As soon as I land at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at Mumbai, it becomes evident that we live in a ‘Ram bharose’ country. As I try to go down to Immigration the escalator is not working. I go and stand on the top step hoping it is one of those escalators which start working when someone stands on it. But that is not so. An American woman seeing me remarks, “You’re going to break your neck trying to negotiate the escalator. Anyway your shoelaces are untied.” I look ahead sheepishly and smile at her. I am just so happy to be back. Her comments indicate a familiarity with India.

On passing through immigration and getting to baggage check, I am really glad to find people who are more than happy to help with the bags. I prefer paying a person to help with the bags to paying three dollars for a trolley as in America. The bags take a long time in coming. The baggage belt stops for half a minute and then restarts. It is completely disorienting.

When three of my bags have come, K tells me to go ahead and go home because I am so eager to hit Mumbai. I take my trolley with the bags and walk out. The parking lot is pandemonium. The lights are dim — there are cars coming and going in all directions. I look for my car and driver. Nowhere to be seen. I dial on my mobile. It’s an American number and won’t work in India. Then suddenly my driver spots me and we are on way. How the driver sighted me in the dark strikes me as a minor miracle.

... contd.