Not yet ready. Not today. Kalé ao. Worker has gone for tea. Worker has gone to his gaon. Come in afternoon. Come in evening. My man not yet come. Wait khali five minutes. Wait half an hour. Wait one hour. Bandh tomorrow. Autos on strike. Yes, we are open, but no one there. Credit card machine broken. ATM does not work - no electricity. Sorry, no change. No hot drinks, only cold drinks. No cold drinks, only hot drinks. (I swear all this happened to us).
Not here, there. Not there, in the city. Not in city, in Satellite. Not in Satellite, in Law Garden. Not Law Garden, try Navrangpura. Not Navrangpura, NARANGPURA. Not Narangpura, try Shivranjani Char Rasta. Shyamal Char Rasta. Swastik Char Rasta. Bodakdev Char Rasta.
Everything is Char Rasta. Char Rasta ni agal. Ni pachal. Ni dabi baju. Ni jamni baju. Everything is behind, in front of, across from, next to or on top of. We ran from char rasta to char rasta. From place to place. From shop to shop. When I took out my proudly-printed-from-Google map, they laughed and advised me to put it away and take heed of the in-front-of, behind-and-next to directions, they would serve me better.
It didn’t help that Bachubhai, our aging family driver of thirty years, could not remember how to get to the same shop we had visited every day for the past three days. My fingernails grew by the time he reversed. We could get in and out of the car whiIe he was still pulling into a parking spot. I can walk faster on one leg, said my daughter. Once when we were short of time, I suggested that we make a quick dash to the tailor. She laughed. It’s a whole kilometer away, Mom. Let’s do it when we have a couple of hours to spare. Amazing how the sarcasm gene, so light and subtle in the mother’s body, once inherited by the progeny, can generate barbs sharper than a two-edged sword.
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