Sweet or Sour

On my way in a taxi to the airport at 1:00 AM in the night, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “really is it worth it to be woken up with in two hours of sleep, to gulp down an anti-vomit tablet and head for shores so many miles away from family and home. To Malta, a country I had never heard of other than as the name of a fruit in my mother’s garden. A big sized orange with a centimeter thick skin and taste more sour than any lemon I ever had. Goes to say of my poor geographical knowledge, distaste for popping tablets and absolute dislike for interruptions to my sleep. As for family and home, I know, they enjoy my presence as much as a short absence.

After three days of tucking in a mix of continental and mediterranean food and desserts in between some technical talks and my own talk on the last day, the mood had a major shift. The prevailing sense was of that state of mind which one calls contentment. Sitting there in a lovely hotel looking out of my balcony in to St. George bay with boats rocking on the mild waves, bags all packed up and waiting for the taxi to arrive, I was wiser, at least about the geographical location of Malta. The name will surely have much sweeter associations than before. With all the sweetness around, there had to be a fly in the ice-cream: some co-passengers in the flight back. I was holding my aching head wondering “ Why do Indian men have to be so rude to air hostesses?”