A Small World
A Five Star hotel. I am in the
lobby as PR person of a group promoting Indian dance. Sitting behind marble-topped
affluence and I feel a whiff of it by merely breathing in.
I smile – a muscular contraction
which reaches the eyes when someone says “hello” – otherwise a smile which
freezes above the cheekbone.
A fat American lady wearing
graded pearls and many wrinkles says, “you have a beautiful country” and I say,
“Yes, but we prefer yours” – she mouths an eloquent “aah” and, with a Yankee
shrug, totters away on her age old heels.
Texan Boy
A man with a heavy camera and an
accent to match, says “Excuse me, can I make photo you in saree”? He clicks and
I sit down once again and watch the mini-world go past.
A black couple change dollars at
the cashier’s counter opposite. A curly-headed French lady (she said “merci”
when I picked up her hanky) sidles up to her man and looks possessive while he
settels his bills.
Bang, bang, bang, a five-year-old
Texan boy (at least he looked like one in his tuxedo!) runs around the lobby
massacring all and sundry with his toy gun.
Old Spanish women, wearing large
straw hats, chatter away.
Another old tourist (nationality
unknown) asks, “Which way to the rest room please?”
All eyes turn to the tall blonde
who nonchalantly walks across the lobby to the swimming pool in her brief
bikini.
“How many elephants are there in
Elephanta caves and are they wild”? asks a man who looks like he’s from Boston.
“Gut morning, which way to the
beer shop?” enquires a German.
A pretty Italian girl wants to
know where the “beauty shop” is .
“Who is Sheeba”? asks a fair
tourist, “Solomon’s woman”, I say. “No, no, no, your god Sheeba”, I look
puzzled – light dawns – “Oh! Shiva”, and I tell her all about the dancing god.
“Pardon me, I wonder if you would
be kind enough to direct me to the chemist’s,” says an Englishman, sounding
like a passage from The Times.
An Australian lady, turned
Buddhist nun, talks of renunciation and I look at the plush luxury around with
a detached eye.
Fair Glimpse
A busload of tourists come back
from their day’s outing, armed with peacock feathers, snakeskin bags, brass
trombones. Rudrakshi beads and
saffron robes.
It’s time to go home and I
reluctantly lock my desk. It’s a small world and the lobby of a five-star hotel
gives you a fair glimpse of it.
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