The Mummy - Part 1

“You know Amitabh Bachchaaan? You look like Amitabh Bachchaaan. Very Strong Amitabh Bachchaaan. Very handsome. I like Amitabh Bachchaaan .”

I wonder when was the last time someone said that to you. I wonder if anyone has ever said that to you. Chances are that they haven’t and that’s because, you’ve probably never been to Egypt.

This is one crazy country and I’ll tell you more as you keep reading. If you want to hear more about the great pyramids and the river Nile, go look it up on google. I have been there done that all right, but let’s just leave it at that. This is my story, not a class in Geography.

The first thing that strikes you as you get off the airplane at Cairo airport is not how far are the pyramids, or how high is it, or how many people did it take to make it, booby trapped doors, Imhotep, Ramsees, or Tutankhamen. The first thing that strikes you as you get off that airplane is, “Shit, it’s bloody cold out here”. I thought this was the bloody desert. Who turned on the air conditioning? It was only around half past five in the evening, the sun was still shining in all its glory, and yet it was seriously quite cold, more cold than cool, an unpleasant 10-11C. So, there you are, just about to disembark from the plane and you just can’t help but think of how so many people and great institutions, starting with your high school Geography teacher, great writers, historians, Discovery Channel, National Geographic were misleading you from the time you can remember. May be I too ought to buy one of those “Education ruined me” t-shirts.

The desert, I got to know over the next couple of days is not always as hot as they make it appear. I am sure it’s miserable in summer, but as I was about to find out, it can be very pleasant during other times of the year. Its just like Delhi, a melting pot in summer, quite pleasant at other times of the year, chilling to the bone in winter.

How I was mislead from the time I was born however, is the least of my concerns. I have a suitcase full of summer wear. I was gunning for the “O’Connel” look - Brendan Frazer in the Mummy. Nice whites and khakhis. I was ridiculing my colleague when he said they are very formal in Egypt and I’ll have to carry my suit. “Who carries a suit to a desert? I am going to be sweating bullets wearing a suit in the desert.” I am glad that for once I paid heed to someone’s advice and didn’t let my common sense go into overdrive.

The second thing that strikes you as you get off the airplane and enter the airport is that the old HAL Bangalore airport was not the crappiest airport in the world, wait till you’ve seen Cairo airport. But then, no sooner have you noticed that may be you come from a rich country after all, than it suddenly starts getting interesting.

There you are standing in line at the immigrations, it’s the same everywhere in the world, I don’t want to murder Egypt on that count, but as I was saying, as you stand in line waiting for the bureaucracy to work its bit, you just can’t help but notice how pretty the women folk here are. They are simply stunning - beautiful eyes, clear and lovely skin, sharp features, some of them sport their hair in curls and red nail polish. How I wish I could marry one of them.

Red nail polish? Let’s not get kinky at this point, I am merely documenting my finds.

I slowly begin to understand why the Arab world invented the parda, not that I approve of it, but as my uncle rightly once said, when you see such beauty, I wouldn’t be surprised if you want to shield it from the world.

Then, it gets better.

Did you know that you can light your cigarette while you standing in line waiting for the Immigration officer to stamp your passport? For all you know, the man behind the counter is smoking his cigarette while he’s stamping it. I come from a country that just banned smoking in public spaces and I am, for once quite pleased with the health ministry for passing a useful legislation for a change. But there’s something very cool about watching someone light his cigarette right in front of the Immigrations officer. If you can smoke at Immigrations, you can smoke just about anywhere you please. There’s a picture forming in my head, where I am dressed as a surgeon, doing an open heart on some hapless patient, a cigarette held between my lips, “Nurse, forceps. Nurse, check the blood pressure? Keep the knife ready. Nurse, Ash tray.”. I am going to have a whale of a time all right.


I went for a tour of the pyramids the next morning.

Yeah yeah, I know what you saying, I swore I wouldn’t talk about the pyramids, but this is different, and more importantly, who are you to question what I write? This is not a free country, the moment you started reading this article, you have stepped into the Country for Pulickal, of Pulickal and by Pulickal. You have no rights.

But if you really want to know something about the pyramids, here you go - you can’t scale the pyramids like you see in the movies, it’s prohibited, the place is swarming with soldiers armed with machine guns, and you are not allowed to take photos inside the pyramids, and like I already mentioned, the moment they get to know you are from India, you get the standard response “You know Amitabh Bachchan? You look like Amitabh Bachchan. Very Strong, very handsome.” Well, to be honest I know the latter half of that statement is true, but Amitabh Bachchan?

As I was saying, you enter the “sacred” pyramids, you meet flocks of tourist escorted by guides who go and on rumbling about the hieroglyphs, and this is the cartouche – the name of the individual in hieroglyphs, this is a fish, this is a lotus flower that the pharaoh presents to his queen, they had three children, judgement day, Horus, Anoobis, the burial shaft is 25 mts below the ground, worldly wisdom, their vision, blah blah blah….my guide, aka the sentry at the gate, lights up his cigarette! Once the tour party leaves the room, his lights another and as a faithful servant guards his master’s house, he dutifully keeps an eye on the door and mutters, “You can take photo. Take photo of Titi, his wife, this hieroglyph, this fish”. He points to a scene where Titi or whoever, is making out with a dozen chicks. Serious! So much for caretakers of sacred monuments. And as the piece-de-resistance, I know Monkey will love this word and finally can savor its spelling, he stubs it out inside the pyramid!

Egyptians, don’t you just love them.