Sequel To...

Minneapolis:

After blowing a lot of smoke up moi client's ass and a nagging tooth+ear ache for constant company, I took the return to India from Minneapolis. Moi flight was at 3 in the noon so I could be at the airport by 12.30 and no problemo, right? Wrong. The toothearache had really taken me on different journeys and not allowed me to even sleep for more than an hour any of those nights. And like a friend in need, the ache drifted me off to sleep in my hotel room at 11 am with no signs of any ache to be woken by the telephone, "Sir, have you cleared your room?" I was about to snap when I realised it was 1:15 P.M. Apologies to him followed by curses at me I managed to reach in record time to the check in counter by 1.50 only to encounter a long queue and adamant airline staff..Best behavior, earnest pleadings and an I love America tee-shirt worn for good measure earned me the right to board and I finally plonked in moi seat..Phew!! Thinking the worst was over..

Enters pregnant Carmela with a baby of indeterminate age all alone with eyes suspiciously zeroing on to the seat number above my adjoining seat..I closed my eyes, prayed briefly and opened them after what seemed like eternity to be greeted by a neon light..well her perfect enamels actually. That should have warned me of what was to follow. A big smile, baby on the seat and an attractive lady (protruding stomach et al) with a nice rump trying to put the luggage on the racks..A gentleman has no option but to get up and help.

Introductions followed and we settled in. I guessed she'd spruced up before boarding the flight. I smelled a little eu de something over the smells of baby powder and warm milk. Unnecessary details ensued, "That is Art junior all of eleven months, Sheena two and half years at home, thank God and I have one in the oven." She really needed to do something about those pregnancies. Idle chatter about Art junior moved on to his Dad et al.

Drinks arrived. I clinked my scotch to her coke and made the first faux passé,” You look good" to have her return the fire,” Was that disability for blindness?"
I managed a smile, "Naw, I mean it."
I did my best with periodic yeah and Oh to future nonstop Italian accented commentary about her family and pretended to close moi eyes. It worked. Sing Halleluiah..

I awoke suddenly to a lot of jostling and sound of "What's the matter with moi cutie?” Junior started screaming his lungs out even more and Carmela did some detective work and said,"Oh, poor baby did a poopie" Was that a reason to scream? I mean, if I crapped moi pants I'd be real quiet about it. Carmela snagged the Pampers and took him to the loo for a de-poop. Leaving me wide in the wake and irritable.

Later.
Moi faux passé number two after two rounds of scotch,"That’s a cute kid".
"You want him?" She really was a snap. I smiled.
Food arrived in some time and I was gorging on the chicken when Carmela ventured, “Have some of moi veggies."
"So Joe asks his mother over for lunch, and she's eating and says,” Joe, I don't like your friends". And he says,” Well, then, just eat the veggies".
Silence for uno momento and then,” That’s disgusting".
Yesss..Score read two to the Italians and one India (rising). I poured the Scotch over ice and sipped. And smacked moi lips, "Ahh!! Veggies taste real good with scotch, I've heard." She looked like she wanted to give me an ice-water enema.

Again a losing try for some sleep to be shattered by incessant crying from the next seat. She wound up a small toy which played an "It's a beautiful world".
From her, "Little boy loves the music”. After a couple of decades, this kid was going to become a serial killer who hummed "It's a beautiful world" as he garroted his victims. I played with the toddler while she had an urgent run to the loo. As the only two nerds on the plane awake for various reasons mentioned above and seated next to each other, we were destined to drift into conversation to kill time. I asked, "Er..Carmela, are ye Italian? "Yes, Carmela Mancuso". Things were pretty mucho normal as far as you could say.

Her first faux passé, "Do you like Italian food?"
“Naw..I hate Italian food. In fact only two good things have ever come out of Italy.
A pregnant pause and arched eyebrows awaited the punchline.
“And both belonged to Sophia Loren.” That got me a fcuk off kind of look. My goodness. Score read two each. And I eased off for sanity’s sake.

After some time she said, "Ye know ye are funny. And speak very good English. For an Indian." I had a slight feeling she was jerking moi chain along with the olive.
So I needled again, “So what was the place you came from originally"?
"Italy”
“And how long have you been in US?”
“Ten years.”
“You like it in US?”
“Sure. Who doesn't?”
“Well, moi cousin for instance is always bad mouthing America. She wants to move to U.K.”
“I have an uncle in U.K..”
“No kidding? Anybody's left in Italy?”
A smile from her and that was end of round three. We both called in quits & reined in our artillery.

I don't even want to mention the number of times I translated English into chaste Hindi to assuage her curiosity. As the flight circled around the airport, she asked, “I noticed you didn't sleep at all during the flight"..Grrr..I mumbled," I have a tooth and ear ache”. As if that was the only cause. We deplaned in some time, caught our luggage when she suddenly leaned over and gave me a long & tight hug, Mumbled something like "Thanks for the good company. I really appreciate it. Sometimes the hormones go crazy during pregnancy and with the child, it gets unbearable. You are a warm man in spite of being a smart ass. Have a great flight". A wave of her hand and she was gone. I had nothing to say. So I did just that. Said nothing.