23-03-2021, 08:20 PM
Suddenly, the captain smiled. “Well,” he said, slipping the paper back into his pocket. “I’m sure we can make it work.” And he waved at the Indian army driver to get Nandini’s case. The man reacted as if he’d been whipped, darting to the kerbside and grabbing the case, then carrying it as if it was a Faberge egg. Clearly, the captain was a man you didn’t upset.
I noticed that no one moved to help me with my much heavier flight case. Well, fine. Vishakapatnam was Vishakapatnam, and it’s always been a pretty old-fashioned, macho place. So I heaved my own case up into the trunk and went to climb into the rear seat with Nandini .
Only to find that the captain had already climbed in beside her. He indicated that I should ride shotgun up front. He didn’t bother to actually speak to me or even look at me, just pointed.
I slumped into the passenger seat, sulking a little. As we pulled away, he started to chat away to my wife, asking her about what the video would be like, how she got started in the business and a thousand other things…all questions that we should have been answering together, as a team. But he was treating us as if she was the boss and I was just her hired lackey. After a while, they switched to Hindi, speaking in rapid fire phrases that I couldn’t catch. I’d tried a few times to learn to speak Hindi, but it was a tough language for an outsider to pick up, full of rolling “Rs” and harsh “Ks” and “Qs.” I knew a few words, but that was about it.
The Indian army driver kept his eyes on the road, as silent and serious as a statue. So eventually, I glanced back at Nandini and the captain.
His hand was on her knee.
That’s the very first thing I noticed, before I saw how he leaned in to her when he spoke, or how his eyes were locked on hers. His hand was on her knee. I was so shocked I didn’t even get angry at first. It was just so completely inappropriate, so far outside acceptable behavior in America, that it refused to compute.
I noticed that no one moved to help me with my much heavier flight case. Well, fine. Vishakapatnam was Vishakapatnam, and it’s always been a pretty old-fashioned, macho place. So I heaved my own case up into the trunk and went to climb into the rear seat with Nandini .
Only to find that the captain had already climbed in beside her. He indicated that I should ride shotgun up front. He didn’t bother to actually speak to me or even look at me, just pointed.
I slumped into the passenger seat, sulking a little. As we pulled away, he started to chat away to my wife, asking her about what the video would be like, how she got started in the business and a thousand other things…all questions that we should have been answering together, as a team. But he was treating us as if she was the boss and I was just her hired lackey. After a while, they switched to Hindi, speaking in rapid fire phrases that I couldn’t catch. I’d tried a few times to learn to speak Hindi, but it was a tough language for an outsider to pick up, full of rolling “Rs” and harsh “Ks” and “Qs.” I knew a few words, but that was about it.
The Indian army driver kept his eyes on the road, as silent and serious as a statue. So eventually, I glanced back at Nandini and the captain.
His hand was on her knee.
That’s the very first thing I noticed, before I saw how he leaned in to her when he spoke, or how his eyes were locked on hers. His hand was on her knee. I was so shocked I didn’t even get angry at first. It was just so completely inappropriate, so far outside acceptable behavior in America, that it refused to compute.
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