Ma wants to bring America to her motherās house in Dhaka. Problem is she has to fit it into 8 pieces of luggage. Thatās not gonna stop her. Sheās from the country that fits 10 people into a sedan. U.S. customs will definitely stop her. But, thatās later. For now, her enemies are the dimensions of the luggage along with their accomplices, the straps and buckles.
Sheās got an item for everyone back in her neighborhood. Thereās the old hair straightener she hasnāt used for 3 years; thatās for Kohinoor, the cook. My old backpacks, the ones that have Pikachu on them; thatās for Safwon, my six-year old cousin, the youngest of the family. Sheās got prepackaged quinoa for my grandma;Ā Nanu never heard of quinoa and that was before she had dementia. The 1000-pack of Lipton teabags takes up a hefty portion of my luggage, her reason being the packs over there are just too small and watery. Thereās the jewelry she packed for my aunts on both sides of the family, her blood sisters and her in-laws. The ones for the in-laws are neatly packaged in their Macyās gift wrap. The ones for her actual sisters are her own, theyāre in whatever jewelry boxes were around the house, brands be damned. Her reasoning, āthey wouldnāt be able to tell the differenceā. Then thereās the miscellaneous old clothes, gathering dust around the house, having no specific recipient just whoever was forgotten. A back-up. If they donāt like it, their loss.
She packs a lot of Pantene shampoo. Weāre only gonna stay for like a month and half and Iām pretty sure in our previous visits I have seen plenty of Pantene ads on TV. She tells me to stop being aĀ kiptaĀ and think about how muchĀ goodĀ shampoo costs over there. Besides, if she doesnāt buy for them who will? Bubu, her oldest sister, lives off the 5 cent packs she gets from the cigarette stand down the street. Ma manages to squeeze in a big can of lemonade powder mix. Itās for Ramadan. Their lemons might have cyanide, so just to be safe you know. After lots of jostling, we manage to tame the 8 beasts and zip them all.
Now begins my workout of the day, weighing them. We take out the scale. I lift each mammoth and take a shaky step onto the scale. While holding on for dear life, my mom peers down at the reading, which is conveniently covered by the luggage. Oh and she forgot her glasses. We have to redo the whole thing. 225 pounds. Oh no, itās like 20 pounds overweight. Dad hears that and mutters how heās not gonna pay any stupid $100 fine just because Ma packs some stupid gifts worth $20.Ā
We have to open them again. Ok, maybe weāll buy Safwon a new backpack when we get there. Kohinoor doesnāt need that hair straightener, just giver her 100 taka (equivalent to about $1.30) and sheāll be jumping for joy. Get rid of the Lipton box. Just open it. Take the bags out and just wrap them in a towel or something. Weāll scrap the jewelry that was meant for Bubu because sheās the least likely to mind. Nanu probably wonāt like the quinoa so instead of the 5-pack, weāll only take 2. If she likes it, then weāll bring her more next time or tell our otherĀ bideshiĀ to bring some when they visit.Ā
Ma doesnāt want to take anything out. How can she? This is for her home, for the people who she grew up with, who helped her get here to America. Sheās probably hoping that these gifts might make up for her absence in their daily lives. She wasnāt there when Safwon needed heart surgery at the age of 2. She wasnāt there when Bubuās husband died. She isnāt there to take care of her own mom who has lost so much to dementia that she canāt even go to the bathroom on her own. This is what makes her so resolute. She shoves every item with an extra umph. I try negotiating with her, reasoning with her. She becomes so much of a giver when it comes to her family. When we try repacking, we end up not taking anything out, so nothing changes.Ā
Maybe we can convince the airline manager to not fine us with our irresistible smiles. This time, itās a fellow man from the Indian sub-continent. We try to parlay that connection into no fine. No luck. Bastard has no compassion, no accent, just an icy cold look. We have a long staredown. Then, he hands us our bill. I give it to Dad who is staying behind here in New York. He starts swearing at Ma from afar. Thank the Lord he isnāt traveling with us or this would be a very long 33-hour journey. Maās saddened by the fine; she doesnāt like money taken away from her. Throughout the flight, she contemplates ways she could have rearranged things differently. When we land and eventually hand out the gifts, the looks of gratitude that our family members give us make Ma go āsee, it was worth itā.
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