And what is the currency of Egypt? The Egyptian Pound? No, it is Marlboro cigarettes. I should know. I have transacted with it. I was in Alexandria, Egypt, a while ago, and the two things that come to my mind before you can spell Tutankhumen are Marlboro cigarettes and taxi drivers. I sailed with my husband on a tanker through the Suez Canal. That was a truly exciting experience. A handful of Egyptians came aboard and set up shop in the alleyways and every other empty nook they could find on the ship. They usually get on at the beginning of the canal and then sail with the ship to the other end, Port Said. You can get anything you want... from leather jackets, electronic goods, VCDs and lingerie to Egyptians paintings, handicrafts, postcards and pens. It was quite an experience shopping on board. I fancied some papyrus paintings and postcards being sold by this ancient Egyptian. We bargained a lot, and finally agreed to a price. When he gave me back the change, it was a pack of Marlboro cigarettes! "But," I sputtered, embarrassed, "I didn't ask for that. I don't smoke." He looked at me incredulously. "But you can buy something else with that... why smoke it?" Then I realised what a fool I was. That Marlboro was money, and I almost let my money go up in smoke! OUR ship touched Alexandria early one morning, and the mooring lines were thrown to people waiting on the dock to secure the ship. But it was not so easily done. The Egyptian on the dock wanted a Marlboro pack first, only then would he secure the ropes! Before sailing to Egypt, the captain had ordered cartons of Marlboro cigarettes to be "gifted" to various officials who'd need the smoke to get things going. Everything was very systematic about it. The highest officials got a carton or two. The lesser ones demanded a pack or two, with a few cans of Coke thrown in. The lowlies were happy with a few singles. THE next evening, my husband and I, along with two officers, took a cab into town. For $10 and a pack of Marlboro. We sat in the dilapidated cab that rattled and shuddered the minute it started. The driver was a vociferous, sly-looking Egyptian. "You from India?" he asked, staring at us through hooded eyes. "Yes." "Hmmm... You know Amitabh Bachchan?" "Er, yes... well, not really... can we proceed?" And proceed we did. We flew into town, our cab swaying this way and that, thudding along the road, with the driver talking gibberish. Then a big bus appeared behind and started honking. But our driver didn't seem to care. He slowed down and wouldn't let the bus overtake. Suddenly there was a jerk, a big thud... then another. The bus was trying to push us out of the way! Our cabbie went just a bit to the side, let the bus come alongside, and banged its side, then quickly took position again in front. The bus honked incessantly and gave us a firm push. We were terrified. What was going on? The two drivers seemed to be enjoying the fight. "Stop the car, stop the car," we hollered. Both vehicles stopped in the middle of the road. And both the drivers tumbled out and started swearing animatedly in Egyptian. Soon there were fists flying and the entire traffic honking behind us. We just jumped out, threw the money and cigarettes in, and ran for our lives. We ran to the end of the road, the mayhem still ringing in our ears. And we said to each other, now we can really do with a smoke! Susmita Bhattacharya prefers the Indian rupee to Marlboro any day. Check out her last diary. Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary
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