ARE YOU A MADRASI?

 

ARE YOU A MADRASI?

The announcement came that the plane would be landing in Bombay International Airport in a short time. In the meantime, the passengers were asked to fill in the landing slip to be presented at the immigration counter. I was returning from Hong Kong after a two months’ stay with my daughter.

I filled up the form, mentioning that I have nothing to declare in my luggage. As iwas not a senior citizen then, I had to fine my way myself to the immigration counter, after collecting my luggage. As iwas loitering in the area, my eyes caught the running display over the immigration area. It said about the weather in Bombay, the conveyance the passengers could use, the availability of free transport to the domestic airport etc. But, the surprising fact was that the messages were translated into, hold your breath, Malayalam, of all languages. As I wondered, a cotraveller cleared my doubt. It was because a flight from the gulf country had just landed there. The majority of passengers were normally Keralites and hence the use of Malayalam in the display. I smiled at this finding.

Without any difficulty, I came out of the immigration counter and started proceeding to customs. I chose the green channel as I had nothing to declare. The official asked me to pass my suitcase through the X-ray machine. As I collected it, the official asked me if I was sure about my declaration in the landing slip. He said he could see something in the X-ray screen which needed inspection by them. He directed me to the red channel. By that time, the passengers were walking through and disappearing. I became tense. An attendant led me and my trolley to the official in the red channel. That officer asked me if I had anything objectionable in my suitcase. He demanded my passport and the slip. I geve them to him. He asked me to open the suitcase. You can imagine my state of mind. It took 4 minutes to get my key from my hand bag, after looking for it in all other places like pant pockets, backpack and vest pocket. I opened the suitcase and rummaged inside with his hands. He got satisfied that I was honest in my declaration. He asked me to close the suitcase and go to the exit gate. I thanked him and led my trolley to the exit gate. By then, all my co-passengers had gone out. The security guard stopped me and demanded my passport and the slip. O God, where are they? I could not find them in my handbag, backpack, pockets. Then where are they? I doubted if the officer in the red channel did not return it after the check?

I told the security guard that I could not find my passport. He sai he was helpless. He would not let me out without seeing them. I informed him that my son, Anand, would be waiting to pick me up outside. He should not go away, thinking that I had somehow missed my flight at Hong Kong. I did not have a mobile yet. I asked him how I could message him about my landing in Bombay and had misplaced the passport.

The security guard suggested, “Go to the public booth and contact him from there.”

But, I did not have a rupee coin! Neither the security guard. Anyway, thanks to him, he got one coin from his colleague. I thanked them both and successfully contacted my son on his mobile. When I mentioned about the passport, he asked me to report to the police immediately and try to retrieve the passport, otherwise I would have to spend the rest of my time there itself till it was found out. I asked him to wait for some more time and came back to the security guard.

At his suggestion, I ran to the red-channel, but the officer had already left his post, as all the passengers had gone past him. I located him a little distance away, sipping a cup of tea. I went to him and said, “You have not returned my passport, I doubt. I am not getting it at the exit gate. Please check.”

But, he said, “I am sure I had not kept it with me. We return all documents to the passenger. We do not have any use for them. I can’t help you in this. Please look for it yourself.”

The guard smiled and said if I could contact my son. I told him that my son would wait for me.

Then he asked me, “Are you a Madrasi?”

“Yes, how is that information doinf to help me?”

“I could hear you talking to your son in Madrasi language. Do you wear dhoti at home?”

“Are you mad? Why are you teasing me by asking these silly questions?”

He replied, “It is you who is getting mad. I am trying to help you find out your passport.”

“Okay, agreed. Yes, I wear dhoties at home.” I replied calmly.

“Have you any dhoti in this suitcase?” he asked.

“Yes. Do you want to see, like that customs official?”

“Yes, open the suitcase and take out one dhoti. Spread it here on the floor. Then open the suitcase and take out the things slowly and put them on the dhoti.”

I did that. Lo, my passport was smiling at me inside. “How did you know, my friend?”

The security guard smiled and said. “You had given your passport to the customs officer. He says he had definitely given it back to you. Afterwards, you had only walked to the gate here, without dropping anything on your way. You had checked your other luggage. So, where else it would be? The customs officer must have kept it among the things after he did not find anything objectionable. So, I concluded it has to be inside the suitcase only. And my guess was right.”

AS I repacked my suitcase, I felt ashamed that I did not think along the line he thought. I wanted to thank him with some money. I rummaged in my purse and found the hundred-rupee note I had kept for my taxi-fare if Anand could not turn up at the airport. I was happy.

I took it out and thrust it in his pocket. “I know you will not accept it. But, you have saved me from an ugly situation. Please have it as a token of my gratitude. Bye.” I said and started pushing my trolley past him.

“Bye and thanks.” He waved me back.