RELATIONSHIPS ARE LIKE TREES..

I had gone to this party hosted at one of my friends’ house; he was celebrating a major business win… It was real stag party; none of the fellows present had brought along their wives or girlfriends or kids….

As many expats know – it was that time of the year when the schools close for a five-week break and the wives rush back to their homes in India along with the kids leaving the hubby alone…. And I will let you in on a secret – many hubbies look forward to this break… They actually find so much work to do in office that they cannot accompany their families.

And in that group there were some who had a different story to tell…. The most effervescent among them was going through a difficult divorce…. Another friend, who had already made a pile with his contracting business and football betting, was an abandoned husband – his wife had left him for “higher studies” and moved to Australia with the kid – he was on a sort of two-year notice to give up his gambling and betting habits, and drinking…. A third fellow had just come back from India; his bride-to-be had eloped with her lover the day before the marriage was to take place… While there were quite a few like me who had left their families back in India for the sake of the children’s education….

The fellow who was hosting the party was a classic case – he was from Sri Lanka, purchased property and settled in New Zealand, and had married an Australian lady; one of his daughters was doing her post graduate studies in Canada while the younger one was in college in Australia and his wife spent her time shuttling between three countries and had no time to visit him. The last time they met was at Singapore’s Changi airport, two weeks before this party – she was flying east across the Pacific to Canada; he was flying west across the Bay of Bengal to Sri Lanka.

There was one poor fellow from Bangladesh whose newly wedded wife simply refused to leave her country and accompany him…. These were the “hardcore bachelors” of that expat community – always viewed with suspicion by the wives at the regular parties ….

The exotic addition to that party was crocodile meat… Crocodile, being an endangered species, is protected in most countries that do not have a crocodile farm, and in some countries their meat is simply banned…. And yet some unfortunate crocodiles get entangled in fishermen’s nets… the fishermen sometimes do have to kill them to protect their catch and the nets; and then they sell the meat clandestinely when they come ashore… It was through one of these channels that some crocodile meat landed up on our party table….

We had barbecued crocodile with whisky, then crocodile “nuggets” with whisky and finally crocodile curry (jhol !) with steamed rice, and of course, with no one frowning in the background, whisky kept flowing freely…

The conversation as usual was loud and covered a wide range of topics from how that particular friend had bet on a football club in some European league and won a handsome seventeen thousand dollars sitting halfway across the world and how he had followed that club for four seasons before hitting his “jackpot”, to how women in India no longer cared about expat husbands any more and were more interested in marrying IT fellows back home…

After a few rounds of whisky and crocodile meat, some became philosophical…we talked about how unfair life was for the crocodile that ended up on our table….. and something should be done about it, that being an endangered species and stuff – a conversation that was adequately stopped by more barbecued crocodile and one more round of whisky…

Then people started saying their goodbyes and leaving – they wanted to get home while they could still drive, finally leaving the stage for the five of us… we gathered together with one more round of whisky and barbecued crocodile…. And started talking about life….

And then one of them said, “Life is actually like a tree; you need to decide what kind of tree you want to become as you grow old…..” He went on to expand, “You can be a coconut tree or a casuarina tree or a banyan tree… the choice is yours…”

“If you are a coconut tree then you can be noticed from far but are not only of no use to people near you; you can be dangerous… If you are a casuarina, then you are definitely beautiful and do provide some shade to people, but the grass does not grow near your feet and many creatures shun you… Whereas if you are a banyan tree, you can touch the lives of those around you and make it beautiful for them…..”

As I drove home that night sozzled to the gills, those words rankled in my mind….. I tried putting it against the backdrop of some of the relationships that my group of friends had…. Trees ? Yes, some of those relationships were like winter trees without leaves casting scrawny, spiny shadows in moonlight, like a chiaroscuro of life that had gone awry….

But that is life, isn’t it, with its infinitely varied forms…

***

There have been many years and many parties between that one and today – but those words still haunt me as I search for my model tree….

***** 

Somoy Nei (No time !!)

Kolkata to Dhaka is a thirty-five minute flight. My ticket had been booked for the late afternoon, on a 48-seater, twin-propeller aircraft. Nothing wrong with that, except for the fact that it was overtaken in mid-flight by a flock of geese, also presumably flying to Dhaka. The disgusting part was that the geese not only overtook us, they flew above us …. One of those fellows perhaps even cocked a head to look back at us…. but I will discount that piece…

On board we were greeted by 1.582 air-hostesses – the decimals attributable to the thinnest lady I have ever seen in my life – almost a sari-clad fountain pen, and taller than me. A gentleman is not supposed to discuss a lady’s vital statistics in civil conversation, but there are always exceptions - in this case the numbers should read 25-25-25 – if my eyesight has not forsaken me….. She was ideally suited for that kind of aircraft, with its narrow aisle.

As the plane started to rumble on the tarmac, she came along with a cardboard tray; I asked what she had and she said supari and toffees and that I should hurry up with my choice – “somoy nei.” Then, after the obligatory pantomime on safety measures, we took off. Within minutes, the captain’s voice could be heard telling us that we would be flying at 13,000 feet and “Inshallah” we would be landing at Dhaka in about twenty-seven minutes. “Inshallah ? Whatever happened to navigation instruments, GPS and the ATC network ?” I began wondering.

The air-hostesses began serving refreshments, and I asked what it was, and the thin one said non-veg and I should hurry up because, “somoy nei”. Half-way through my samosa she cleared my tray with a casual “May I?” but I was not looking at her, the geese overhead, by this time, had my attention – what with bird hits being the “in thing” these days…….

Then began the short descent – with the ground kind of rushing upwards, the other air-hostess spoke over the PA system that we were due to land “Inshallah” at Dhaka’s Zia International airport. “Inshallah ? When the ground is rushing up to meet you at over two hundred kilometres an hour ?” I bit my lip.

In all my travels before, I have never seen aircraft wheels actually make contact with the runway while landing – now I did, and, believe me, it was scary – a fear multiplied many times over by the captain and crew’s constant “Inshallah” refrain. We reached Dhaka forty-five minutes behind schedule. And she was saying, “Somoy nei.”

I was braver on the return flight, now that I sort of knew what to expect. I met her tray half-way and picked up the toffee with alacrity, and when they served the food, tore the sandwich with both hands to gulp it, dropped the samosa to the floor in the process, pocketed the chocolate bar for my kids – in short, managed to clean up my tray before they yanked it away. Superman could not have done it faster. Did not give her the chance to say, “Somoy nei.”

We reached Kolkata – a thirty-five-minute flight, seventy-five minutes late….. Cannot write much more about a 35-minute flight…. Oto somoy nei….

Next time I’ll take a jet to reach Dhaka. And beat the geese to it. 

Inshallah.