As I walked home at the end of my journey from playing basketball tonight, I came upon a marching band. There must have been at least 10 members and in front of them was a man standing with a well-dressed horse. Next to the band were a number of decorative chandeliers powered by a motor. I had put myself in the middle of another wedding, 9:15 PM, a Wednesday, the astrological charts were at the right point for the young couple standing in the midst of this, matter of fact kind of thing for India. As I took a few movies, just to let the folks back home know that I was telling the truth, people smiled knowingly at me.
The band started moving and so did I to my next usual stop on Wednesday nights, my man who provides me with fresh popcorn and hot roasted nuts. The man clasps his hands together and says Namaste and say this back. He always seems happy to see me, like somehow by spending 20 rupees, 10 on the nuts and 10 on the popcorn I might bring him some kind of good fortune. I watch as the man throws popcorn kernels into the bottom of his wok which is filled with sand. The kernels start to pop and by using a screen none escape to the street beside me. He finishes popping, strains the sand out of the popcorn and puts it into a bag. He always gives me more than any other of these popcorn/nut guys. I walk away satisfied once again to have this delicacy.
A young man is walking besides me and asks the obligatory question, “where are you from?” I say, “America” and he says, “Canada”, I say, “no United States” and he says, “USA”. I turn left to walk to my house and as I approach the entrance I hear my little three year old Galoo crying, yet again at the top of her lungs.
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