cousin’s roommate from Delhi, who was reputed for removing the battery from his alarm clock just after awakening every morning in order to save on the battery life; for who needs to know the time at home when you’re at work? And then the drawbridge opened and cars piled up. Nowhere to go. No progress. No use looking at someone else for answers. I couldn’t separate the edges of the stupid plastic bag! My fingerprints have been deleted from decades of scrubbing in the O.R. My mask still was on. Flummoxed. Dumbfounded. I espied no one near, so I slowly and surreptitiously tried to stick my index finger and thumb underneath my mask. I felt like I was in a Harold and Kumar Go to The Fresh Market sequel. I jolted to a stop as I quickly noticed from the corner of my Super Vision a 40-something lady wearing an urban turban looking askance at me. She must have been crouching behind the banana section before seeing me. My heart was racing, as I knew I was caught in an indelicate situation, similar to the time when my father walked in on me while I was watching a rated R movie on VHS (I was 28, and the Terminator was naked). “You know what you do? Just go over to the cherry section where there is ice and rub your fingers on it!” I knew she had a victorious shitty grin behind the opaque mask, but I couldn’t call her out on that. And she was right, anyway. How obvious. “Thanks a lot! Good tip!” I was forced to ride an emotional rollercoaster without seatbelts. I was lightheaded and free falling, yet jostling inside a Kolkata mini-bus. I couldn’t navigate the mixed flurry of ire and humiliation. I WAS WOMANSPLAINED! Now I know why men drink. What is lacking in IQ and command can be made up with a higher IBU. Really, it’s an acquired taste. Last stop was the beverage section. When I see beer, I see baseball. And the famous squeeze play comes to mind. I knew if I pretended not to show interest in alcohol and offered to make beer-battered fish, my wife would only chide me for my preposterous idea of making a dish befitting only a gourmand, and so I would get to drink the beer myself. I’d make her feel guilty that it’s going to waste. I convinced her that beer expires in less than a week, and beer always must be kept refrigerated, and there’s no refrigerator space, especially after getting all these groceries. Can’t waste it, especially after buying the expensive fish. Fred Sanford logic. Even the Upahaar 2020
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