The Shrinking Baby

“It’s all your fault. You are never careful enough with our baby,” said Kerri entering their home. She threw keys into one of the two bowls sitting on a table by the door.

“Calm down, honey. It’s no big deal,” said George entering the home behind his wife with their son. Their Son, Jack, was sleeping on George’s shoulder.

 

“No big deal? No big deal?” Kerri stopped in the hallway and turned back, animatedly. “Do you realize George our boy just shrunk four inches or did you not hear what doctor said?” George walked passed her into the living room choosing not to reply. 

“Are you listening to what I am saying?” barked Kerri at the top of her chords standing her ground. Cool as a cucumber, George put Jack into his cradle in the bedroom and returned to kitchen. Kerri shouting at the top of her voice was new neither for George nor for neighbors. Kerri walked up to George by the refrigerator and said, rather quietly, “George, the doctor said one in a million baby shrinks after a month of their birth.”

George continued his activities of getting a soda can out of refrigerator, opening it and drinking. Kerri’s eyes were continuously following him and lines on her forehead sustaining for a long time. George sat down on the couch and looked at her wife. Measuring expectation in Kerri’s eyes, he smiled and said, “Be merry, Kerri. Our son is one in a million.”

“What an achievement!” replied Kerri and looked away. She started doing something in kitchen with loud noise. Finally, George gave up and walked up to Kerri in the kitchen.

 

“Look Kerri. I know it’s disturbing for you, but we can’t do anything. Besides, our son looks healthy and happy. That’s all there is to it,” said George taking Kerri’s hand in his hand. With a wry smile Kerri withdrew her hand.

Turning away she said, “I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be,” said George putting his hand on Kerri’s left shoulder.

After a brief moment of silence, Kerri said, “I worry about what if Jack is under the effect of…”

“Don’t start that again,” said George withdrawing his hand and walking away. He returned to the couch and shouted, “I’m an accountant there.”

“Yes, but your company has invented some pretty let’s say controversial chemicals,” said Kerri.

“So what? It’s not like they research a baby shrinking formula and test them on their employee’s babies. Just think about it. How ridiculous you sound!” said George. He subconsciously picked up the remote control and switched on the TV.

“You threw a party for your colleagues,” said Kerri coming out of the kitchen.

“Yeah and one of my colleagues came with a baby shrinking powder to spray on Jack. Do you ever think before speaking?” said George.

“..but doctor..” Kerri tried to say something, but George continues his tirade. “The only person from R & D was Doug. Do you suspect Doug? He’s been with us since our freshman year. He’s the godfather of Jack. Do you suspect him?” George pushed on. He changed to a news channel on the TV.

“How do you explain our baby being one in a million?” asked Kerri.

“One in a million. Not the first one. And doctor said it could be a mistake. They are assessing the reports,” said George calming down.

“Right. You know what. The doctors diagnose one in every 10000 babies as shrunk and then scrutinize the reports. After the scrutiny, declare one winner out of 100, one in a million shrunk BABY!” Kerri was nose to nose with George by the time she finished saying that.

“Your math is quite good,” said George after a second’s pause.

Kerri jerked back. “You are….Doug.”

“What?” asked George.

“Increase the volume. I heard Doug’s name,” ordered Kerri focusing on 50 inches’ screen on the opposite wall.

“…In case you missed our special report on Zinjin pharma. One of their employee Doug Bracewell blew lid of their ambitions,” an attractive news anchor was saying. Kerri and George exchanged looks. “According to him, the recent molecule of the company that went into phase one clinical trials for bone cancer has a rather unusual adverse effect. According to Doug, who is right now under protective custody, new promising drug is so potent that it can shrink the bones.” Kerri’s mouth fell open as she looked at George, silently saying she won the battle.

George might have conceded if not for the ringing of phone. George reached for the side table and answered the call. “Yes speaking……Ah Dr. Abend……Oh….Thank you.”

“So what was it?” asked Kerri.

“The doctor said, they didn’t find anything wrong in Jack’s report. Jack may have been shrunk. They suspect his reports might have been mixed up with another kid.” They both just stared at each other, then at TV, and at last the phone.

Do French speak English?

What an unusual question to ask! Still it was forced into my mind few months ago. I never asked whether American speak Italian or English speak French, but I wondered whether French speak English. The reason, I was to embark on my vacation to France.

After completing my visa procedure and confirming my tickets and itinerary, I declared happily about my upcoming vacation. My friends and colleagues were happy with one warning: “People are not nice there.” Surprisingly, hardly any of them had ever been to France and yet they had confidence in their second hand information. The most common argument for their warning was French people did not speak English. It was like judging a golf player based on his Flamenco dancing skills.

Charles de Gaulle, being an international airport, had all English-speaking officers. However, directions and signs were not all in English. I thought, probably, my friends were not completely wrong. As soon as I walked out of secure area, several taxi drivers flocked around me, quite a change from USA, but not so much from India. One of them, based on how non-French I looked, started speaking in English to me. “Eifel tower? Which hotel?” He guessed right that I was a tourist. I knew I had to take the metro and ignored the taxi driver. He then followed me and spoke a few statements in French. English and French, both spoken fluently by the first person I met in Paris. He didn’t stop there, he spoke in Spanish and finally in Arabic, again fluently, to try and get business out of me. Wow! I looked at him wide eyed and asked, “Where is the metro station?” He disappointedly gave me the right directions and led me to an elevator leading two floors down, from where I could catch the metro.

Recovering from the multilingual French discovery, I went to the information counter and found a strictly French speaking man. I started with saying “Bonjour!” and quickly shifted to English after that. He made an effort with the sign language and little English he knew to guide me successfully to the ticket counter and metro platforms. My first two experiences in Paris were quite different from the warnings.

For the next two days, I went to many places in Paris from Eifel Tower to the Louvre and from Notre Dame to the Petit Palais. I did face difficulty with the language. Yes, I did. Nonetheless, not with the communication! After spending two days in Paris, I spent rest of the week in a small village named Presilly on the French Alpes. Finding English-speaking people was harder and harder as I moved away from Paris. However, I felt more and more at home. Stereotypical judgment was completely missing in those villages and small towns. After spending years in USA, that was a pleasant experience.

After nine days of fun, adventure and other worldly experience, I was at the Charles de Gaulle airport again, sad but satisfied. One last French interaction remained, at the immigration counter of the airport. Interestingly, I was the only one waiting in the line. I was called over by a characteristically French gentleman sitting on the opposite side of the immigration counter. In his forties, he had a stern look of an officer. “Bonjour!” I said approaching the counter and handed over my passport. For a second he didn’t look at me. After looking at my passport, the officer looked up, smiled, and said, “Namaste!” Forget English, he spoke to me in Hindi. Looking at him, he was probably a hundredth generation Frenchman and yet he spoke in Hindi. 

In the end, the assumption that French were not nice because they didn’t speak English was false. Many Americans don’t speak a second language. Even though many French didn’t speak a second language they were accommodating, pleasant and welcoming. I will visit France again and again and again.

Till then au revoir!