The Sisters Morris Go Shopping

“They’ve given me the wrong bra!” said Sister1.

“Yippee!” said Sister3.

“Oh no,” groaned the two brothers Morris.

“What’s wrong?” asked a bewildered brother-in-law, husband of Sister2 and, before the brothers Morris could warn him, proceeded to add, “Shall I take you back to the store?”

The sisters were together after a long time. Meeting up for Christmas, Sister1 had come down from Mumbai and Sister2 up from Vizhagapatnam, to meet Sister3, actually a cousin, also a Morris and more deadly than the sisters 1 and 2. The brothers Morris, actually cousins, stayed out of their way as much as we could. Why will become apparent in a minute.

Foolishly ignoring our warning looks, brother-in-law piled the sisters into the car and took them back to the store. “It is my duty to safeguard the ladies,” said the naval officer, self-same brother-in-law.

“Wonder who’s going to safeguard HIM” we muttered under our breaths.

Two hours later a haggard brother-in-law brought the sisters back, headed for the kitchen and decimated two bottles of beer without the benefit of a glass.

Although he was extremely reluctant, or perhaps unable, to talk we finally dragged the story out of him.

Apparently the sisters had marched into the store, right up to the cash counter and, disregarding the sign that said, “For reasons of hygiene, lingerie will not be exchanged”, demanded that the bra be exchanged.

“Madam, we don’t – “ began the cashier.

“Then start now” retorted Sister1, “your salesgirl has packed a nursing bra and I won’t need one for a few years at least.”

As this went on for a little while, a salesgirl volunteered that she had overheard Sister1 ask for that bra.

“Do you think,” thundered Sister1, “I would ask for the wrong bra just so I could come back and look at your miserable faces? And besides,” she continued, fixing the salesgirl with a baleful gaze, “is it store policy for salespersons to eavesdrop on customers?”

At this point, with the word “bra” being flung all around, brother-in-law had begun to edge towards the door, accompanied by sundry husbands whose wives were pitching in to either aid the sisters Morris or listen sympathetically to almost-wailing salesgirls and cashier.

Around this time the manager came out, the security guard pounced on brother-in-law, taking him to be a shoplifter, the sisters Morris were in full flow and brother-in-law swears he saw someone with a badge that bore the word “Press”.

He managed to convince the guard that he was no shoplifter, walked out of the store and suddenly felt his legs give way. He sat right there, on the pavement, until the triumphant sisters emerged.

Chattering away and unconcerned about the wave of human faces that followed them, discussing the merits and demerits of the case, the sisters piled into the car and demanded to be taken home.

“She’s usually so quiet at home,” said a bewildered brother-in-law.

“That,” said the brothers Morris, “is always the case with each sister until they get together. Then it’s a case of the whole being always greater than the constituent elements.”

Magical Goa: Part Uncs - Getting to Goa

Okay, Keefie, you asked for it, so here it is, the start of the Great Goan Adventure that ended with my sisters horrified, my brothers-in-law confused out of their wits and my nephew desperate to buy Playboy gear to impress his friends.

It all began with us going to Goa, as it must, of course. Since I don't know what comes before Part Ducks, this is Part Uncs. Deal with it.

We went in a Chevrolet Tavera. There were, let me see:

1. Me (from what I recall)
2. My sister Rashmi, who's been in the USA since she got married in 1992 or thereabouts
3. Vivek, Rashmi's son, all of 11
4. Savita, my other sister, also now in the USA
5. Sean, Savita's hubby, whom I met for the first time. He's a stage actor and well, you can guess what we discussed at every opportunity
6. Neesha, our cousin, whose presence in the Morris sister mix produces a strain of dynamite that makes Sir Nobel's concoction seem pretty tame in comparison
7. Salvi, our driver, who wondered why my brother in law was calling to him so affectionately during the trip, since Sean's pronunciation of "Salvi" and "Savi" (his affectionate term for his wife, my sister Savita) was identical

The journey began with a lot of luggage-strapping and stuff. Vivek took pictures that he refuses to share. About four hours after the time we had decided to take off, we took off.

All would have been fine but for Vivek's excitement at seeing bullock-carts, women carrying pots of water on their heads, swaying their hips to keep in balance (routine stuff, you know, but he's eleven) and so on. Vivek threatened to have us all crash into various stuff that randomly appears on Indian roads by launching himself as close to the front windshield as possible to take a picture but Salvi was adept and kept us all alive.

We had lunch at Satara. The local chicken dish is not to be missed. I forget the name but just ask the waiter for the best chicken dish and you'll get it.

Sean asked for the washroom and got directed to the wash basin. He was looking around, wondering if he was supposed to do the nasty in public, when I, having heard him, asked for the bathroom and guided him and Vivek to the appropriately shaded and sheltered spot. After we had all washed our hands, we sat down to an excellent lunch.

Moving on, we turned right at Kolhapur and got all our lunch digested by the simple expedient of bouncing up and down in the car, thanks to the excellent stretch of exercise road between Kolhapur and Goa. We were grateful to have experienced Moon surface travel right here on earth. Not to mention digesting our lunches without having to walk.

We got to Goa and got lost.

We wanted to go to Bagha.

Everyone we asked pointed out a different road. Apparently, the code in Goa is, "If you don't know, point to the nearest lane." Keep this in mind, it will feature in a later post.

We finally got to Bagha and Neesha got the resort that we had booked with on the line. They sent a pilot to guide us to the resort. The pilot took us through increasingly convoluted lanes (this was a Tavera we were in, mind you, with pilot on a scooter) to proudly show us an apartment block - the "resort".

It took some doing and plenty of expertise on Salvi's part but we exited. Pretty darn quick.

Long story short, we found an excellent resort on the main Bagha road and settled in. It's the Ronil Beach Resort. Keep the name in mind, it plays a major part in the "Adventure of the Penultimate Day in Goa", soon to be available in blogback.

We dined at a nearby restaurant and turned in. King's beer had flowed. We were tuckered.

End of day 1.

Deepak