I went to Dhaka for 5 days in the last week of August. It was an official trip, and I did not have an option but to agree to go. This was to be my first international trip and I must admit that I was little excited too. But then, I never wanted my first international experience to be in Bangladesh!
Anyways, I had to fly from the international airport and I was to spend in foreign currency, so I was somewhat contend. I had a Jet Airways flight and the service was good.
The feeling changed quite a lot when I landed in Dhaka. The international airport was OK. The hotel cab was there, so I was happy. Finally, I was on foreign soil!
The first thing I noticed was the number of Toyotas on the road... so many Corollas. There were other models also, Yari, Noah, Ace, RAV4 apart from Camry and Prado. Nissan was also present in a big way. It was a Saturday and weekend there. So the traffic was not much.
As were were driving down, what seemed to be the main road of the city, I could see many familiar brands' hoardings. I even crossed the Radisson. Globalization has definitely led to familiarization.
I was happy when we crossed a KFC. I could definitely do with a Zinger. It was the holy month of Ramadan starting the next day, and people were gearing up for that. The hotel room was comfortable, and I did not venture out. I am a vegetarian, by choice and not compulsion, when I travel. And this was a challenge for me. Well, I thought of playing safe and ordered the plain dal-roti.
The next foor days were going to be hectic in office. I had meetings lined up from morning till evening.
Next day while coming back from office, it was iftar time. The markets were buzzing with vendors selling sweets and pakoras and other delicacies. It was a very different experience. I was advised by friends back home to venture out alone. And, since it was Ramadan, all colleagues were busy with family gatherings.
Four days spent in office, hotel room and in the cab transiting between the two.
Finally, on the day of return, I reached Airport early morning. I had an 8.30am flight for Kolkata. The sight at the International Airport was very different from our IGI in Delhi. It was more like the domestic airport in a Tier-II city in India. Un-hygienic environment, dingy place. I was waiting for my flight after checking in, and it was about 7.45am and there was no announcement for boarding or moving to boarding gate area. After another half an hour I came to know that the flight has been delayed, till when no idea! The airlines staff were all communicating in Bengali and I was feeling so helpless. I had to ask the co-passengers for the update. After another 1 hour, we came to know that the flight has been delayed till 6.30pm as there was some 'technical snag' in the aircraft. They could not make any other aircraft available for the international flight though they had aircraft for the domestic flight. They were unable to transfer us to another carrier. Another 1 hour of arguement with the staff. The airline manager and the airport manager were unavailable. The airlines staff plainly refused to help. They said that we will have to buy tickets for another flight on our own and they will issue a credit note from their airline as the flight has been delayed. We had just 30 minutes left for the flight to depart for India as the next flight was at 4pm. I just ran to the ticketing counter and to my horror they were not accepting International Credit Cards and Indian Currency. They only wanted USD or Takas. I ran to the bank counter, but they refused to exchange INR. Finally a Scottish lady, Barbara, who was also travelling on the same flight, offered me USD to buy the ticket. I was so grateful to her and finally managed to board the flight. I was so gald to land back in India.
I was so amazed at the casual attitude of the people at the airport. There was a critically ill person who had to be admitted to a hospital in India. The mother was begging the airline staff for help as every moment was precious for them. But her pleas were falling on deaf ears. Till then I had thought that Indian sarkari babus were the worst one could find. But after that encounter, they also seem far superior.
I went visiting Adesh's relatives in the interiors of Punjab during the second leg of the vacation. It was hard core Punjabi culture at its full. Since I was visiting them first time after our wedding, (though its seems a lifetime ago to me!), the ladies were all decked up to welcome me. And I, the supposedly new bride, was dressed in summer casuals. Thank God I was in right mind to dress in Salwar Kameez. Anyways, back to the relatives. They welcomed me with Phulkaris, my favorite. And I was already loving them. Generation old phulkaris adorned by these beautiful ladies.
Each Chachi had a different story to tell about her phulkari. How and when it was made? Who gifted it to her? What was the occasion? I was enthralled. How I love these tales, they did not even know.
Since it was peak summer, with no rains and long power cuts, the hand fans or pakhhis were out. These pakhhis were also embroidered with phulkari and had been in the household since ages. The ladies still make these hand fans on their own, and they even showed me a couple of these with work in progress. I could not help requesting them to make some for me as well. I was going crazy and Adesh was just laughing at me.
In the evening when we left I still had those beautiful treasures in my eyes.
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