With two and a half women in America - Part One

A few weeks ago, I decided that the time was ripe for me to bestow my gracious presence upon the United States of America. To tell you the truth, they have worked hard to deserve me. Over the last few years, they have shown considerable improvement in their economy, brought in sweeping healthcare reforms, and also, much to their credit, recovered from that terrible calamity—the Twilight series. I think.

Of course, there were other minor factors that swayed the decision in America’s favour. For one thing, Suchita had to travel there for work and she felt she would need some support since we couldn’t bring along our cook, house maid, chamber maid, parlour maid, nanny, governess, or butler. I told Suchita flatly that while I was equal to the job, I in turn would need my own support system. So we packed my mother along with our bags (note that I say ‘along’ not ‘in’), put Sia in the cradle of her arm, and set out for the airport.

Okay, okay. You are sharp. That is the condensed form. The packing bags and mother and setting out for airport was preceded by a lot of applying for visas, biting of nails, booking of tickets, etc, but those details don’t matter. What does matter is that we finally landed on the 18^th of January on a wintry night in Boston. As usual, the Americans had forgotten that I was coming. No red carpet. No lingerie models holding bouquets. Not even a traditional garland ceremony which, well-wishers tell me, I should stop expecting at Indian airports. But anyway.

What I really want to talk about is the snow. It is everywhere. When we stepped out of the Boston airport, we saw the first traces of it on the ground. Then on our way to Waltham (which is where we are staying) we saw enormous dollops of it strewn on the side of the road. My first thought was, what a waste. There is such an abundance here while back in Hyderabad, lakhs of people suffer everyday for the lack of even a fistful of it. Who among us at some point of time or the other has not wanted to hit someone but didn’t because someone was bigger or had scars of dubious origins on his face. A perfectly aimed snowball from a vantage point is the exact remedy for situations like this.

We all slept fitfully that night. As an aside, I am used to fitful sleep. It is one of the curses of my years of lifting weights. Everything I do is fitful. The morning after, the view from the hotel window was spectacular. The cars in the hotel’s parking lot, the de-leaved branches of trees, the rooftops of office buildings; everything was covered in white. The hotel’s swimming pool had turned into a giant ice cube. I saw footprints on the snow around it leading to the hotel, no doubt left by perplexed boot-wearing swimmers as they scurried back in for warmth.

Even at the hotel’s breakfast bar, the weather seemed to be the burning issue of the day. As I piled scrambled eggs, bacon, muffins, and a small collection of syrups and butter packets on two delicately balanced plates, I could not help but overhear snatches of conversation. ‘It’s brutal outside!’ ‘Tell me about it.’ ‘Man, it really snowed huh?’ ‘No kidding.’ ‘Is this guy going to eat the whole buffet?’ ‘Maybe he is preparing to hibernate.’ Snicker. I would tell you more but at this point I thought it prudent to move away.

Then, yesterday morning, I finally got personal with the snow. Two days back we had rented a car. Yesterday morning I intended to drive it again. But when I stepped out, I found that the car had tried to camouflage itself in snow, probably to avoid me after the previous night’s driving experience. So I borrowed a snow brush from the hotel and proceeded to punish the car, thwacking it here and there to extract it from its white armour. After 20 minutes of flailing my arms and legs in sub-zero temperature, I was plastered in snow.

If you are a warm weather person like me, who has been brought up with the idea that a half-sleeve sweater and a monkey cap are sufficient antidote for the winter, this can be an unsettling experience. This is what happens. Any body parts that you have left hanging in the cold start to hurt. An almost imperceptible tingle at first, and then a gnawing sort of pain, until finally, all the nerve endings in those extremities feel like they are on fire. The blood rushes to your head and you start to feel faint. In my case, this pain was most evident in the largest extremity I have—that massive 9-inch thing that I leave dangling in the air at all inopportune moments—my nose. After that bulwark of my face fell, my ears followed suit. My fingers went next and I had to drag myself back into the hotel. I drank two cups of coffee and it took me a good half hour to muster the courage to battle nature once more.

Some Googling later, I have figured out that while I was not close to frost bite, it can happen if you are exposed to those temperatures for more than 30 minutes at a stretch. My advice from this experience is that you should prepare for situations like this—identify beforehand what your least favourite body part is, in case your clothing is not adequate and you have to make a sacrifice. Other people may tell you that there are more practical solutions such as buying an overcoat or finding shelter, but don’t listen to them. They are just crazy.