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The Vacation Part-4

About Debjani

Debjani Mukherjee a MBA in applied management loves to play with words and shaping her cognizance of life in poetry. She behold human nature very meticulously and mastered the art of pouring her fulfilment on paper skilfully. Her poems, short stories and articles are published in many international anthologies and magazine

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Part 4

The foreigner sitting on the opposite lower berth clapped his hands looking at Titli.
“You have a very talented girl here, Mr.” he said addressing Nikhil.

He was a tall man in his mid forties, with a face kept unshaven for days. His wrists are double the size of Nikhil’s and his body had no trace of fat anywhere. He said his name was Georgi Balevski and he was from Bulgaria. It had been six months now that he was maundering in different cities of India. His bronzed complexion justifies the fact completely. He used to be a lecturer back at Bulgaria but he left his job to travel the world. He had been to China, Bhutan and finally India. He already visited Kashmir and the golden triangle, and absolutely fell in love with the Taj Mahal. Now he is eager to explore Goa, as he heard very much about this place. Nikhil kept conversing with him, explaining to him the culture and traditions of India. He talked about the ancient temples which demonstrates the beautiful architecture of India. He kept on showing him pictures from Google on his iPhone. Georgi kept looking and asking questions with extreme interest. Nikhil told him about the 300 years old temple of Kedarnath which remained unharmed regardless of the devastation caused by the natural disaster of 2013 and the Lingaraj temple of Bhubaneshwar which is an excellent example of medieval architecture of India.

A short thin guy from the pantry came to serve lunch for which he had taken the orders previously. Rectangular brown food trays stacked one over another containing sealed foil packages. The aroma of the food filled the coops making every one feel instantly hungry and Purvi started arranging the plates on the little table for lunch. She dragged out another Tupperware containing four rolled foil in it and a bottle of homemade mango prickle. She pulled out a plastic spoon from her side bag and served a spoon full of prickle on each plate and a rolled foil pack on each. Then an afterthought she opened one of the rolls and took out two stuffed parathas from it. She took out another paper plate and arranged it with the remaining two parathas, securing them back to the rolled foil and a dash of mango prickle and offered it to the foreigner, as she handed another to Nikhil.

“It is called keema paratha. Indian home-made bread stuffed with chicken mince. Everything is homemade and very hygienic, don’t worry.” She said. Georgi smiled with a bit of surprise and said, “There is absolutely no need for this. I have sandwiches with me.”

But who can stop an Indian woman from making one eat even if they are not hungry.

Purvi didn’t give up at all. Instead, she insisted with even more warmth in her voice.

“It is not spicy at all as my kids are also going to have it. I made it this morning with ghee. I am sure you won’t regret.” She smiled. “It is that if you are in India and didn’t taste the food here, you haven’t seen the real India at all.”

Georgi smile widely and took the plate, muttering a “thank you” to Purvi.

She came back to her seat and handed over another two plates to Titli and Tito. She started with her own.

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