In about 20 minutes from now, Jalali Baba will emerge from the Abu-Dhabi airport a free spirit embodied in a 102 Kg nicotine-infested holy temple, about to become nothing less than a nicotine mine.

Reason: His family, which in his tech-savvy definition is the same configuration as mine, will have boarded a flight to the land of the pure. To a less than sufficiently tech-savvy person like his humble disciple, our families being in the same configuration is meant to indicate the fact that it is possible to explain the principle of one-to-one correspondence to 4th graders using the two families as examples. Hence, when the families get together, the members of the families locate their respective counterparts, and initiate drawn out discussions on matters of mutual interest/disgust, not excluding gheebat sessions.

So, while Jalali Baba is seen imparting worldly wisdom to his unworthy disciple, the ladies (elder ones) exchange notes (read brag about) on the irritating (lack of) talents of their husbands, the three and a half year old boys get into fist-fights over each other's toys, while the young almost two-year old princesses practice the essential girly art of giving each other the cold shoulder treatment. The last pair also gets into frequent arguments over establishing who is the "baby" around there. Either party insists on calling the other "baby", and takes lead at flashing a triumphant smile at the ensuing tantrum thrown by the other. One is reminded of two blogging sisters driving a blogging mother nuts with their 'U Turn / No, U turn' arguments on their road trip. Well, this argument if it were garnished with enough 'U's would sort of sound the same:

Princess 1: U baby!
Princess 2: No, U baby!
Princess 1: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! (Princess 2 flashes triumphant smile) NNO!U BABY!
Princess 2: WAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa!!! (Princess 1 flashes triumphant smile) NNNO! U BABY!!

... and so on and so forth.

I digress unnecessarily. The long and short of it all is that Jalali Baba's family has gone home today, for at least a month, which is short as compared to the last trip which had lasted six months. In those six months, Jalali Baba had put some 50,000 kilometers on Saab Ki Gaadi, running up and down between Abu-Dhabi and the mountains of Dibba, Fujairah. For those unfamiliar with UAE's geography, allow me to explain that between Abu-Dhabi and Dibba lies almost all of the rest of the country. Those were also the six months in which he had made up for all the nicotine deficiency in his body.

Last year, when his family had gone home, the distance between Abu-Dhabi and any point in the country had been reduced to immaterial. Hence, it was often Baba who would descend at the disciple's cottage. Towards the sixth month, the disciple's family had also proceeded to Pakistan for a one-month vacation. It was in this month that the disciple was afforded a chance to visit Baba's exalted abode. The prelude to this visit was a Mushaira, which was to be held in Abu-Dhabi.

In months leading up to this Mushaira, Jalali Baba had heard my poetry a little, and liked it. He was subjected to it a lot more, and was courteous. He has amazing command over Urdu, and is intimidatingly well-read. Now, for him to approve and like my work counted as a big compliment, and I reveled in the limelight of his approval.

A couple of weeks later, we went to this All UAE Urdu Mushaira, where some of the best poets of UAE, and some more from Pakistan and India were reciting their kalam. We both traveled in my Jimmy from Dubai to Abu Dhabi, taking BIL with us to attend it. We got there before the mehfil had started. As the first poet, the youngest of the lot, recited his verses, I got an sms on my mobile from this exalted fan of mine, and it read thus: "Mian Choozey, ab apni auqat pata chali!!!" Translated, it meant something like this: "Chicken shit, do you realize your worth now?" I was shocked. My one fan had dissed me within the first five minutes of the Mushaira. Did wonders for my soaring self-esteem. He still laughs about it.

I continue to see the shrink.

Finished, we went to his apartment. It was a disaster. If I thought my room was unkempt, all my fears were dissuaded. The cushions that his son had thrown before he had gone to Pakistan six months ago were still lying on the floor. Laundry was piled right after the dining table, just before the mattress, where he had evidently been sleeping in front of the TV after the family had gone home. There were all sorts of books on all sides of the mattress. Some were even under the mattress, others peeked from beneath the pile of laundry. Amazingly, he could locate each book at the drop of a hat, provided you could help him locate the hat in a jiffy.

There were four boxes of Pringles lined on the side of the mattress just beside the pillow, and I presumed he had been living on Pringles ever since his wife had taken that flight to Karachi. I proceeded to open one of them to munch on some, and he screamed at the top of his lungs. Turns out, each of these boxes was functioning as the final resting place of what had been the contents of tens and tens of Marlboro packs. Whoever had the time to go empty the ashtray every now and then. Indigenous thinking had made those trips to the trashcan redundant, while at the same time making the final resting place of all those cigarettes into trophies in their own right. Bhabi, a doctor by profession, wasn't supposed to know he was still smoking, and he planned to tidy the whole place up before she came. I tried to reason with him - if you had had half a kilo of ash lying in a room for half a year, no amount of tidying up could rid the place of the stench. He seemed to believe otherwise.

The two bed rooms as well as the kitchen were uncannily tidy - it was as if no-one had been there in a long while. Actually, no-one had been there in a long long while.

I understand that bhabi had replaced the cushions in their rightful place before leaving today, so the place should be relatively tidier in 30 days - relative to what it had looked like last year.

Hence fellas, Jalali Baba has his freedom from today, and my guess is he is at a mini-mart right now, paying for Pringles!