Pinching habits and honeymoon hair
STOLEN mangoes are always tastier. That brings me to the bounce and the shine in my hair.
“You sure we can take this thing?” Annee quizzed me as we were leaving our hotel room.
“Ja, I took the shampoo, conditioner and the tea bags, too,” I shot back.
Coming from my beloved Bangladesh Market district in Chatsworth, we have this belief that if you’ve paid for it you should have it.
I strip hotel rooms like CSI Miami. Except for the sheets, gowns and paintings, of course.
Taking the complimentary stuff does give it the salacious air that comes from the proceeds of crime. My bathroom is full of fully paid fancy branded products.
But it is the little tubes from the Michelangelo that I lather sparingly each day to stroke the spring in my curly mane.
Well, actually it is a thin greying mop, but my trusty mirror and an overactive imagination leave me looking like a coiffed
Shah Rukh Khan on honeymoon.
Not all of my friends are as gifted in petty larceny. Jalaboy took my advice a little too literally. On his first trip to Cape Town in 1987 in a battered blue Datsun with holes in the undercarriage for viewing Karoo potholes, he got into a bit of trouble.
He checked out of the Holiday Inn with more baggage than his brood of children. In it was everything from the toilet brush to the curtains.
As he drove through Beaufort West, Three Sisters and Prince Albert he smiled at how successful his heist was. Cruising into Bloemfontein as the sun was setting after a long day’s driving, he was pulled over by the traffic police.
His wife slipped him a crisp R10 note to go with his licence just in case the officer was thirsty.
There was nothing wrong with the car. Just a call on the radio from a little hotel in Sea Point.
Jalaboy was given the option of either accommodation in the Free State cells or taking the stolen stuff back to Cape Town.
On the drive back, he did a lot of cursing and had me choking on each swear word.
Ever since, he takes his own towels and sheets when he stays in a hotel. I chuckled over the story as I ripped a procured sachet of Fortnum & Mason lemon tea and left it to slowly brew on the side table in my library.
I scanned the shelf with an assortment of Bibles in the various tongues of the world. I have never had the heart to steal a Bible from a hotel room.
“Yoh, bru, you can read so many languages, you must be like a cunning linguist,” Shami cooed.
He was visiting for a few books for his daughter’s school project. The plan was a design of the Sistine Chapel and he came armed with pencil crayons and drawing paper.
Research tool
I gently chided him that it was the child’s project and not his. My Catholic friends in Bangladesh are well aware that the Sistine Chapel is the official residence of the Pope in the Vatican City.
Shami’s gaze turned to Dr Christine Panyard’s lavishly illustrated The Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceiling of the chapel spring to life in the book and are paired with the scripture on which they were based.
It is a delightful tour guide and a handy research tool, too.
Since it was for a child fond of reading, I was happy to part with my treasured books. As we walked out into the garden, I pointed at the flowering mango tree, hoping to get a childhood story out of him.
“Ja, but no use, you will chow from the neighbour’s tree,” he chuckled. What could I do but knowingly run my fingers through my beautiful hair.
Henry Higgins promotes #Readingrevolution at Books@ Antiquecafe in Windermere and at the first Sunday’s Durban Book Fair at Mitchell Park.