1 accompanying me to the kitchen saying she wanted to see if they were the kind of sweets Khushi makes. When I mentioned serving some Indian sweets up jumped Sister No. Some weeks later the Smith sisters came to visit me. The men were watching the melodrama with the helpless concentration of snakes following a mongoose’s wily darts to and fro. All were glued to the TV screen on which a brilliantly coloured Indian soap-opera was playing. Sitting in front of me occupying the front rows were 15 or so large, tough-looking men, the kind of individuals who lift up crates and literally manhandle them, along with a few wimpier looking folks there to claim their goods. After navigating the much improved process of recovering your possessions from the wharf you finally end up in a large waiting room with about fifty chairs and a TV mounted on the wall in its own personal grill. Perhaps it was the time I went to clear some goods I’d shipped from India a couple of years ago at one of Kingston’s ports. I don’t know when I first started noticing it.
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