Every Story has a Moral

Last evening I was chatting with someone in Toronto, who I've been following on Instagram for a while. It was the first time we had connected directly other than commenting on each others posts and keeping it mostly impersonal. 

Chatting with her brought back some interesting memories of the many times that I've visited Toronto, sometimes as a tourist and most other times as a consultant for work. One of those personal memories is what I'm going to share in todays post. 

Growing up in Calcutta, my dad had a fairly close friend who I always found to be intimidating. He had this booming voice, an aristocratic air and for some reason always seemed like he was inebriated. Later I found out that he had a serious alcohol problem. 

My parents and I had been living in Chicago for a few years when my sister came to visit and we decided to spend a few days in Niagara Falls and places around there. My dad had got to know that a brother of this friend I spoke about earlier, had moved to Toronto, so he called the gentleman with the intention of meeting for a meal or something. 

Now this friends brother was several years younger and I vaguely remembered him and his wife from parties that our parents would drag us to. Parties where there was a considerable amount of liquor flowing and not someplace people take their kids to, but it was a whole different time. All the kids were bustled into one room and we had to pretend to get along with each other. 

So basically my memory of this uncle and his wife were hazy at best. Except that they seemed very posh.

When my dad called and informed this gentleman about our trip, he (I thought) was unexpectedly excited and insisted that we stay with them for a couple of days at least. And since we were in no great rush to head back and he sounded so nice on the phone, my dad took him up on the offer.

My sister and I weren't exactly thrilled with the developments, since we expected them to be snobbish. But like good Indian (grownup) kids we went along with the plan.

After spending a couple of nights in Niagara Falls and doing everything that Asian tourists are supposed to do, we headed to Toronto City.

The best thing for me about staying with these friends of the family was that they lived in the heart of the city and not some boring suburb. In the city one can just walk to places, there are people around you, restaurants that aren't chains to eat at and generally a much more fun time. Although they lived in a little two-bedroom apartment, we as Indians are used to cramming ourselves into smaller spaces, sleeping on mattresses laid out on the floor and being in line to use the bathroom. Maybe not so much anymore but a lot of great memories have been created in these small spaces. Even when I lived in a one-bedroom, one bath apartment in Manhattan, there was a night when I had 10 guests staying over. Thankfully just for that one laughter-filled night!

Back in Toronto, the 'uncle' was now a limo driver and the 'aunt' worked at a Greek bakery. The same people that lived in a large home with adequate help were now 'the help'. The change in lifestyle had also changed their demeanour considerably. They were such warm and wonderful hosts and we were having such a great time together, that we ended up spending an extra night with them. I remember one time when we packed ourselves into the limo and drove out for a picnic. Picnics were a big thing when I was growing up and this certainly felt nostalgic of our time in Calcutta. Except that the picnic basket had all Greek treats but nobody was complaining!

It's funny (not the haha kind of funny) how our circumstances, our environment and our affluence or lack of, has an effect on our behaviour. They probably were always really nice people and it was my vision of them that was distorted. Or they had to put up this front of being a part of the upper echelon of society. Or they were actually the way they were and their lives getting upturned made them who they had become. It's something I'll never know for sure. 

I'm guessing that my dad and the uncle stayed in touch for a while but we never met again. Sometimes a short connection and leaving on a happy note is all that's needed for a lifetime of good memories. 

Is this piece just another snippet of my life or does the story come with a moral? To me there is more than one moral, which I don't need to get into. Each of you is clever enough to figure these out for yourselves. I would however, love to hear from you in the comments section as to what you got out of it. Don't be shy to share.