Kindness.

A town in coastal AP, India. Mid 90s.
A young girl. Probably 18. very Attractive.
Lanky, long smooth hair and loose fitting clothes. Her oval face accented with a pouty mouth, what someone described as a painter's nose and shining eyes that are not very large. Her slim waist looking almost non-existent in that loose fitting dress.
She stopped at an ice cream booth with a group of people on a busy railway platform. Looked like a family, or probably friends. She looked like she lost a bet, or she was probably celebrating something over a cup of ice cream with those people around her.
She took those ice cream cups from the vendor, her slender hands with perfectly manicured fingers stood out, painted an unusual lavender shade. Almost purple, and handed them to people around her. Finally it was her turn to enjoy a cup of ice cream. She suddenly paused and took a long look at a lad, poorly dressed, behind a poor looking man, probably a traveller to the east in one of those passenger trains. She didn't seem lost in thought. She quickly grabbed another cup of ice cream, paid for it and bent over to hand it over to the lad that was watching her. The moment the little boy had the cup in his hand, he peeled off its lid and started enjoying the ice cream without giving her a second glance.
People around her said something to her. Some of them looked at her with admiration. She didn't seem to care, for she was lost in that moment, relishing that satisfied look on the little boy's face, whose dad could not have afforded that expensive treat for his son.
***

I was 5. May be 6. In first grade. I had a guy in our class who soon left the school. His uncle used to get him lunch during lunch breaks. His uncle, probably 25 ish at that time always treated me specially. He used to look around the class and come to me to say hi. A very kind person he was. The way he talked to me and looked at me made me feel shy, perhaps a little special. One day he carried with him a hand book that had "thumbs up" logo on the front. An all red book that fit in the palm of his hands. On one side were a series of pictures where the famous Kapil Dev was hitting a six on a ball. On the other side were pictures where he opens a thumbs up bottle, drinks it and lifts his thumb up in endorsement. The whole class went berserk at the sight of this book which mimicked these actions like these were played on a screen when the book was held snug in the palm and the pages were flipped at a speed. This man came to me and gave me the book, all for myself when a group of kids glanced at it longingly. That day I took that book home and showed it to my mom and had it as one of my prized possessions thought I didn't know much about cricket except that the man in the book endorsing thumb's up was Kapil Dev. It was sure a novelty item back then. This memory will never leave. I still remember the man. How he looked, the length of his hair touching the nape of his neck and his tall lanky body. For his kindness, I do not have an explanation. Probably just a liking for a five year old little girl.
***

Chiyo. The protagonist of Arthur Golden's novel "Memoirs of a Geisha".
One simple incident changes the course of her life. A gentleman stops to spend a few moments with a nine year old girl and buys her a couple of treats. The Girl, in Koyoto Japan, coming from a tipsy house by the sea, with a sealed fate to serve as a maid in her Okio because of an attempt she makes to embrace freedom.
The chairman gives her a coin and asks her to buy a treat. This little girl buys her treats and sacrifices the change that could have bought her rice and fish for a month in a prayer to be a geisha so that she could entertain the kind person that had stopped to spend a moment with her.
Chiyo becomes Sayuri in pursuit of her love.

Kindness, whether it is a teenager buying an ice cream for a little boy, a five year old girl moved by the affection of a perfect stranger or a protagonist form an oriental Cinderella like story choosing her path of life, is a very profound quality. I hope every one can be at the giving and receiving end of it to make this world a better place to live.

Monster

Morsel.

Parallel???

