GO TO YOUR ROOM! (Feb. 15 - part 2)

From the airport, we drove into the city. What a welcome sight to see lots of cars and trucks and auto-rickshaws and even some bicycle rickshaws. The city was bustling and simply had a more pleasant aura about it than Biratnagar. We drove down the main streets, without having to duck down back alleys as a matter of survival. Once into the city proper, we did turn onto side streets and finally reached the gate at the Golyan residence, as announced on the very prominent, highly-polished (actually glistening) plaque at the left of the front gate. Naturally, the driver honked and honked and honked the car horn (or should I say beep-beeped it?) until a uniformed guard from within, opened a tiny door, stepped outside and checked that the car on the outside of the gate belonged not only to the Golyan family, but had passengers inside who were supposed to be there. After speaking with the driver and peeking his head in the driver’s side window, and gazing upon the “Big fat white guy”, he went back inside, and opened the main gate. Two dogs were barking and racing through the yard, and I was told to remain in the car until they could be kenneled. Evidently the beautiful golden Labrador Retriever did not like strangers and bared his teeth to prove it.

We got out of the car, beneath the port-cachere and two men from inside the house took my bag and my briefcase into the foyer. And here I thought the Golyan home in Biratnagar was huge and lovely – it paled by comparison to this one and I could only see the foyer and the sunken living room and a dining area. There was some discussion between Mahesh and the man who seemed to be more in charge than the second, and it was decided I could take some tea, but it would be upstairs. I tried to carry my own briefcase but was tacitly admonished by the man in charge as he and the other man each carried one bag upstairs for me. I was ushered into a type of sitting room with a huge plasma flat screen television at one end of the room, bookshelves filled with lots of Barbie Doll trappings, as well as tons of Winnie-the-Pooh paraphernalia. There were photographs on the wall, and since I knew that Basu only had two grown sons, I determined that this home was the principal residence of his brother (who looked like Basu’s clone in one or two photographs) and I was perhaps ensconced in the TV room for the daughter, who must either be away at school or perhaps even married. I was more or less told to sit on the bed-couch at one end of the TV room and to wait. Mahesh had already taken his girlfriend, as I had learned, and left for the night. I was going to be staying in this enormous and lavishly appointed home, alone with the servants. I decided to get up and open the door we had entered from downstairs, and perhaps take my tea downstairs. When I descended the stairs, I was met my Mr. In-Charge at the bottom and motioned to return back to my room. Tea was definitely being served to me in the TV room. Of this, there was absolutely no question!.

Within a few minutes of my returning to the TV room, Mr. In-Charge arrived with a tray on which was a tea cup, saucer, and a plate of biscuits, as well as a china teapot. He poured my tea for me and then promptly left the room. I guess I was to enjoy my tea in my cell. About a half-hour later, Mr. In-Charge entered the room and told me, as best he could, that he would bring my dinner in one hour. He found the remote for the television and turned on the TV and showed me how to change the channels. He wanted to insert a DVD, but I happened to recognize one of the programs – CSI, on the screen and told him I preferred to watch this program.