When I was at university, and used to take the bus everyday, I had a habit of studying people on the bus. There used to be one seat at the front of the bus that faced reverse, and I used to sit there and study the faces of the people, and try and imagine what those people were like outside the microuniverse of the bus. It used to be entertaining I guess.

However, I havent taken public transport in a long while. But the other day, I had to drop the car off to be serviced. And the bloody “courtesy” car was $55 for the day!!! I told the moron at Toyota that its not a courtesy if you are going to charge for it. He didnt seem to understand that concept though. Anyways, so I took the tram back home. With nothing to do for the half hour trip back home, I let my mind drift. But not for long.

A couple of stops later, a young girl got on the tram. She must have been 14 or 15 at the most. She had asian features, but had muslim head-gear on, so I guess she must be from Indonesia or Malaysia or some other place. She was wearing a school uniform, but not any school uniform that I recognised. She had a school bag on her back, and on one of the straps was a bright smiley button pinned. “Islam is cool”, it said. She had a pocket-sized book in her hand, and although at first I couldnt see what the book was called, I could see that it was a book that she liked. There were little pink post-it notes all along the length of the book, marking various pages. Then she went to turn a page. Except that she turned the page backwards, going to the previous page. And in the process, I saw that what she was reading was a pocket sized Quran. Then it made sense! Arabic is written right to left, so every book written in Arabic starts on what we conventionally think of as the “last” page, and finishes on the “first” page.

There was something very not right with this picture, I felt. She had obviously read the whole Quran at least once, judging by the post-its. She is far too young for this, I thought. A tram is not the most ideal environment for reading such deep and meaningful books like the Quran. It requires a quite setting, conducive to introspection and analysis. Plus, there is a certain time in life when reading religious books with such fervour is warranted. But that time is not 14! Your brain isnt developed enough to appreciate the depth of knowledge between those pages. Gosh, I am almost twice that age, and I am not sure my brain is developed enough to handle that! At 14, one should be reading Stephanie Meyer, Franklin Dixon or even J. K. Rowling. The whole picture really bothered me. She was too young to be this passionate about religion. Maybe I am being a bit too judgemental…..

Nothing quite like having your boss point out in the middle of a big meeting that you have got grey hair!

The fact that said boss was concerned that I was getting grey hair because he was working me too hard is inconsequential. My standard reply blaming the MOTH as the underlying cause for the grey hair went flying out of the window as I was too busy deciding whether to be enraged by the remark, or touched by the underlying concern!

The following is a real conversation between a doctor (Dr A) and a patient (Mr X). The lines in italics are thought bubbles above Dr A’s head

Dr A: Hello Mr X, I hear you are having nose bleeds again. Its almost certainly due to the leukaemia, preventing your body from making any platelets

Mr X: Yes doctor, you are right. It always happens when I have no platelets and then I blow my nose.

Dr A: Do you have a cold? Why are you blowing your nose?

Mr X: No, I dont have a cold. I blow my nose so I get rid of the bacteria, so I dont get a cold.

Dr A: What the hell??!! Ummm….Mr X, please dont blow your nose. Because you cant get rid of bacteria like that, and all you are doing is giving yourself nose-bleeds! You almost died with your last bleed, as it wouldn’t stop bleeding!

Mr X: But you always fix my nose bleeds. So, no problems!

Dr A: Walk away, because I am not going to win this argument!

Dr A returns half an hour later to see if the nose bleeds have settled down.

Mr X: Yes, they have settled doctor, but the bleeding starts if I get up and walk around. Here, I show you…

(Mr X proceeds to get out of bed and walk around before Dr A can tell him not to. The nose starts to spurt again.)

Dr A: Great!

Dr A spends the next hour trying to stop his bleeding

Moral of the story: some people are hell-bent on proving Darwin right. You can only stop them from doing it so many times

So its all done and dusted. The MOTH, Jack and I have shifted to Melbourne. Its been almost two months infact. Thats how long it has taken to settle in. And apart from all the usual chaos that accompanies moving countries, it has been all the more chaotic than would be expected. First Jack got left behind in Auckland. Then, Jack arrived in Melbourne. Then, Jack was really pissed off at being left behind in Auckland, and not allowed to go out in Melbourne. Then Jack went out of the house, and decided not to return. Until hunger got the better of him, and he returned home after 10 days of being AWOL. All of this amidst days full of running around, buying things for the house, being at home when things were delivered to the house, trying to buy a car, not having the car delivered on time, being stuck in Melbourne with no mode of transport (almost!), extending the rental period on the rental car, then having the rental people call me up threatening to report me to the police for not returning the car on time…..WHEW! As I said, chaotic…

Anyhow, everything got done. And hopefully all the chaos is now behind us. But in amongst all this chaos and frantic running around, there was a moment about a week ago, when I paused to think. And I am a bit ashamed to admit this, but for the first time in my life, it struck me how lucky I was. It all started when I went to get my eyebrows threaded. The lady I went to was probably the same age as me, and from India, and as such, was someone that I could identify with. But the similiarities ended there. She was mother to a 3 year old gorgeous girl. However, she was here with her husband, while the kid was still back home, being cared for by the in-laws. Her husband was here in Melbourne, studying part-time, and working part-time. And she was here with him. And it was so obvious how much she missed her daughter. It made me wonder how someone could leave their child behind like that to come overseas. I would never do that, I thought, sitting on my high horse.

But then, as I sat there while she worked on my eyebrows, I realised I had no right to think that. In fact, I had no idea what it was like to be her. She and her husband were living in a room the size of my bedroom. It was their living room, their bedroom, his study, her work area. On one wall, right at my eye level, was posted his roster for the upcoming month. Majority of the days said “rostered day off”. And while she was working on my eyebrows, in the tradition of beauticians all over the world, she was chatting away, talking about how hard life is as an Indian in melbourne, how difficult it is to try and save money for her husband’s fees for the next semester, etc, etc. I couldnt get out of there fast enough.

Then I left. And came home to my 46 inch Sony Bravia and my leather recliner couch. And I realised why I was in such a hurry to leave. Because for the first time in my life, I realised how lucky I am. That I was born to parents who did all this hard work so their kids could have a better life. That I worked hard when I needed to, and I am reaping the benefits of it today. That I married a guy who did his share of hard work too. My life has been too smooth until now. It has gone according to plan. I havent hit any major glitches yet. I never appreciated how good I had it until now. And I am not sure I liked the feeling that I got when I realised it. I felt…..something similiar to…..shame, perhaps.

There is nothing quite like coming home after a 14 hour work-day to the sight and smell of your husband cooking steaming-hot, spicy bhurji (indian scrambled eggs). The aroma of freshly chopped green chillies, and onions sizzling in the frying pan, tingling in my nostrils. Ahhhhh….

I always knew I married the perfect man. This just re-affirms it.