I stared at the clothing in the souvenir shop. " Cancún" is written on the cap. “Cancún” is written on the chest. Cancún written on the derrière. In myriad fonts and sizes. I wondered who buys all these souvenirs. I have occasionally purchased souvenir clothing in the past. But it is usually lower quality, overpriced, and seems to give a garish look. Then this guy steps into the shop.
An expensive place full of tourists is considered a popular destination. While an inexpensive place full of tourists will be called a crowded one. An expensive place lacking tourists is termed an exclusive destination. While an inexpensive place lacking tourists is considered deserted. It is never about other tourists, it is always about how much you spent.
A new Indian restaurant had opened within walking distance of where we live. We, actually, discovered it on the day of its inauguration ( Muhurta). The owner politely told us to come back the next day. We did. We were fifth in the queue on a long line outside the restaurant. A phone call came in from an acquaintance. The call was a good way to pass an hour-long wait. We would have certainly left the queue otherwise.
After renting a moped in Thailand, I stopped at a small shop to ask for a petrol pump/gas station. Instead, the shop owner handed me a bottle of gasoline for purchase. “Must be a peaceful country where they can sell gasoline in bottles.”, I said to myself, “In most parts of the world, people would use this as a petrol bomb during violent protests and riots.”
He is living in Europe. He is an American citizen. His parents are from Mexico. In Europe, he is an American. In America, he is Hispanic/Mexican. In Mexico, he is a Mexican of European descent.
Indian doctor After having continuous hiccups for ~24 hours, I walked to a nearby doctor’s clinic. " Uncle kaafi der se hitchkiyaan aa rahi hai, iska…" (I am having hiccups for a long while, can something…) [interrupted] He replies in a loud voice, " Beta, hitchkiyoon ka koi ilaaj nahi hota, kai baar mujhe aati hai" (Son, there is no cure for hiccups, sometimes, I have them for days) The tone was part patronizing and part condescending....
“I need the address.", the immigration official shouted at her, as she, a septuagenarian Indian woman, with her limited English, repeatedly, pointed to the paper containing the phone number of her daughter.
[At a local bus stand in Mexico] After I explained to my mother that to ask for time in Spanish (Espanol), she has to start with ke time se (Haryanvi), replace time with hora and reverse se to es. She turns to her left and asks the mexican mujer (woman), ke [que] hora es. The mujer shows her watch and tells the time in espanol, which of course was incomprehensible for us....
“Give me your wallet, bro” he said in his heavy accent while holding a gun to my forehead. It seems, out of pure curiosity, I have walked into this shady neighborhood of San Francisco. “Pull out your wallet,” he shouted, “and count the cash,” this time bringing my full attention to him. I pulled out my wallet, carefully counted all the nickels, pennies and dimes and said, “13 dollars, 59 cents, and one Indian Rupee”. “That’s it,” he blustered at the peak of his voice while I stood sweating profusely on a chilly night. He was not amused and pulled the trigger.
Getting Inside After getting misdirected once to 436 Hill St, San Francisco which is the old original address which does not exist anymore, I eventually reached 5 Wood St, San Francisco. It was the time of sunset, I knew I was late, but finally, it felt good to see a nondescript apartment marked “Gadar memorial”. Least, I expected locked doors. I did not drive 40 miles to stand in front of this locked door....