Samran found his way to his assigned seat on the Air India jet, and stiffly sat down. He felt brushed down and slightly uncomfortable in the three-piece Western style business suit that the family tailor in had made for him. But he was proud to be in this place: a newly appointed executive within an up-and-coming multinational company with an initial posting in Bahrain. If all went well, he was promised future upwardly mobile moves that would take him to Dubai, Singapore, Hong Kong, and eventually Tokyo.
His wife Chini wasn't quite so optimistic. For her, leaving her father's village for marriage to her new husband's initial outpost in Trivandrum was a shock enough. Another country, a different culture altogether seemed too much to take. But she, too, had been raised to understand her role as being one of a wife, conditioned to follow her husband wherever his work might take him across the globe.
Both Samran and Chini had studied the world in school, learning all about daffodils that bloomed in April although no such flower existed in India and about picnics on hot sunny days by the sea.
Samran told Chini that Bahrain would be like Bombay. India, only more modern. All the amenities of America, without having to deal with hippies. He described streets lined with gold shops, tea shops selling cut cucumber sandwiches alongside samosa and shahi paneer, and stores that sold saris stitched from silk a thousand times finer than a newborn's hair. But he, too, knew he was speaking on the basis on little experience. Idly, he wondered if daffodils would bloom in Bahrain.
He wondered why the chairs felt as brushed down and stiff as his three-piece suit, and if this was the true test of how the West would best the rest. He forced his mind into a state of professionalism, refusing to think of the comfort of his dhoti and the warm cup of tea that he might be enjoying at home.
He jumped as a woman's voice became audible. He could not see her, but her voice boomed overhead. She was telling the passengers to fasten their seat belts. He did not know what she meant. A seat belt was something that belonged on a child's high chair. It did not match the stiff brush of professional attire.
"Excuse me, sir."
This time, the pleasant fragrance of frankincense mingled with the sweet tones of the voice. He looked up to see a woman carrying an armful of pillows. "Would you like something?"
"Yes, uh no," Samran responded, his hands twisting a bit nervously. As his hands moved, he felt a stiff belt graze the inner knuckles.
"Your seat belt," the woman said. "It seems that you have not flown before."
She leaned over Samran and picked up the other end of the belt, and straightened the two ends so he could see the clasp. "Please," she said, "Allow me."
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