Mighty hearts, mightier biceps

Light travel is a concept alien to south asians. Particularly if the flight is coming from one of the electronics or jewelry cities: Kuala Lumpur, Dubai or Bahrain. The first time I came back home in 1995 via Dubai, I was stunned by Bangladeshis carrying the entire duty free shop on them, I sat next to someone wearing four or five wristwatches, who after 30 min warmed up to me and said that he was just released from 3 month jail for working without a proper visa. In 2000, via Bahrain, I came across women in purdahs being body searched and various jewelry falling into the bin. What always gets me curious is the kind of stuff they buy.

This time, I was running late for my flight, and got to the gate with 5 min to spare. There was a short line, but it was held up by just one man, who was compacting the contents of the five duty free shop plastic bags into just two. I guess Emirates has some limits after all. Based on their service quality, I thought it was run by monkeys. But I digress.

So, after 10 min, and 3 "final" boarding calls, I got through the gate, and found the same elderly man struggling to get down the four storied ramp to get to the shuttle. I offered to take one bag from him, and he gratefully handed me over. In a comic way, I took the plastic bag, and my hands expanded like Mr. Plastic, and the bag almost dropped on the floor, taking me with them. I again lifted the bag with both hands, and then jerked so that I could carry the bag like an oversized baby. Walking down the ramp, I curiously peeked through the contents. There was a gigantic tin can of Nestle Nido, this familiar purple tin box of chocolates (quality st or something like that) which I haven't seen in last 20 years ever since I discovered Snickers and Twix, Another gigantic bottle of Tang, enough to last a family of four through 20 years. And some other stuff.

After I finally plopped them down on the floor of the shuttle bus, I felt like I was a toy troll, and some kid has ripped off my arms. Ran into one of my colleagues on the bus, and I proudly told him about my no-shopping policy until I finish my seven wonders tour (Pyramids, Taj Mahal, Tower of Pisa, Rapa Nui, Eiffel Tower and Babylon). After getting on the plane and watching other people's shopping bags, I felt like a Polse (thanks, Linda).

Many of these Bangladeshis, like the one sitting next to me, were going home for the first time in 10-15 years. They diligently save all their earnings every month, and send in their hard earned money to their families by paying Shylocks like Western Union 15% just for a simple transaction. And when they go home, they want to make everyone feel that he's thought of him/her enough to get something, whether it's a "Tuni one" (2-in-one cassette player/radio), which is almost obsolete, or a big ass bottle of Head a& Shoulders. It's immaterial that these are available in Bangladesh, and cheaper than some Duty Free Shop. What's important is that every single person on the meticulously written list of family get something big and expensive. Never mind that the Emirates cabin looks like American Beauty on crack, plastic bags flying in every direction during takeoff and landing.

After 4 hours of listening to Zahid bhai, a Sylheti man from Birmingham coming home after 13 years to see his mom and getting his left leg treated for torn ligament (requires a separate entry by itself), I forgot about my "Nido man". When I ran into him again at the baggage carousel, I couldn't recognize him (my short term memory loss thing). But he came up to me, with his cart of two suitcases and those daunting looking shopping bags , and extended his hand out to me, and thanked me for carrying the tin of baby food for his granddaughter, who's now seven months old, and who he'll see for the first time.

I don't think my hands have ever been more privileged.