I am trying to think about what I am going to write while my fingers dance on the key-board. Hmm..let's see. Should I just go with the flow and see where the blog leads to? Let me try. I'll name it at the end. Hope that will be a little easier.
Okay, let me reproduce a teenager's poem. I am not sure how much I remember.
A song of melancholy,
A sigh of grief.
A hope withered away by the strong wind of ego.
My humble heart, heavy with thoughts of all sort.
The radiant byegone days.
They inspired me in many ways.
............
A fact that pierces my heart like a thunderbolt.
That you are far away from my reach
but courage is what my ....preach
For the future's store (is this Macy's or something??:- LOL)
my hopes I restore.
Life is not what I have thought
(scratching head)
and love is not the thoughts I have brought
from the false world of fantasies.
........
........
......(okay I give up)
(can't remember!!! Rolling eyes)

A tear down my cheek shines
And whispers to me we are parallel lines.


Yeah, I know very childish, amateur. I should refer to my journal and update the forgotten lines.

Re-view.

We didn't plan the viewing of "sagara sangamam" last night. It just happened and I magically got glued to the screen with a plate of idlis in my hand.
I remember bits and pieces of the movie from the first time I'd seen it in 1984. It was my brother's first movie in the theater and so all of us remember the movie very much.
I like flash backs. I particularly liked how the director handled flash-backs from two different perspectives (the male friend and the female friend)
For anyone who has not seen the movie yet, it is a classic. A movie on the lines of "Maaya Bazzar" in the sense that it would never bore you whether it is the first time or the nth time you are watching it.
The characters are believable. There is this young woman, clad in kanchi pattu sarees , sporting a red dot on her forehead the size of a dime and a wonderful smokey eyeshadow accenting those Kohl lined eyes. (Who would guess that 23 years ago , a regional Indian movie would sport a make-up trend of 2000s?, Any way I better not drift into the make-up artist's skill)
She is a connoisseur of fine arts (photography, poetry, music, prose and dance) and is as traditional as she is cultured. It is a bit weird thought that a contributor for Illustrated weekly of India would say "I always am with you" to her friend when he asks for a reassurance"
Let alone the lousy English lines and this woman is everything a man desires for but a moron of a husband abandons her for her lack of riches. The same moron later on returns to see her settled in life with a man she falls in love in the mean time.
It doesn't happen that way though.
Balu, short for Balakrishna, convinces her to walk in her husband's foot steps and he drowns himself in intoxication and ruins a lifetime that was previously spent in pursuing Bharatnatyam, kuchipudi, kathakali and Kathak.
These bosom pals never meet after the woman leaves with her man, till at least 18 years. The man who sports the couple's picture in his suitcase and prays for them on their every anniversary fails to keep in touch with them for 18 years.
Now I think I should stop being the Virgo I am and talk about what worked for me.
Of course, the smokey, Kohl lined eyes and a face that can launch a thousand ships. You need not be Satyajit Ray, I realised, to find Jaya Prada superlatively beautiful. The icing is that she manages to act.
The characters and their names. Madhavi and Balakrishna to me the symbolism of the platonic relationship between Radha and "child" krishna. Very subtle, very suggestive of a divine romance.
Kamal Hassan's understated performance. The expressions that don't make your stomach churn with their drama and obvious hints. The absence of monotonous monologues trying to explain the audience what the characters are thinking and a fresh and innocent background score (by Maestro Illayaraja) that sets the mood.
The cotton kurta-pyjamas of Balu and the jhola of Suryam make them so believably next door.
And finally a comedy track that is woven into the main theme, expressions that make you feel involved and scenes that leave you feeling intelligent are a few reasons the double load of dishing was worth in the morning after that unplanned indulgence of watching a telugu cinema.

