Primitive, medieval sheikhdoms floating in oil, semi-literate Arabs who have become rich with unearned income, desperate young girls from the Indian subcontinent in need of money — you know what will happen.
Our daughter from Nepal
“And then I said ‘You may have danced in a hundred movies but here you are a passenger. Go back into the line. Welcome to Bombay Customs’ and pushed her trolley back.”
The rest of us started laughing as Sridhar made a clumsy gesture with his hands, in an attempt to imitate the heroine in mention. It was half past two in the night. Air India Riyadh had just left and it meant only one thing. For an hour, we had a break since no flight would land, giving all of us a much needed respite from the maddening crowds.
“Sahib.”, a middling man with wrinkled features and folded hands walked towards the counters where we had arranged our chairs in a circle. His rugged nose, short stature and round colourful hat reminded us of the hills. The green passport clinched it. He was a Nepali.
Behind him was a young girl. Twenty years of age probably. We need to look at her passport for the exact dates. She looked scared; actually she looked positively terrorized by the airport.