On the flight to New York, I was in an aisle seat. Noticed a young couple with an infant daughter getting help from the stewards. The airline had booked them all separately (!) and they were trying to at least get the mother and the infant together. I have always dreamed of an opportunity like this, but when I checked in to all the commotion, they'd already found the aisle seat passenger opposite me ready to move, and they already had the middle seat. Then they tried getting the dad as close as possible - to the row in front. The dad requested the window seat passenger if he'd shift. He asked, "You want me to take the middle seat?" Couldn't let this one pass up - I offered to take the middle seat, so window passenger could get my aisle seat. The dad was so grateful. I have a little infant myself, and it would really suck for us to be in that situation. Told him, "I know what it means to travel with infants" - we both agreed it is a whole project, and families with babies need all the help they can get. It is amazing to note the difference between getting an assigned middle seat and taking one to help someone else out. The latter felt like a total privilege, as though  the favor was done to me.

After checking in to my hotel, decided to head to a recommended restaurant for dinner. On my way, it had started drizzling, so I cut the adventure short and headed instead to an Indian restaurant that was in front of me, with some trepidation. Cautiously entered and asked, "Can you make food without cream?" The server was a little surprised and he said, "Yes, we can." Something in him felt very authentic, so in I went. That's when it happened - the first tag. He got some Indian crisps (papad) out and said, "This is on the house." I smiled, and asked where he was from. "Bangladesh." I was thrilled - it is rare to meet people who speak the same language, and although my dialect of Bengali is different, we can easily understand each other. We started chatting. I expressed my regret - "If I'd known a little before, I might have requested Bangladeshi dishes." He grinned widely, and I promised to come back again. They made simple food, not overly spicy, with an actual roti (soft indian bread). I felt nourished and chatted more with the other server, who was also Bangladeshi. They felt thrilled to be talking in their native language, and there were smiles all around.

That's when the second tag happened. I got a bowl of gulab jamun and they refused to add it to the bill. We started talking some more, and I was asked about relatives in Bangladesh. "They left a long time back, maybe during the first partition of Bengal. I don't really know. But we still retain the cultural influences with that land." I told my server that my wife's father still has some cousins in Dhaka. He gently asked, "How are they doing?" I was worried at the import of the question, and tried to answer diplomatically. And then he cut to the chase, "Are you from the minority community in Bangladesh?" I nodded. Hindus have had a raw deal in Bangladesh. He seemed to feel really bad about it, and wanted to know how I'd processed it. I have a lot of fondness for Bangladeshis - they are such hard workers, honest and simple people, who have usually been through a lot of hardship. I replied, "We've both been through a very bad patch of history, but I find that our people still respond to each other's love and good food." We were in smiles, and we had just gone several notches deeper.

And then, came the next tag. The two servers whispered with each other and then announced to me that they would make a special dish just for me, and asked for the day I'd come. I told them that Monday might be possible - so there it is. The chef came out and told me to be sure - they'd do it just for me, having never met me before. And they would also not charge! 

Somehow the event on the plane felt interconnected, but I'm not quite sure how. After three tags in a row, I'd have to be a real hog to not pay it forward. There was one other table occupied, and I decided to tag them with gulab jamuns. When I mentioned it, the server at first refused to let me pay for them. Then I showed a smile card, and he grinned. He said, "We will give them smile cards and tag them all. You don't have to pay." The next 10 minutes was a fight with a lot of negotiation. We finally agreed to split it - I could tag two and they'd tag the other two. 

Now, I have a really wide smile in New York City.