Three Black Spots

Dude, where’s my Ferrari?

There is an unspoken social contract in India. Parents are supposed to give their all for their children, and when the kids grow up, its their turn - they are now supposed to look after their parents. The scale and the quality of the ‘looking after’ has not been codified, but we parents have all learned to quote the famous Kennedy example of the clan buying Joe P a private plane for his birthday. Always set the bar high.

Once I reached ‘a certain age’ I decided that it was time to have my mid life crises. My first one came about ten years ago, when I decided to learn roller blading in Central Park. My lesson ended in disaster and humiliation, with the trainer’s words ‘ Sir, maybe you should try something else’ resonating in my ears. I found a more sympathetic coach, managed to stay on my feet, and the crisis passed. No pierced earrings, so all was well.

My post mid life crisis has all been about Ferrari, Formula One and Filial Duty. I have discovered exactly what Ayesha needs to give us to make the ‘golden’ years glow – a red Ferrari. Every email to her is not complete without a ‘ Dude where’s my Ferrari’ entreaty, and I manage to weave it into most of our conversations too. One day, her sense of responsibility will kick in, but so far we have had to be satisfied with a radio controlled Porsche from FAO Schwarz ($ 79.99, taxes extra, batteries included). I am not ashamed to say that I looked it up.

Yoda has his ‘thing’ too, and he has wanted it from the time he was a puppy. His own seat. No waiting for a mid-life crisis for him, or maybe dogs get them early in life. Whether it’s on a plane or in a car, he looks at us and we know the question ‘Dude, where’s my seat?’ Early in the game, he also worked out that he needed to address the question to me. He either figured that he would get no cheese from Mina, or that I would be sucker enough to fall for his gambit.

And, I do. My first lesson was on an Air France flight from New York to Paris. We had settled down, stowed all our bags away, and pulled out our reading matter. I had gone to change into my pajama suit, and when I returned, Yoda was comfortably sleeping in my seat. Mina had covered him with a little blanket, and he looked set for the duration. ‘Why don’t you see if there is another seat in the cabin?’ So, I went marching off, patrolling up and down the aisles.

No spare seat up front, just one window seat in the last row of Business next to the toilets and galleys. I came back and reported on this to Mina, who gave me the ‘ How can I wake up the poor tyke?’ look. So, off I went. I explained what I was doing to the flight attendant, who gave me the pitying look that said ‘Puppy-whipped’. I slunk into my seat by the window, tried to feel noble about the sacrifice that I was making for our pooch, and failed.

The man sitting beside me waited till after take off and asked ‘ You’re Mr Krishnan, aren’t you?’. I confessed, and waited for the other shoe to drop. ‘ How come you’re not up there? Were they overbooked?’. He was one of the counter staff at Air France, and I told him the story. Softly, since I did not want the whole plane to know of my eviction. ‘ You’re a very kind man, you must love your dog very much’ was all he had to say, before he turned and went off to sleep.

The next morning, I went up to say hello. Both Mina and Yoda looked well rested. I got a few licks from the pooch, and then he jumped off the seat, curled up at Mina’s feet and went back to sleep. I sat down, had a good breakfast, and was careful not to ponder over the meaning of what happened. It is better to gloss over certain things.

Maybe, one day Yoda will get me a Ferrari for my troubles. He owes me big time.