It's in the Bag

Ramanathan is visiting Britain for the first time. The year is 2007, Dr Saumya Balsari takes a futuristic note.

The year is 2007. T.S.K. Ramanathan is visiting Britain for the first time. He discovers with amazed joy that people are quite different from what he imagined they would be. There is no sign of the famous stiff upper lip and reserve. Everywhere he goes, people are friendly, engaging him in conversation (no-one talks of the weather).

The moment he sits down on a bus or in the Tube, a voice asks with solicitous concern, "Is this your bag?" He is surprised at the interest in the size and appearance of his rucksack. It is new and shiny, and has three lockable compartments and zips. He bought it from Gandhi Market, he tells his companion proudly. This prompts another amiable remark, "And what are you carrying in it?" T.S.K. Ramanathan is surprised. The question could well have come from his nosy aunt in Chennai, but not from a stranger.

He feels relaxed, and answers chattily, "Oh, the usual things, you know . . ." He is even more surprised when someone else asks with a polite smile, "No, we don't know. Could you be more precise?" All the passengers appear to be very keen to see the contents of his rucksack.

Touched by the interest, T.S.K. Ramanathan unzips his rucksack and proudly pulls out an oddly shaped package stuffed in there. It is rather bulky from his mother's overzealous newsprint wrapping. He wonders why the passengers have all turned away as one. No one is talking to him any more once he has revealed his mother's idli patram.

Cards for adulterous lovers

An advertising executive from Washington has launched a new line of greeting cards for adulterous lovers. The cards, each costing £2.85, will be conveniently stocked in hotels and airports, and will have a special resonance with desi lovers. They, more than anyone else, know the difficulties of meeting illicitly, away from Auntyji's prying, steely gaze or Pappu peeping out into the street.

Desi lovers would appreciate Gallagher's text on the cards. There is the plaintive "I-wish-we-could-be-together-on-your-birthday" card, and the resigned "You will never leave where you are, until you decide where you would rather be", and the frank "Now I can't imagine life without you . . . Even if I have to share you".

Some cards, however, will simply not appeal to desi lovers, who are far more realistic and practical than their American counterparts. They are the following: the "We-can't-go-on-like-this" card, the "Let's live our lives toget-her and finally be one". Every desi knows that the peremptory "Please-leave-your-spouse-now" card will be a resounding flop. Good desis never leave their spouses, and indeed, good desis never have affairs. However, if they simply must, then the card to send is: "I love your sweet smell. I can't find it in a bottle . . . it's the smell of your soul."

(Saumya Balsari is the author of the comic novel 'The Cambridge Curry Club', and wrote a play for Kali Theatre Company's Futures last year. She has worked as a freelance journalist in London, and is currently writing a second novel.)