“I’m late! Very late! Excuse me pls! May I cut through?” From dodging suitcases at check-in to taking layers off at security screening; I’ve ticked the standard airport procedures and made it to the serpentine queue at the boarding gate. Phew! The flight information screen was flickering but still readable: LUBLIN. Ah! Flicker AND a spelling mistake…these budget airlines I tell ya! I patiently awaited my turn and hastily handed over the boarding pass to the gate staff. A handsome face looked up with frown lines…not the ones that state experience, but the ones that prove that I’ve probably done something majorly stupid! “Umm! You are going to DUBLIN love! It’s the wrong gate, we are off to LUBLIN.” I have a flat expressionless face— like it’s been in a rotimaker. I point to the screen “What? So that board doesn’t need a spell check?” He looked at me as if I needed a check-up instead. “Oh silly me! I’ve been waiting in the wrong line all this while! Have I missed it then? Pls help!” My puppy dog eyes were commissioned and instinctively begged for assistance. The guy (And I was glad it was a guy, the canine droopy look strangely never works on women) promptly used the intercom explaining the situation to the airline crew; before returning his attention to me. ”It’s the final call, they are boarding the last passenger! Hurry its gate 21!” Run Supa Run!

I made it skidding and panting to another guy at the boarding counter— nonchalantly smiling. “Is this your first time to Ireland?” “Yes, if I make it!” I managed half a smile while catching my breath. “Don’t you worry, the luck of the Irish greets you! The flight was delayed by ten minutes as a passengers’s cabin luggage had to be checked in instead. That seems to have bought you some precious minutes.” My heart found a happy rhythm… and a happy co-passenger, Patrick. I asked the passing stewardess for some milk to go in my decaf. A heavy Irish accent startled me: “Did ye know that an Aer Lingus hostess once headed to a nearby field and milked a cow to provide fresh milk on flight?” I almost choked on my coffee and seriously hoped our stewardess didn’t go cowspotting and instead resorted to tetra packs. Interestingly, we chatted all the way as he shared some rare facts. Just when I thought I got used to his bizarre ways, he applauded theatrically upon landing and I couldn’t hide my curious eyes. Patrick declared, “If ye can walk away from a landing, It’s a good landing! And if the plane is used the next day, it’s an outstanding landing!” I chuckled at this strange observation and he suggested I visit the Little museum of Dublin to see it in print; which is where he worked as a part-time tour guide. “Since you know it all Patrick, ahem, can you tell me where Lublin is pls?” I asked, sheepishly, explaining the confusion at boarding. We were deplaning and I probably won’t be seeing him again; so might as well use his Google of a brain until my phone comes off the airplane mode. He couldn’t stop laughing, “Oh Ye bleeeeedin doooopeee ye” (You bleeding dope you…loosely translated would mean silly billy! It's strange how I can comfortably understand the accent- all thanks to MY silly Billy- the lightweight British husband; who ironically turns Irish after just one drink! I find that rather cute and a lot entertaining!) “Lublin is in Poland! It’s the ninth largest city!” Say no more! Each time I think I can classify myself as a traveller; an unheard of city slaps me in the face! This world is just too huge to grasp in a lifetime.

The Dublin airport was welcoming with funny bubbled quotes plastered all over:-

“Whatever you do in life, give your 100%; except when donating blood!”

"I'm Irish, what's your superpower?"

“Life is too short for matching socks.”

“If Pigs could fly, imagine how tasty their wings would be…yum!”

Now that’s a new definition to the term ‘airport read’! I, for sure, enjoyed brisk walking alongside these hilarious statements.

I zipped through immigration and baggage reclaim and rushed to the Taxi stand. The Uber app was playing up so it had to be done the traditional way. Although, not as traditional as a cash transaction. “Hi, I need a cab that takes card!” The man in-charge spoke to a few cabbies and pointed me to the last one — an Audi. Hmm, Something tells me the billing won’t be very traditional. “You take card right?” “Wrong!” exclaimed the driver. “Oh, but I was told you do!” I was stood perplexed. “Haha! I do, just kidding, we like a giggle first thing in the morning! Hop on!” I, for one, wasn’t giggling.

“So which way do I take you to the city: the traffic way that takes 1.2 hours or the toll way that takes 20 mins?”

Now, that was a no brainer! “Toll way pls! I need to catch some z's before the client meeting!”

The ride was quick and pleasant; the driver was informative and chatty and the bill was ridiculous and unreal. INR 6000 for a 20 min drive! “I thought the toll was only 11 euros on top of the usual fare?” I enquired. “Oh yes, but remember lady, we didn’t wait at all at the toll because I took you from a special lane? Little pricey but isn’t it worth it?” I recall ONLY TWO cars before ours when the driver suddenly decided to swerve out to this ‘special lane’…clearly, its time for an eye roll. He continues unaffected, “And then a small tip is added beforehand to round off the total.” I clearly got duped. When I was at university in Oxford, um, many years ago, I was told by my Irish manager that Indians and Irish were very similar. I could see that now. An Indian taxi would probably put its ‘meter spin’ on foreign customers.

“But, Where is the hotel?” The cheeky guy didn’t even drop me off at the main entrance. “It’s so crowded that side without a proper parking so best I leave you here…walk through the car park and go through the side doors…in fact its closer to the reception this way!” He zoomed past while I inconveniently lugged my suitcase through the hotel carpark.

“Céad míle fáilte!” said a pleasant voice behind the reception desk. “It means a hundred thousand welcomes!” She continued. The phrase had a hint of familiarity I thought. “It sounds very similar to ‘Atithi Devo Bhav’ our greeting for the guests back home; which means our guest is equivalent to God! ” I tried to bond, in hope of an upgrade. “Oh I’m not sure of the Godly status, because room service shall definitely be charged!” she laughed as she punched in my details, and my lame attempt! Hmmm everyone seems to be very giggly around here - in their wonderful world of love, laughter and leprechauns!

