So, I'm back in India again for the next week, hosting some clients who are in town. Got in late last night and am spending a nice leisurely weekend fighting the jetlag, taking in Bombay and of course, sari shopping for TheWife. The journey over wasn't too bad--a 7-hour flight, a 2-hour layover, and an 8-hour flight were made MUCH easier by two upgrades to business elite. Instead of cramming myself into the sardine box that is coach, I got to actually lie down, with a real-life pillow (not one of those gauze-wrapped turds in coach) and an appropriately sized blanket. Needless to say, I was nice and fresh upon arriving in India.
The other upshot of business elite is, of course, the food. Whereas in coach, they're throwing some sweet potato burrito or crappy four-cheese pizza at me every three hours, up front, it's nicer than any meal I'd be ordering at a restaurant, and that's not a lie. I can't remember when I've ever ordered warm mixed nuts, tomato basil soup, mixed green salad with walnuts and cranberries, braised short ribs in a red wine reduction with parsnip puree and sauteed carrots, all topped off with a fruit and cheese plate for dessert. Maybe I'm getting too excited about airplane food, but I thought it was REALLY good. I should also remind you that my favorite restaurant of all time is Chili's. So do with my words what you will.
I had the distinct pleasure of sitting next to some old Indian guy on the flight from Amsterdam to Bombay. The guy spoke very little English but didn't let that stop him from talking to me the entire flight in some bastardized form of Hinglish. He may as well have had no dentures in, because I had no clue what the F he was saying the entire time. Even after I told him in no uncertain terms that I don't speak Hindi, he kept asking me questions in Hindi and waiting for my response. After struggling through conversation about where I am from and what I do and where I grew up, he then asked me this question: "Where you bore?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Where you bore? New York?"
"Was I born in New York?"
"Yes. New York. You bore New York?"
"Yes."
"Mumble mumble aap ka mere tum bin kabhi kabhi hindi hindi bore."
"I'm sorry?"
"Morning? Night? When you bore?"
Now, to all of my non-Indian readers, you should understand this: Indians have a weird thing with astrology and are generally interested in stupid shit like "What time of the day were you born?" or "What is the best time of the day to get married?" and so on. It is the reason all Indians request bio-data from other families when a boy and a girl have met (or are to meet) and is also the exact reason I had to wake up at 4:45am on my wedding day to get married in a private ceremony before the large festivities began. Certain times of certain days are auspicious for various reasons, and we'll leave it at that. So as an Indian speaking to another Indian, it wasn't ENTIRELY weird that this guy was asking what time I was born. Maybe he has a daughter or granddaughter that he thinks is worthy of my attention--who knows. Whatever, I kept indulging this inane, worthless conversation.
"I was born in 1982. April 14."
"New York bore?"
"Yes, in New York."
"What time?"
"I have no idea. Morning I guess, but I really don't know. Sorry."
"You no know bore time? You get on plane? What time you bore? Morning long time night bore apka hum."
Really not knowing what the hell the plane has to do with what time I was born, I use my go-to:
"I'm sorry?"
"Plane Plane! Bore! New York! Bore! Time!!!"
If you're smarter than I am, hats off to you, but I only figured it out at this point. This guy has been asking me what time my flight BOARDED in New York, and I told him April 14, 1982. He must have been as confused as I was. For all I know, this guy is blogging away in Pune right now about the idiot American he tried talking to on the flight last night. And that, friends, is a long way of saying I need to learn Hindi!
The other upshot of business elite is, of course, the food. Whereas in coach, they're throwing some sweet potato burrito or crappy four-cheese pizza at me every three hours, up front, it's nicer than any meal I'd be ordering at a restaurant, and that's not a lie. I can't remember when I've ever ordered warm mixed nuts, tomato basil soup, mixed green salad with walnuts and cranberries, braised short ribs in a red wine reduction with parsnip puree and sauteed carrots, all topped off with a fruit and cheese plate for dessert. Maybe I'm getting too excited about airplane food, but I thought it was REALLY good. I should also remind you that my favorite restaurant of all time is Chili's. So do with my words what you will.
I had the distinct pleasure of sitting next to some old Indian guy on the flight from Amsterdam to Bombay. The guy spoke very little English but didn't let that stop him from talking to me the entire flight in some bastardized form of Hinglish. He may as well have had no dentures in, because I had no clue what the F he was saying the entire time. Even after I told him in no uncertain terms that I don't speak Hindi, he kept asking me questions in Hindi and waiting for my response. After struggling through conversation about where I am from and what I do and where I grew up, he then asked me this question: "Where you bore?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Where you bore? New York?"
"Was I born in New York?"
"Yes. New York. You bore New York?"
"Yes."
"Mumble mumble aap ka mere tum bin kabhi kabhi hindi hindi bore."
"I'm sorry?"
"Morning? Night? When you bore?"
Now, to all of my non-Indian readers, you should understand this: Indians have a weird thing with astrology and are generally interested in stupid shit like "What time of the day were you born?" or "What is the best time of the day to get married?" and so on. It is the reason all Indians request bio-data from other families when a boy and a girl have met (or are to meet) and is also the exact reason I had to wake up at 4:45am on my wedding day to get married in a private ceremony before the large festivities began. Certain times of certain days are auspicious for various reasons, and we'll leave it at that. So as an Indian speaking to another Indian, it wasn't ENTIRELY weird that this guy was asking what time I was born. Maybe he has a daughter or granddaughter that he thinks is worthy of my attention--who knows. Whatever, I kept indulging this inane, worthless conversation.
"I was born in 1982. April 14."
"New York bore?"
"Yes, in New York."
"What time?"
"I have no idea. Morning I guess, but I really don't know. Sorry."
"You no know bore time? You get on plane? What time you bore? Morning long time night bore apka hum."
Really not knowing what the hell the plane has to do with what time I was born, I use my go-to:
"I'm sorry?"
"Plane Plane! Bore! New York! Bore! Time!!!"
If you're smarter than I am, hats off to you, but I only figured it out at this point. This guy has been asking me what time my flight BOARDED in New York, and I told him April 14, 1982. He must have been as confused as I was. For all I know, this guy is blogging away in Pune right now about the idiot American he tried talking to on the flight last night. And that, friends, is a long way of saying I need to learn Hindi!
No comments:
Post a Comment