Dear Indian,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. You looked a little lean the last time I saw you, which was a couple of hours ago when you almost ran into my bike trying to overtake me at 90kmph as I was slowing down at the traffic signal where we’re supposed to stop.
I have been in good health too, except for the sudden mini-heart attacks I’ve been having of late. Most of them seem to happen while I’m on the road, when one of you suddenly decides to spit out the remnants of your pan masala inches away from my foot. Or honks right behind me the second the traffic signal turns green thinking the 50 cars and bikes in front of me will magically disappear and I will be the only one left in your way for you to honk at. Or when there’s a buffalo trying to flex his butt muscles to the female in the middle of the road. Or was that a cow? Never mind. I think I need to go to a doctor to get my heart checked.
Which reminds me, where’s the nearest general physician? Although, I must admit, I’m a little picky when it comes to those. I like my doctors to have a door that doesn’t burst open 5 times while I’m in his office with patients (ironically named) being too impatient to wait their turn in queue. Then again, this happens at shopping malls, government offices, grocery stores…pretty much everywhere. So I’m guessing that’d be a little hard to find. But do let me know? Thanks.
The heart-attacks have also gotten me thinking I should just sell off my bike and return my licence. But God knows what “procedure” I will have to go through for all of that. It took me 3 trips to the RTO and set me back Rs. 5000/- in bribes to get my licence - to the clerk, officer behind the desk, officer at the gate, the peon who brings him water and even Rs. 2/- to the flies he tried swatting away, because they were the only things that seemed to get him to move off his fat butt to do some work. So imagine what I’d have to go through to cancel a license.
I wish I had friends I could talk to. The only friends in school I had were classmates who’d call me British Bulldog because I was the only one in the whole school who could string words together to form a grammatically correct sentence. I was once whacked on the back of my hands with a stick because I corrected the principal. He was telling a classmate off for being “shottily” dressed.
I must thank the stars for making me come back to live in India, though. How else would I learn how to bargain? Auto guys are such sweethearts. Before you even tell them where you want to go they’ll say, “200 rupees. No passengers on the way back, saar.” If only we had these people back in the Middle East, we’d have everything for cheaper there. Then again, quality comes at a price I guess.
Okay, I’ve got to go now. My mum wants me to take her to the pharmacy. I will ask them if they’ve got pacemakers in case my heart stops on the way back.
Lots of lou,
An ex-NRI
I hope this letter finds you in good health. You looked a little lean the last time I saw you, which was a couple of hours ago when you almost ran into my bike trying to overtake me at 90kmph as I was slowing down at the traffic signal where we’re supposed to stop.
I have been in good health too, except for the sudden mini-heart attacks I’ve been having of late. Most of them seem to happen while I’m on the road, when one of you suddenly decides to spit out the remnants of your pan masala inches away from my foot. Or honks right behind me the second the traffic signal turns green thinking the 50 cars and bikes in front of me will magically disappear and I will be the only one left in your way for you to honk at. Or when there’s a buffalo trying to flex his butt muscles to the female in the middle of the road. Or was that a cow? Never mind. I think I need to go to a doctor to get my heart checked.
Which reminds me, where’s the nearest general physician? Although, I must admit, I’m a little picky when it comes to those. I like my doctors to have a door that doesn’t burst open 5 times while I’m in his office with patients (ironically named) being too impatient to wait their turn in queue. Then again, this happens at shopping malls, government offices, grocery stores…pretty much everywhere. So I’m guessing that’d be a little hard to find. But do let me know? Thanks.
The heart-attacks have also gotten me thinking I should just sell off my bike and return my licence. But God knows what “procedure” I will have to go through for all of that. It took me 3 trips to the RTO and set me back Rs. 5000/- in bribes to get my licence - to the clerk, officer behind the desk, officer at the gate, the peon who brings him water and even Rs. 2/- to the flies he tried swatting away, because they were the only things that seemed to get him to move off his fat butt to do some work. So imagine what I’d have to go through to cancel a license.
I wish I had friends I could talk to. The only friends in school I had were classmates who’d call me British Bulldog because I was the only one in the whole school who could string words together to form a grammatically correct sentence. I was once whacked on the back of my hands with a stick because I corrected the principal. He was telling a classmate off for being “shottily” dressed.
I must thank the stars for making me come back to live in India, though. How else would I learn how to bargain? Auto guys are such sweethearts. Before you even tell them where you want to go they’ll say, “200 rupees. No passengers on the way back, saar.” If only we had these people back in the Middle East, we’d have everything for cheaper there. Then again, quality comes at a price I guess.
Okay, I’ve got to go now. My mum wants me to take her to the pharmacy. I will ask them if they’ve got pacemakers in case my heart stops on the way back.
Lots of lou,
An ex-NRI
