On the way back to Elsewhere, we’re flying Emirates. Two reasons: Great price and the arrival time in Boston suits us. We’ve got to arrive in the middle of the day in order to catch one of the two afternoon buses to Elsewhere. There’s one at 4.45pm and another at 6.30pm. Emirates gets us to Boston by 2pm. So we pick that flight.

It’s possible to buy our Peter Pan bus tickets online and in advance, while we’re still in Delhi. It costs less to do that than to buy them at the bus terminal. But I’ve never taken the risk. “The tickets are non-refundable,” I say. “Supposing we’re delayed on the way out of the airport? That’s $60 flushed down the toilet!” Bins pokes fun at my fears. “Ohhh! SO traditional! Worrying about the Evil Eye, eh?” Yup, that’s why I’ve not done it on all my previous trips: Because we’ll be held up at the airport for sure. Bins goes ahead and buys the bus tickets in advance. “I’m French,” he tells me. “We know nothing about Monsieur Evil Eye.”

Similarly with the contents of our luggage. Bins is absolutely fearless. I never take any edible items because I can’t face the possibility of being questioned about every grain of Third World rice I might be smuggling into the US. But Bins is now a gourmet chef. He needs all his spices from India. “I’ve looked it up in the Internet,” he says. “US Customs permits commercially packed dry items. That’s what we have. Stop worrying!” So we take one dozen spices, plus paneer, cheddar cheese and three varieties of dal, all sealed within their original packaging. Bins would love to carry five kg of rice but even he has to admit that might be pushing our luck too much.

We have a smooth, wrinkle-free flight. Our raccoon buddy Rocky sits in the cabin with us because he’s heard that Emirates has a great entertainment programme, even in economy. And it does. Great food too. We arrive in Boston 20 minutes late but in a good mood. At immigration, we declare the food we’ve brought. The immigration officer says, “Yeah, that’s all fine!” and waves us through.

We get to the baggage carousel at 2.50pm. Three of our cases pop up quickly. But Bins’s second case is missing. The seconds are ticking by! We’re convinced it’s gone missing but it had merely been pulled off the carousel by someone else. Phew! We grab it and rush towards the exit. It’s 3.15. Just as we cross the finish line — “STOP!” says a customs officer, popping up suddenly. “Random check! You have food items? I wanna see them!” Aaaargh! Bye-bye 4.45 bus! By some miracle, he clears us quickly. We run out, grab a cab and get to our bus in time.

“See?” says Bins. “All that worry for nothing. I should have brought the rice.” “Whatever,” I say, as we speed towards Elsewhere.

Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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