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I have just officially become British.
“Jolly well done!” says the London Taxi driver jovially, when I explain – in response to his earlier question – what Ranbir and I were doing at the Town Hall.
“Thanks,” I would have said normally. “Cheers,” I say today.
“How do you feel?” he proceeds to ask me, his round, pink, British face grinning widely into the rear-view mirror.
“Hot” I reply truthfully. For it is 27 degrees in London today (not that I’m complaining), although I think his question has little to do with the weather.
“Oh!” he remarks, rather disappointed by my reply. But he obligingly presses some buttons and the passenger side windows slide down to let in some welcome cool English breeze.
I decide I should text Sid to inform him of the events of the afternoon, namely that 1) The Ceremony had concluded, 2) Ranbir had behaved, and 3) I was now on my way home.
Now, I like to keep texts short and sweet. Mainly because when it comes to receiving texts, I like to get them short and sweet. Short and sweet is endearing. Much like Danny Devito. Honestly, I really dislike a text that is too long. Especially if it is so long that it spills over into two texts. That’s when my eyes glaze over and my finger travels in autopilot, straight for the delete button. I mean – isn’t that why you call people? To discuss lengthy things? Or is it that much of a chore to actually talk to someone these days?
Anyway, I text Sid: “Job done. V Hungry”
He texts back: “I’ll cook dinner.”
I reply: “Why?”
He replies: “Because I’ll be home. And because you got your Citizenship.”
At this point, I’m not sure how to respond. I decide to fall back on the old trusty.
I write: “Cheers”
It’s a hard one, this. Because while it’s a fantastically touching gesture, my husband cooking for me etc. I wonder – what’s he getting all giddy about? I mean, he usually cooks for me on Mother's Day and my birthday and so on. Special stuff you know. A treat-type-of-thing. His “being home” has never featured before on the Occasions Calendar.
So: what, I am compelled to ask, is the big deal?
I mean I totally get that it’s more convenient to be of the same nationality as my husband and son. This means that if we ever need to get air lifted out of Costa Rica, at least we’d all be on the same plane, headed to the same place. Or so one would hope.
But beyond that...