Politically incorrect thoughts at an unearthly hour

It is five thirty in the morning on a Saturday and I am up and chirpy. Tried to wake up the bharya priyaa,bp,sr, and beti priyaa,bp,jr, to ask them out for a walk, and, never realized that tam-brahm women could swear so well. They booted me out of the bedroom and asked me to make myself scarce (said in much more colourful language).

Actually I lied when I said it is five thirty in the morning and I am up and chirpy…I have been up and chirpy for the last two hours…You see these days very often, bp,sr, and I spend the weekend at bp,jr’s place. So, we landed up here last night. bp,sr and bp,jr went to the roof top of bp,jr’s condo for a roof top barbecue, and, I watched the comedy channel for ten minutes and was blissfully asleep by 8.00pm The net result of that early blissful sleep was that I was up and chirping around at 3.30am, much like a swallow that has returned early from Florida in mid winter and finds that everyone else does not share her enthusiastic world view.

So, I sat and meditated for an hour. As I finished I opened my eyes and saw the Rosedale Valley enveloped in a beautiful fog, a fog that did not cover everything, a fog that just left you remembering the beautiful colours of gold, red and orange as the valley sank into autumn a few months ago, and, the beautiful sunlight that will soon pierce through the fog and bring everything back into clarity.

Coming back to this mundane world, I realized that there was no milk for my morning cuppa, and, so I put on my jacket (still a tad cold out here in TO) and strode out into the streets of downtown TO to find a 7/11 shop for some milk.

The best time to get to know the downtown part of any metro is before it wakes up. Actually, cities like Toronto, Mumbai and London never go to sleep so that is not correct. What I mean are those wee hours of the morning when the ‘bhadralok’ (gentry in Bengali) have finished their merry making for the night and the denizens of the dark have come out to clear up.

Walk around any metro at this time and you will be able to get a clear picture of the social order of things. In Toronto, at that hour you will very rarely see a ‘mainstream’ Canadian (politically correct expression for ‘white’, though in Toronto it may not be statistically correct to classify ‘white’ as mainstream anymore…) out and about earning a livelihood. Every single person, awake and working, that I ran into was an immigrant, fresh off the boat as they would say. Even the one male hooker who offered his services to me sounded from Eastern Europe (audible minority, referring to their unfamiliarity with English, as opposed to brownies, from the former British colonies, like me who are the visible minority). The girls working the back shift at Tim Hortons were Filipina; the taxi drivers were ophthalmologists, cardiac surgeons and paediatricians from India, Pakistan and the sub contintent; the street cleaners were, I think, Mexican or Cuban. The next time an Indian tells me that he or she left India to get away from the caste system, I will wake him or her up and make them walk along Bloor Street at 4.00am in the morning, and, say, ‘…kya hai bachhu, idhar ka caste system dekha ?...’ “So, man do you see the caste system of this world ?”

I am not a social scientist who can analyze the phenomenon of immigrants doing the back shift. However, one thing seems to be sure, if you can make the 9 to 5 shift at work, that seems to be one sign that you have arrived.

My early morning search for milk was not without its brighter side, and, that came in the form of King Palace restaurant just behind the Metro Toronto Reference Library. There used to be a dingy looking Coffee Time there, and, I was a little surprised to see a very brightly lit restaurant which looked as if it had been transported out of Bombay’s Bhendi Bazar in the middle of Id. I have often walked down Mohamad Ali Road (btw, is it still known as Mohamad Ali Road ?) and Bhindi Bazar in the wee hours of the morning, during Ramzan, with Muslim friends as they enjoyed their repast of ‘bheja fry’ (fried brains of pigeon, I think) before embarking on the next day’s fast. Being a conditioned vegetarian I could not enjoy the food, but, like my friend Siddharta Gautama taught, practised ‘mudhita’ or the enjoyment of happiness through the happiness of others.

Coming back to King Palace restaurant, I first admired the place from outside. For a homesick Indian it is manna from heaven…they offer around the clock a choice of Indian favourites, Channa Masala (chick peas cooked in spices), Butter Chicken, Bhindi Masala (okra, sautéed with spices) et al…but, what was authentic was the bright lights with the TV showing a buxom Indian Bollywood star gyrating her voluptuous hips to good Hindi phillum mujic…I wasn’t ready at 4.30am to try any of their offerings, but, walked in, and, struck up a conversation with the owner…he is from Lahore, and, like all sub continenters who meet outside of the sub-continent, we got to talking of cricket…though he realized I wasn’t buying anything, he offered me a cup of chai…”Assalam walai’kum, dost” “Peace to you, my friend” we said to each other as I continued my search for milk at 4am…