The Stopover - Part 2 : Pintu's Grandma

This is a follow-up to my post called "The Stopover - Part 1". In Stopover series of posts, I want to talk about experiences I had while passing through/stopping by at Chennai airport.

It was 5:00 AM. The old megacity of Calcutta was enjoying her last hour of slumber, before waking up - to another day of infinite chaos and cacophony. A battered yellow ambassador Taxi dropped me off at NSC Bose airport. The melancholy of leaving home makes me ignore minor disturbances happening all around. Take for example, an old female voice talking about her "Tholey" (Bangla for jute-bag) to an airhostess.

Couple of hours later, the plane landed in Kamaraj airport. While moving out of the plane, I noticed a commotion near the front exit. Two of the airhostesses were trying their best to pacify an agitated old woman. She was the stereotypical Bengali grandma. A 70 year old woman of hunched body, wrinkled skin and silky white hairs bundled into an untidy coiffeur. Her crumpled, somewhat dirty white saree (thaan) identified her as a widow. Her eyes right now were very angry, the effect of which was further maginified by the cataract specs.

Indians are programmed to expect Grandma's in certain roles and backdrops. For example: Creating vegeterian magic in kitchen, annually visiting holy places like Banaras and Haridwar, first babysitting and then blackmailing grandchildren to get married, feigning her imminent death (and living long enough to see the great-grandchildren reach marriageable age), adopting the most irritating cats ever and so on. Naturally, spotting a fiesty grandma in a Boeing 707, was worth a double take.

"Explain how my tholey upturned!"

What amused the onlookers even more were the airhostesses standing in a posture akin to guilty schoolgirls forgetting their homework. Needless to say, grandma deserved an Oscar for outperforming in the role of an enraged, non-lenient teacher not buying any excuse. Grandma was literally scolding them on top of her voice, while the poor pretty ladies stood silent, looking at each other - helpless and embarassed. They desperately looked around for someone who could decipher the pure Bangla and spare them Grandma's wrath. Luckily for them, one Bengali gentleman (I wrongly assumed him to be Grandma's companion) intervened and took control.

Few moments later, I saw Grandma again inside airport - walking upto the nearest stack of trolleys. The lady had only two pieces of baggage. One sidebag and her infamous 'tholey'. The stubborn trolley refused to yield to strength of grandma's one thin wrist. Realizing she was alone, I stepped forward and pulled out a trolley for her.

Grandma said: "There you are! I was wondering where the brats are. Come, bring the trolley to this side" and started walking towards conveyor belt. Me? Brat? Dumbstruck by Grandma's modesty, I followed her with the trolley.

While waiting for her baggages, Grandma revealed that she flies to Chennai regularly to visit her daughter and grandson . And as luck would have it, airhostesses consistently mess with her 'tholeys'. She has had enough and decided to bring a sidebag next time - which has been bought from Delhi the year India won the world-cup. "Some more grandmas like you, Samsonite will file for bankruptcy" I thought.

"There! There! That green one! Move - you grumpy fellow!" Grandma cried out. The middle aged passenger standing infront of me was shell-shocked and made space for me. I gave an apologetic smile to grumpy fellow and hauled up a green-colored bag which might have been used by Ibn-e-Batuta to carry his hooka.
"There! That brown one too!"
Grumpy fellow jumped aside again and a relatively newer looking bag (possible owner: Alexander Supertramp) was recovered.
"Come now." Grandma walked towards Exit Gate.
"Grandma, is there anybody to receive you? Do you have a phone ?"
"No, no, my grandson will be there." Grandma assured me.

We arrived at the Exit. The security people observed grandma keenly, as she stood at the gate, looking around for her grandson. I figured he has not turned up yet. I was going to ask Grandma if she has got his phone number. All of a sudden, Grandma started shouting -
"Pintu! Hey Pintu! Where the hell are you monkeyface? I told you to arrive at 8:30 sharp, you ass! Pintu! Come right now, Idiot!"

If you can imagine Bianca Castafiore uttering Captain Haddock's curses in an opera, you get the exact impact produced by Grandma's monologue. The security staff were stunned, so were the cabbies jostled outside. I tried very hard to maintain a staright face.
"Pintu! Monkey, where are you?!"
"Grandma! Grandma! Here I am!"
Everyone at the Exit turned at the direction where this extremely happy voice came from. A fat guy with thick moustache in his late 20s was running towards the Exit, with a grin as genuine as a child's. He - I correctly assumed - was Pintu. I was relieved at the arrival of the rescuer. Pintu touched grandma's feet, took the trolley from me, thanked me and escorted the heroine of this post outside the airport.


I stood for a while looking at Grandma's departing figure. This was one lady who did not care a dime about her lack of education or refined sensibilities. She didn't think twice before charging the airhostess even without knowing the language they spoke. She proudly carried her old, torn bags around. She was brave enough to travel thousands of miles all alone. She accepted assistance from complete strangers and didn't thank them because she deserved the help. Simply put, she refused to be bogged down by the template of a Grandma.

This Grandma is definitely one of the most graceful women I ever met.