore point. He was probably new and was on on the job training I believe. He will learn enough to take in such nuances into account in future, worry you not.

Anyway, we are getting distracted. Yes, it was only when I stepped out of the ridiculously air conditioned airport terminal onto the waiting area and was met by a searing gust of hot air, a sea of humanity with silly looking placards, a feral roar emanating from their throats and an overpowering stench of indescribable quality, all in that precise order, that I realised what I had been missing sorely in these past five months.

The awareness drive was not yet over. Used as I am to spending more than a pound for my morning coffee at Cambridge railway station enroute to Norwich, I was jolted back when four beggars asked me to give them just one angrez coin to them. That coin is worth enough money to feed one of them for 2 whole days is a realisation that made me regret having those now-seemingly-ludicrously expensive coffees.And to top it all, once my taxi hit the city roads, the merry way in which people cut lanes to reach nowhere, the amount of horn blaring, the sheer number of cars and people on the roads, brought it all rushing back to me. This, nothing but this, was my India. My home.

Vande Mataram.

someone has arrived...

aaur obvious to lagna hi nahi cahiye ;)

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