Snippets : Life of an American desi
Sarita had just moved to LA (Los Angeles) with the family and a larger than life picture was slowly unfolding before her. As she set around her routines, she realized that a weekly visit to the mall was a must.
Her days in Jallander had told her that to know a new city, one must walk or use the public transport. Off went Sarita to ride on a bus. As the bus halted, she got in quickly and sat on a seat. Plush seats, AC bus, few passengers …she was feeling oh so comfy. After settling she wondered why the bus conductor was not to be seen. She looked around and she realized that faces were prying at her and the driver was also giving her glancing looks from the mirror as he was driving. Sarita realized that something was amiss. So she asked a lady passenger about the conductor. It was only then that Sarita realized the faux pas that she had committed. She was in fact a ticket less traveler at that moment. She promptly went to the driver and put the change in the funnel.
As she sat on her seat she found another funny thing. It was the passengers who rang the bell when they had to get down. A lesson in division of labor – the driver taking care of tickets and the passengers taking care of the alighting – thus totally eliminating the need of a bus conductor.
Sarita alighted the bus and was now on her way to the mall. The mall was a huge gigantic structure with long alleys and gangways. The racks were stocked with all possible stuff that the customers could possibly need. She set about stacking the shopping basket with goodies. Suddenly she thought of making some spicy sev puri at home and started looking around for dates. Not able to locate them, she approached a uniformed salesman nearby
‘Excuse me, where can I find a date?’
The baffled look on the salesman’s face put Sarita on the back foot ‘date, date’ she muttered again. Oh no again a faux pas she thought to herself.
‘I mean the fruit –date – the fruit. – where can I find it?’ she repeated, gesticulating with her hands.
The man too looked relieved and he quickly moved to the shelf where the dates were stacked. Sarita swiftly took the packet of dates and with the same speed rushed to the cash counter, lest she may have to face the salesman again. The thought itself made her feel so awkward.
The day’s activity had left her hungry and she thought of taking a bite at the restaurant. She settled for a burger and coffee. When she was done, she asked the waiter for the bill.
‘Bill? Why should I give you bills?’ – the waiter
‘Since I have eaten, I need the bill’ – Sarita
‘ It’s you who has eaten , so it’s you who should be giving the bills’ – insisted the waiter
Sarita was all confused. ‘How can I give bill? The restaurant is supposed to give the bill’ repeated Sarita.
‘Madam, we don’t pay bills to customers for eating, it is the customers who pay by giving bills’ – waiter
The commotion had already caused inquisitive eyes to set on the scene.
Sarita took the cue and said ’Yes yes , I pay , bring the bill’
‘Oh you mean the check?’ – said the waiter nonchalantly.
Sarita quickly paid off and returned home. It was only latter on when she spoke to Harish (her hubby dearest) that she realized that currency notes are called ‘bills’ and a bill is actually called a ‘check’ in the great US of A. They both were in splits on realizing the third faux pas in a row.
Oh what an eventful day and what a learning curve, thought a bemused Sarita.
Anagha Hunnurkar
12th June 2012
Sarita had just moved to LA (Los Angeles) with the family and a larger than life picture was slowly unfolding before her. As she set around her routines, she realized that a weekly visit to the mall was a must.
Her days in Jallander had told her that to know a new city, one must walk or use the public transport. Off went Sarita to ride on a bus. As the bus halted, she got in quickly and sat on a seat. Plush seats, AC bus, few passengers …she was feeling oh so comfy. After settling she wondered why the bus conductor was not to be seen. She looked around and she realized that faces were prying at her and the driver was also giving her glancing looks from the mirror as he was driving. Sarita realized that something was amiss. So she asked a lady passenger about the conductor. It was only then that Sarita realized the faux pas that she had committed. She was in fact a ticket less traveler at that moment. She promptly went to the driver and put the change in the funnel.
As she sat on her seat she found another funny thing. It was the passengers who rang the bell when they had to get down. A lesson in division of labor – the driver taking care of tickets and the passengers taking care of the alighting – thus totally eliminating the need of a bus conductor.
Sarita alighted the bus and was now on her way to the mall. The mall was a huge gigantic structure with long alleys and gangways. The racks were stocked with all possible stuff that the customers could possibly need. She set about stacking the shopping basket with goodies. Suddenly she thought of making some spicy sev puri at home and started looking around for dates. Not able to locate them, she approached a uniformed salesman nearby
‘Excuse me, where can I find a date?’
The baffled look on the salesman’s face put Sarita on the back foot ‘date, date’ she muttered again. Oh no again a faux pas she thought to herself.
‘I mean the fruit –date – the fruit. – where can I find it?’ she repeated, gesticulating with her hands.
The man too looked relieved and he quickly moved to the shelf where the dates were stacked. Sarita swiftly took the packet of dates and with the same speed rushed to the cash counter, lest she may have to face the salesman again. The thought itself made her feel so awkward.
The day’s activity had left her hungry and she thought of taking a bite at the restaurant. She settled for a burger and coffee. When she was done, she asked the waiter for the bill.
‘Bill? Why should I give you bills?’ – the waiter
‘Since I have eaten, I need the bill’ – Sarita
‘ It’s you who has eaten , so it’s you who should be giving the bills’ – insisted the waiter
Sarita was all confused. ‘How can I give bill? The restaurant is supposed to give the bill’ repeated Sarita.
‘Madam, we don’t pay bills to customers for eating, it is the customers who pay by giving bills’ – waiter
The commotion had already caused inquisitive eyes to set on the scene.
Sarita took the cue and said ’Yes yes , I pay , bring the bill’
‘Oh you mean the check?’ – said the waiter nonchalantly.
Sarita quickly paid off and returned home. It was only latter on when she spoke to Harish (her hubby dearest) that she realized that currency notes are called ‘bills’ and a bill is actually called a ‘check’ in the great US of A. They both were in splits on realizing the third faux pas in a row.
Oh what an eventful day and what a learning curve, thought a bemused Sarita.
Anagha Hunnurkar
12th June 2012
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anagha