I stand in the security line at Houston’s Hobby Airport behind a desi man, who is shorter than I am and wears glasses. As always, people are trying to move through security lines as quickly as possible. A guard guard tries to expedite the process by guiding passengers to different kiosks where we can have our tickets and identifications checked.
Glancing at the desi in front of me, the guard nods in our direction and says, “You can go now.”
The man scuttles forward. I remain where I am.
“You’re not together?” the guard asks.
“No, we’re not together,” I respond, holding back my impulse to say: Just because we have similar hair and skin color doesn’t mean we’re related.
Once back in Pasadena, I stop at a pet shop to purchase cat litter.
“Namaste!” calls out the cash registrar as I finish my purchase and push my cart toward the sliding glass doors.
“Thank you,” I respond, again holding back on the impulse to inform him that if he wants to abide by my custom to bid me farewell, he should say: khuda-hafiz.
06 May 2017 · 10:06:43 PM