Yes Mam

Let me introduce you to my new identity in the workplace, "mam". I know that this is the spelling of my new name because my driver uses it when sending me a text.

And yes, you read that right, my driver. Every morning at 9:00 Ajit is waiting outside the hotel in a white Toyota "High Cross". Every evening he is outside the office at 18:30 ready to drive me back to the hotel. Some might be thinking this is the height of luxury but it's beginning to feel more like a prisoner transit!

Anyway, somewhere in his job application Ajit wrote that he spoke English and somewhere in mine I might have said I am fluent in Hindi. You can only imagine the high brow, philosophical conversations we engage in to and from work! And oh how we laugh!

But let's get back to Mam. The evidence against my claim to be Indian is starting to stack up quite high. Mam is not Indian. Everyone, at work or out and about, looks at me with awe and wonderment. It's not a Disney Princess kind of awe but more of a "what exactly is that?" sort of wonderment.

When I get into the packed lift at work in the morning the young girls in the lift exchange looks and actually giggle. If you ever watched Ozark, the character called Ruth once described the tall female lawyer as the "f-ing giant woman". That is mam in the lift. Mam is about a foot taller than I was in London. Mam is enormous compared to other office females. And I have a suspicion that mam is actually taller than the average male too. Mam is also an insipid yellow hue compared to the smooth nut brown colour of Mumbaikers, whereas I am sure when I was in London I was a brown colour too?

Small aside. When choosing a face wash at the mall last night the young man suggested that the "glass skin" wash was probably best for me. He obviously saw a ghostly translucency evident only to specially trained beauty product counter staff. My only feedback so far on his recommendation is that it was everso difficult to wash it off my face this morning but I will provide a full review after 30 days of continous use.

Mam is also someone who is obviously incompetent at simple tasks such as selecting a black coffee option from a machine or getting a bottle of water. If mam walks into the Pantry at least two people will rush up and ask Mam how they can help. And of late I haven't even made it to the Pantry before coffee and water is delivered to my desk.

Simon is starting to worry. He is making me press the buttons on the lift and use my keycard in the hotel door because he is worried I might lose basic motor skills and some mental faculties too. He is facing a future where his wife will enter the kitchen and stand dazed until someone is able to provide sustenance. And I don't think the new "glass skin" is going to be sufficent upside for him to feel that mam is a good replacement for the old me.