Love

It is fun to celebrate anniversaries though it is not as much fun to count years and age gracefully.
Our 8th. It is amazing how time flew. It wasn't long ago that I was this naive young bride that had travelled to the other side of the world searching for her identity. I became a wife, a mom and a complete woman. The girl that day dreamed and loved romance novels has transitioned into a woman that runs a house hold and a mom that nourishes an offspring.
I have mellowed, matured and learned to love in the true sense of loving. I do have my down falls, my flip sides. But I did grow.
Friends and family called us to wish us today. Geeta, Sudhakar and his family and santu got us a cake and we cut it at the strike of midnight.
Sarat and I didn't hold hands and talk sweet nothings. Love is not in the back seat. It had just blended into the background of our lives. It has aged and its flavor has enhanced. We didn't exchange gifts, we didn't even exchange cards, we probably didn't even exchange glances. We did a lot of things together though. We ran around Aarti together to feed her. We walked her in the park together. We are parents and Aarti has added a new facet to our love.
That friend of mine, Avi, called me from Dubai. There is going to be a new baby on the block in February next year. I am very happy for him.
Life will go on. There will be paradigm shifts. Things around us will change. I'll probably take for ever to lose those post natal pounds and Sarat's crowning glory will probably start to turn silver in the next decade. Time will change things.

Some things never change.
Family celebrating together, parents chasing their off springs to feed them or driving them to piano classes, Friends calling friends from across the oceans or two people in love looking in different directions but still staying connected.

Time changes everything - appearances, expressions, points of view, people, opinions, tastes, likes, dislikes. Actually, the whole nine yards. With a single exception. True love

Sight.

I know I am bad at remembering names. This girl was called "Bujji" at home. I never cared to ask what her real name was. her younger sister Sridevi was my classmate form 8Th to 10Th grade. One summer afternoon of 1990, Bujji came into my life. She was dressed in a skirt and a blouse. Her stroll was scary. Her feet pointing sidewards and her head tilted on an angle facing upwards. Her lifeless eyes wandered in their sockets and a pair of shaky hands felt my face as she talked to me. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach knotted from feeling her hands on my face.
I used to visit Sridevi's house quiet often from then on, clutching a chewing gum in my hand. Bujji would come to me the moment I entered their house and feel my face with her hands. Her lifeless eyes filled with a light that told me that she liked me. She used to take the chewing gum and thank me.
This girl loved to laugh and sit beside me with her body arranged in a strange angle and her shoulder resting on mine.She loved to talk as well. She used to get upset if her sister asked her to leave. She used to beg me to stay back for a little longer when I was ready to leave. She was so full of life. So uncomplicated and so easy to please. Give her a chewing gum and she would fumble on the wrapper and pry the gum out and into her mouth, chewing it away with great relish and a funny sound.
A facet of Bujji made me very happy. Another facet made me very sad. She must me thirty years old now. (I am not in touch with her sister anymore.) She must probably still be the same uncomplicated, fun loving, bubbly girl that I met seventeen years ago. She must probably love bubble gums as much as she did back then. Would she be married? would she have kids? I still think about all these things and it's been 15 years since I last met her.
The fruity smell of a chewing gum puts a smile on my face and my eyes become a tad misty sometimes thinking of Bujji. I admire her for the way she looked at the world!

Friend.

