Chapter 1: Planes, planes and more planes
Chapter 2: Meeting Mumbai
Chapter 3: Ulhasnagar
Chapter 4: Why Lemonade SUCKS
Chapter 5: Milo Punjab Nu
The plane from Mumbai to Amritsar was a plane that was basically only the width of your regular city bus, because the flight was a short one. As we approached Punjab, something changed outside - instead of seeing dirt-brown stretches of murky land for miles through the window, I was seeing green. There were many green fields surrounding villages, and finally, many trees as well. A slight morning fog blanketed all the green, and even from the plane I could tell it was a change from the harshly sunny Mumbai. We exited the plane and immediately, I was struck by the temperate weather and lack of a foul smell. I mean, it wasn't Oregon pine air, but compared to the steamy fish soup Mumbai was, it was - no pun intended - a breath of fresh air. And then, to the Amritsar airport. It was a nondescript, nearly empty airport, a contrast from all the airports I had been to during this trip earlier. We gathered our luggage silently and, after excitedly spotting my mom's two sisters, we made our way outside, to the dusty area leading to the parking lot.
Something strange happened then. A little girl with a swarthy, round, pleasant face, with clothes coated in dust, approached me and said in a singsong voice "Didiaaaa, das rupay daydoooooh....didiaaaa, das rupay daydooooooh" [Sister, give me ten rupees]. Her hands were cupped in front of me, and I felt so bad that I begged the adults to let me give her money. They were a bit hesitant, as they knew that people used children to get money. But in the end, they gave me a solid amount of money (for her).. 20 or 50 rupees, to give to the little girl. She looked quite elated and ran off to join her group of similar-looking children. Funny, I thought, how they all were dressed in the same outfit and the same dirt, with the same expression on their face, staring at us after this little girl had scored a lottery of sorts. But I shrugged it off. At least it wasn't rude like the last time I came to India, when I gave a little boy begging for money, a balloon I had just bought, and he glared at me wordlessly and stomped off with the balloon. Geez, I thought he would be happy. Anyways, where was I?
Oh yes, I gave the little girl money, and then we said hi to our uncle, Sunny Masarji who was waiting to drive us to Saloni Masi/Manavjit Masarji/Simar's house.
Before I continue, I want to give you the "cast of characters" of all my main relatives in Amritsar so you can follow along.
Pamma Masi: She is my mom's eldest sister, the eldest of the four of them (my mom, her two sisters and one brother). Her husband is Sunny Masarji. Their daughter, Zuby Didi, is married and lives in Hyderabad, so we didn't get to meet her this time around, though we did get to spend a couple days with their son, Choji Veerji, when he came home from college.
Saloni Masi: She is the second oldest of my mom's siblings. Her husband is Manavjit Masarji. Her elder daughter, Sippy Didi, is actually living in Canada right now with my Mamaji and his family because she's going to college there. However, her younger daughter Simar was there when we visited.
You'll learn a lot more about all these people in the next chapter, where I'll talk about what we did when we arrived at their house, and beyond. Keep reading!
Something strange happened then. A little girl with a swarthy, round, pleasant face, with clothes coated in dust, approached me and said in a singsong voice "Didiaaaa, das rupay daydoooooh....didiaaaa, das rupay daydooooooh" [Sister, give me ten rupees]. Her hands were cupped in front of me, and I felt so bad that I begged the adults to let me give her money. They were a bit hesitant, as they knew that people used children to get money. But in the end, they gave me a solid amount of money (for her).. 20 or 50 rupees, to give to the little girl. She looked quite elated and ran off to join her group of similar-looking children. Funny, I thought, how they all were dressed in the same outfit and the same dirt, with the same expression on their face, staring at us after this little girl had scored a lottery of sorts. But I shrugged it off. At least it wasn't rude like the last time I came to India, when I gave a little boy begging for money, a balloon I had just bought, and he glared at me wordlessly and stomped off with the balloon. Geez, I thought he would be happy. Anyways, where was I?
Oh yes, I gave the little girl money, and then we said hi to our uncle, Sunny Masarji who was waiting to drive us to Saloni Masi/Manavjit Masarji/Simar's house.
Before I continue, I want to give you the "cast of characters" of all my main relatives in Amritsar so you can follow along.
Pamma Masi: She is my mom's eldest sister, the eldest of the four of them (my mom, her two sisters and one brother). Her husband is Sunny Masarji. Their daughter, Zuby Didi, is married and lives in Hyderabad, so we didn't get to meet her this time around, though we did get to spend a couple days with their son, Choji Veerji, when he came home from college.
Saloni Masi: She is the second oldest of my mom's siblings. Her husband is Manavjit Masarji. Her elder daughter, Sippy Didi, is actually living in Canada right now with my Mamaji and his family because she's going to college there. However, her younger daughter Simar was there when we visited.
You'll learn a lot more about all these people in the next chapter, where I'll talk about what we did when we arrived at their house, and beyond. Keep reading!
3 comments:
oh i remember that toxic air!!! and the little girl!!!
huh?
Huh what? Did ya read the post? Manne's talking about what I typed about a begging girl and the smelly air.
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