I managed a quick nap; followed by a customised greasy Indian meal laid out for the delegates (and here I was wishing for an authentic taste of Ireland!) I finally met the client and we scripted for the gala evening for hours together. I was on the last page when a girl from the event agency came in huffing & puffing, “They want you on stage in … er…30 minutes!” What? I may be a creature of habit when it comes to event hair and make up but I’m a woman first and taking our sweet, uninterrupted time to get ready, is our prerogative! There was clearly not enough time for reasoning! A quick change into my sequinned black & gold number, a thick eye liner, heavy mascara and a deep red lipstick should do the trick. When facing time crunch, put your hair in a bunch and shove in a hair accessory. Voila, almost done! Jewellery to be worn en-route and 7 inch heels to be slapped on just before I step on to the stage. I had a chatty ride once again but thankfully, this time, the driver dropped me right outside the Mansion House — our opulent venue for the award night. It was time for my version of ‘Sup in Boots’. In contrast to my ladylike appearance, I raised my gown to prevent any possible tripping and ran in my unflattering boots towards the hall. Run Supa Run!

After 3.5 hours of stage time, 280 awards, talented tap dancers, a mesmerising aerial act and series of speeches later; I was officially done! Work over, it was time to party!

zzzzzzzzzz

Truth be told, I’m exhausted and what's more enticing than a local pub? A bathtub! Throw in a hot cuppa and a soft hotel bed and you have me in dreamland! Another day beckons my touristy way.

Rise and shine; let’s have some Irish time! After a hearty breakfast (I never miss this meal in an all inclusive stay) I headed over to the Little Museum of Dublin to check out if Patrick’s words had much weight. The word ‘museum’ alone seemed too heavy for this cute little eighteenth century Georgian house full of Irish mementos, history and artefacts (including the poster stating the incident of the generous  stewardess milking the cow, and the infamous landing quote) My gaze turned to a bookmark that got me smiling. The impressive words I first saw on the cover of a diary a dear friend, Meghna, gave me as a parting gift at university : ‘I have nothing to declare except my genius'-Oscar Wilde. A funny poet with clever words; Irish, of course. I was so blown away by his ingenious quote that it served my alter ego for years after. It marked my bedroom wall first; then the back of my visiting cards; and still graces the homepage of my website.

I didn’t see Patrick that day but I got to experience his eccentric world. One saw traces of feminism too with a dedicated section on Amelia Earhart stood proudly by her plane — the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. ‘Women don’t just rock the cradle, they rock the system’ read another quote. Well, I may not have rocked the system yet; but I feel liberated at the thought that these hands aren’t bound by cradle rocking either! They hold the mighty pen for blogging and the mic for anchoring— representing a magical portal to my words and my thoughts.

I walked along the street and bought myself a smart neckpiece and a fluffy hat— one can never have enough of either! A leisurely visit to the Guinness Storehouse should complete this Irish trip. This popular tourist attraction  covered seven floors surrounding a glass atrium shaped in the form of a pint glass— not just an ordinary ‘glass’ building then! From ingredients to advertising, transport history to packaging…each floor had a story to tell of the legendary Arthur Guinness’s beverage creation— complete with the Gravity Bar from where you get a picturesque view of the lit up city of Dublin! One stop in particular had me in awe— the Stoutie! A delightful staff member took my photo against a white background and turned her camera around for my approval:

“I can take as many as you want until you are satisfied!”

This is where vain turns insane.

“Could we try the right profile pls?”

“Sure, here we go!” Click!

“Oh no! Could we go back to the left one pls?”

“Absolutely!”

After a few futile attempts, we finally have a winning pose! She sent it for print and escorted  me to a private section. Another smiley face greeted me. “Your stoutie shall be with you shortly”. While I excitedly awaited my innovate drink;  I recollected an idiotic incident from my initial days at uni. A Brit-Asian guy, Hardy, (now a dear friend) came up to me and harmlessly asked me out for a drink. Pat came my reply, “I don’t drink!” He was both amazed and amused, “Not even water?” You see, in India, a drink meant hard drinks/alcohol. Therefore, the good girl that I ‘was’; saying No to drinks is all I ever knew. “I’ve come here to study hard, not waste time having drinks!” He laughed even louder. “What has studying got to do with drinking? You drink milk, you drink water…don’t you?” There was logic in there somewhere but I refused to admit it and walked away with much attitude. I put this one down to cultural difference! Clearly, in England, it was literally the act of drinking ‘anything’. Years went by and I adapted to occasional social sipping, mainly because ordering tea at a bar/club was becoming increasingly embarrassing for my peers; therefore I resorted to beers! Only if he saw this stout now— full to the brim with narcism—graced by my face! I couldn’t believe it! As pretentious as it may sound; I was on a Guinness Stout! How does one down her own self— or selfie?

I raised my glass to the skies commemorating the day. “Happy Birthday Papa! I hope you are celebrating in your angelic ways!” During my last schooling years in Delhi, Dublin used to be a popular bar at the Maurya Sheraton Hotel. We used to cross it regularly to have our family meals in the restaurant next door and I would strategically try and peep in. “Not now!” He’d curtly say, “One day, when you are old enough, I’ll show you Dublin.” A promise well kept, especially on his special day. Coincidence? I think not! I relished every sip of the bitter nectar and enjoyed it more because it was ‘my kind of beautiful’ …with lovely memories for company!

Contrary to a classic sign off, I’d like to say, ‘Céad míle fáilte!’ to all my readers! I truly appreciate your time and with each read; graciously welcome you to Supa’s Life! Comments get a heartfelt welcome too, so pls keep them coming! Cheers!