Avinash is my friend. A very dear friend close to my heart. Actually I didn't realise this till I was friends with him for a couple of years. He is just as tall as I am and is very proud of his frail resemblances to Salman Khan. I personally think he is better than Salman. My lil sis thinks so too and so I am very sure:-)
Anyway, this Avi is so much fun to be around. He talks so fast that it is sometimes a pain on the ears. But he has this perfect sense of humor and impeccable language and expression that could make him the next Pulitzer prize winner if he'd venture into writing. I recently had to read one of his mails thrice before I realized what he was trying to say (and had to refer to the dictionary thrice)
Well the idea is to tell that he has the vocab of a CAT aspirant. I see myself copying a lot of his humor and expressions and that is the best way I can flatter him.
One day he came to visit me and confessed about something that was bothering him. It was then that I realised that he considers me to be a very dear friend to actually come and discuss his personal matters with me and ask me for advice.
He used to say "girls like you should always get flowers, chocolates, fragrances and diamonds! And since the latter two are out of my reach, I'll get you the former!" Yeah, we earned a lot of revenues to Cadbury's with special reference to Fruit and Nut and every time I look at that chocolate bar, I am reminded of Avi.
This guy had something in his blood that made him fall in and out of love - perpetually. He used to bore me with his escapades of amor. It was an Anglo-Indian girl once and a very pretty and level headed girl (I approved of her as well , for once) and once it was a Banajara girl who used to sell fire wood on the platforms of Tandur station . Well, this time around, he just used to write to me about how pretty that girl looked and how much pain he saw in her eyes!
By pain I remember. He is a very sensitive guy. He would not get mad at anyone - okay, he didn't get mad at me anytime and if someone knows me for long enough and are not mad at me , they are saints!
He is hitched now. Is not in India anymore just like me and from what I've heard and seen (in pictures) his leading lady has a personality to match. He still jokes with me about how he wants Sarat to join him on his terrace over a glass of Vodka and cry his heart out for being married to a person like me"
"Tell Sarat that my offer is still open" he pokes fun at me, Everytime we talk over the phone.
He was born on the 13th, a Friday. I always forget his birthday which is a couple of weeks before mine. No matter where he is in this wide wide world , he calls me on my B'day and scolds me for forgetting his'
It is 5 years since I last saw him. The last time I talked to him was 4 months ago, but something about him is so magical that I think of him a lot and often. he eats like a pig. Was a boy scout and played hockey at a professional level. He is a voracious reader that had introduced me to a lot of books that I cherish till date. he taught me what unconditional friendship is. He is the one person that I can connect to, instantly even if we are out of touch for years. He can make me smile just at the thought of him.
Avi my dear friend is so unlike me. He is rugged, an extrovert and a very interesting conversationalist, he drinks and can't survive without chicken.But we are so bonded that we could easily be long lost twins separated at birth. I often tell him that Sarat is for love and Avi is for friendship. I hope he takes that seriously.
Avi had made me feel like an Angel on quiet a few occasions. He is truly the purest form of friendship anyone could ask for.

Memory

It is weird what I can remember and what I can't. For instance I can remember things from as early as my kindergarten but ask me what I did last weekend and I might think twice or even thrice to actually remember what I did.
My earliest memories are about a pale girl with soft and thin hair always wearing her shoes on the wrong feet. I remember smashing idlis into powder and then making the powder into little ovals and eating them with sugar.
I remember an old lady who taught us Telugu in first grade. She was strict for an understatement and my poor scores in Telugu didn't make matters any better.
I remember my mom teaching me the language during summer holidays of my first grade. Ever since it was never a problem. As a second grader I sucked (excuse my language) at math. I wish that had improved. It never did. Even today if you ask me how much 8 times 7 is, I"ll have to be silent for a moment.
It is 56 BTW and do tell me I am right.
My third grade was awesome. I was a bright student and teacher's pet and I already had a crush on a guy that was the class topper. In my fourth grade, I remember doing well in sciences and having a knack for writing poetry. In my 5Th, I was embarrassed of a little sister crying every time I went to see her in the KG section. She was brown and lanky and had hair that knotted at the drop of a hat. More often than not, her pig tails used to come off into a nest like structure at the end of the day.
From my 6th, I can write books on what all I remember. My scores, the class toppers, my subject teachers, what essays I wrote in English 2 papers and the benches I used to sit in.
I can recollect in great detail how I celebrated my birthdays, what I wore and what kind of sweets I distributed in the class.
My high-school was the golden period of my life. I was the most popular girl in an all girls' school, I used to sing and dance and paint and win prizes right left and center and wrote a super duper sloppy short story for a leading newspaper's contest for children. I remember the characters, my awkward sentences and blush at the thought of what would have gone thru the mind of the person who read and eliminated that piece of crap (yeah, my language sucks...oops! and no, the pun is not intended!)
I remember copying two lines of a poem from a friend and almost dying of guilt complex when I won a prize for the highest score in the class!
I remember lying about ill health when I didn't submit my geography project in time
I remember how my physics teacher made me stand in the class and tell me what an insult it was for a teacher if the student wrote that electrons have a positive charge (not my fault you know, I write too fast, and at this particular time, I got my basics wrong too! LOL and I hated physics anyway!)
Just yesterday, I finished reading half of a novel not realising that I'd read it before.
last year, I forgot how much I paid to get fans installed in our living room just two months after getting them installed.
I was trying to retouch the paint in one of the bedrooms and can't remember the name of the shade or the make of the paint.
I blanked out at least twice upon being asked my cell phone number.
I don't remember the plots of most movies I watched last year.
Isn't it weird, I do remember the exact shade of the leading lady's Saree in a song from a movie I watched when I was 12.
Memory. I don't know if I have to talk about the capacity of remembering things or lack thereof:-))

