I bumped into one Mr Shekhar recently. It was my first meeting with Mr Shekhar.

You know the type. The kind of man who has been there, seen that and done all that and more. At least that is how he portrayed himself, all gung-ho and ready to go.

I introduced myself and also revealed that I was working on a magazine.

This news seemed to arouse some interest in this ‘know-it-all’ man, and every sentence of mine was punctuated with his ‘good’, ‘good’, ‘good’ to the point of ad nauseum.

But, it was still er, a ‘good’ encouragement and after my verbal diarrhoea was over, it was Mr Shekhar’s turn.

He began asking me questions. Pointed ones.

He started with the usual ‘where are you from’?

Kent, I said.

How did you come to the UK?

In an aeroplane, I wanted to tell him but I bit my tongue and pretended ignorance (which was easy) and innocence (which was quite a task).

Even if I did not give him a direct answer I knew he would somehow get it from me. For sometime, I kept thinking as to how best I could give him an answer for this question of his.

Why not tell him that I am married to a UK spouse and thus ended up here or else I would be forced to tell this stranger the full story of my coming here. Not that there were any skeletons in this closet, but still, some things are private. So I played it safe and went for the UK spouse story.

But the moment I said that, I realised that I got more than what I had bargained for: So, you are an ‘Imported son-in-law’, Mr Shekhar laughed.

His judgement came as a total revelation for me. This was something that I had never ever heard or thought about. That struck me off guard like Murali’s (a wily Sri Lankan bowler) doosra. I stood there, trying to grope for words in the dark of my mind. And the only picture that appeared in my mind was that of a batsman forlornly staring at the damning finger of an umpire who was signalling that the batsman was out. I felt more than that - I felt down and out.

I knew very much that I had to fight and defend myself or else this Mr Shekhar was going to gobble me up with his unsolicited pronouncements. I decided to fight on: But Mr Shekhar I came here only after five years after marrying my UK spouse… “But you are still an imported one,” he grated. He had this distasteful habit of repeating a point. I shifted the conversation to another topic and he started telling me about what his UK born and brought up son was doing in the Uni (British short form of our University).

As he took a break from me to see one of his friends, my mind meandered to the many imported sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, mothers-in-law, and fathers-in-law. It all seemed a bit weird and when I sounded it off to my wife, she did what most wives do: burst into laughter. I didn’t feel like laughing. My head spun and although I glared at her, she went on laughing. But, soon, she realised that I was hardly amused and slowly she shifted gear from laughter to giggles to broad smiles.

She realised that the man’s words had struck a negative chord in me, so when I continued on my line, she began to reason out with me: “And, what’s wrong being an imported son-in-law?”

Don’t say that again, I hissed. Alarmed, she started to say something but stopped.

My mind buzzed with er, ‘imported’ thoughts. The first one, which strode into my mind, was those of days when my uncles, who were in the Gulf, brought back to Kerala imported, good quality perfumes, trainers, walkmans and other electronic stuff.

Yes, those goodies were imported because we couldn’t get it in Kerala then. Now I was feeling less negative of the thought. I started to ask myself questions. What do we do to get something good if we don’t have it in our place? We import it! Hey, that was fantastic. So I was imported because my in-laws couldn’t get a better one out here! Ha, this was good! I felt decidedly better.

And as I basked in my own salutary thoughts, Mr Shekhar sauntered back. Now it was my turn to unleash a doosra to him: Where exactly do you come from Mr Shekhar? It’s all a long story, he said. Tell me Sir, I have all the time in the world and I am all ears, I said.

He was working for the Ministry of Defence with the UK government in one of their colonial countries, he started off. But then how did you reach here, I asked.

“When they closed up their operations in the colonial countries they had to leave and they asked us where we wanted to go -“ And what did you say Mr Shekar?

“I decided to come to the UK,” he replied.

So they decided to adopt you? I queried.

“Yeeahh,” he nodded.

So you are an adopted child?

“Ummhh, yes, in a way, yes, you could say that,” Mr Shekhar said.

And then you imported your wife and children, I asked him pointedly.

Yes, he was almost whispering and his rotund face suddenly lost all its colour and looked like a deflated balloon.

So you have an imported wife and children Mr Shekhar, I asked, my voice dripping honey

Yes, he said, his head drooping.