The Chauffeur.

The pink city Jaipur. Not quiet pink except for the old town but has a mystical quality about it. I was glad that Sarat and I decided upon Rajsthan as our vacation-destination.
Sarat being the man he is, did not want to enquire how much it would cost us to hire a cab thru the hotel. The cab already picked us up from the airport the previous night.
But I being the woman I am,I had to bother. Can you believe! They charge equivalent of $7 USD PER HOUR and that is not it. They charge you a minimum of 2 hours every time you step out, even if it is just to have a quick dinner that would take 30 mts. Hmm...rip off? Certainly.
I promptly told them that we would not need the taxi. What next? Sarat and I were all dressed to take a tour of the city and we did not have a cab to drive us around.
"You are so cheap" He began to argue. "Yes I am" I admitted without shame. But that was not done. I explained to him that Jaipur is a tourist place and taxis should be ubiquitous.
Not having a choice, he walked with me out of the hotel and we found an Auto rickshaw. The older gentleman convinced us that Auto would be a better option since we can shoot the city better (he points to the Sony DV cam Sarat was holding and the SLR that was hanging from my neck)
How did the Auto trip go? Some other time. Now for the Chauffeur.
The next day Sarat traced out a contact who happens to be a common friend. He arranged for a cab. The driver arrived with the Maruti Zen at 8 am sharp.
The Driver. I felt a sharp repulsion the moment I saw him. A thin, lanky and tall guy. Quiet young. Early twenties probably. He had a careless look on his face and his driving wasn't any different.
I told Sarat the moment we got into the car. "Let us ask for someone else, this guy looks like a trouble"
His accent was heavy. He was talking to us in a local dialect. Sounded similar to Hindi but wasn't. Looked like that is the only language he knew. He was surprised that we didn't know that language. More than surprise he actually sounded like he doubted if we are telling the truth about not knowing the language. I subtly rolled my eyes and looked out of the window determined to convince Sarat to change the chauffeur the next day.
He transformed himself form Chauffeur to a Guide. He seemed to know a lot about what is in and around the city. He drove us to a couple of palaces and revealed a grand plan to drive us to a tourist resort that night. He offered to click my camera but I declined politely. He didn't seem to mind about any thing I said, positive or negative.
He was calling me Maddum putting a lot of stress on MAD but then changed to calling me Meim Sahib later on. He seemed to talk a lot and briefed us about his auto biography in a nut shell. He did'nt attend school and so doesn't know to read or write and had an older brother that did his MA. He declared that so proudly and quickly turned back to Sarat and asked him if he could find the brother a job. Oh Well....my initial hatred was going stronger by the minute and it was actually not allowing me to enjoy the city.
It was evening and while we were all done with the day's touring and going back to the hotel, I glanced at my left wrist and let out a shriek. My gold bangle bracelet was missing from my wrist.
Sarat didn't lose his cool. "you left it in the hotel room may be" he suggested knowing how careless I am with my stuff. "no" I insisted. "It must be in your make up bag for sure" He added. "NO" I replied impatiently. Our driver looked back and asked what the matter was. I explained to him what had happened.
He seemed to explain the mystery of the missing bangle. Earlier that day I was shopping for bangles at a street vendor's stall in a park that was 30 kilometers away from where I realised the bangle was missing. He told me that he was looking at me trying on the bangles for size and wanted to warn me that the gold bangle was coming out every time I was taking out the bangles I was trying. I did remember this guy standing 5-6 feet away from me and looking at me but I didn't realise that he was actually observing the gold bangle falling out. I felt a tinge of guilt for having thought that he was just making me uncomfortable looking at me.
"I wanted to warn you then" he said. "but you were too busy"
Sarat gave up. "there are no chances of finding that mobile stall at the same place and getting our bangle back" He was sure. "Let's get back to the hotel"
The Chauffeur didn't give up. He drove us back to the park, actually talked to the security guard at the entrance (so that we didn't have to buy an entry ticket again) and went to the vendor straight. He was still there. And just one glance at me and even before I explained what happened, he took out his wallet and gave me the bangle.
I was impressed by his honesty and offered him some money. He refused. I just bought some more stuff and left.
While driving back I looked at the chauffeur from the back seat. He still looked careless to me. Certainly not repulsive this time around.
In the evening we went to that resort. Sarat insisted that he should come in with us. He stayed back for 3 hrs while we were dining and enjoying ourselves. It was past midnight by the time we came back. I did'nt talk to Sarat about changing the chauffeur. I was okay with him.
The next day he drove us thru a short cut to visit some more places. While we were driving we spotted a group of elephants that were being used to ride. Tourists were enjoying their rides on the enormous beasts.
Our chauffeur pointed to a group of Jean clad , goggled young ladies that were riding an elephant and commented 'Chale firangi ban ne"
I thought he was pointing to their hep western dressing and rolled my eyes again for his stereotype.
While Sarat was away purchasing the tickets, he came to me and started talking about how the animals are confined to these narrow streets and how ill fed they are all that. Just then a group of people in desi clothes passed by on an elephant and he exclaimed "Loh, yeh bhi bane firangi"
He was an animal activist was'nt judgemental about the dressing style afterall!

We became fast friends with the Chauffeur. He was with us the for the next two day. I started to appreciate the idealistic lad in him and discovered the child-like aspect to that rough, rugged exterior - His compassion for animals and child labourers, His secularism when he stopped at a Dargah and told us that he believed in that baba and his love for nature and keeping it clean and his honesty.

It is strange how deceptive looks can be. It is stranger how we judge people on how they look and how they speak. This guy is illiterate but was a lot more cultured than most people I met.

We took his phone number down so that he could be of help if someone we know would travel to Rajasthan.

I am trying to remember his name. I will never forget though, the lesson he taught me. I will never ever judge a book by its cover.

Thai Cuisine.

It is interesting how I got hooked on to Thai food being the finicky eater I am. When you are a staunch vegetarian your whole life, it kind of becomes obsessive after a point. I keep on asking the waiter if the veggie soup broth is actually veggie stock. He says it is. I pause and ask "does it have any meat?"
He says. "no" I pause yet again and ask "can you make sure?"
Sure enough, he comes out and announces that he is not sure and I end up coming out to the restaurant eating a couple of lettuce leaves stuffed inside a bun.
Before I deviate - Thai Food. Satya is my vegetarian friend with a twist. She is extremely experimental with food. One day when we were out having a girl's day out, she literally forced me to go try Thai food. Reluctantly and after a thorough scrutiny of what went into the dish I was interested in, I placed my order.
This was some four years ago and Thai food has even since joined my list of favourite foods. I rarely venture into trying new "veggie" (like they have a lot! LOL) stuff, but I do enjoy eating it.
Should probably be that coconut flavour that I am so accustomed to as a south Inidan or just the carbs.
Well, I am on a dinner date tonight again with the friend who had forced this cuisine on me. I am happy I gave in and tried it:-)