She is dressed in a pair of old shorts and a T-Shirt that looks like a sack on her small frame. Tangled hair, sunburned features, dusty feet and hungry look yet there is nothing ordinary about her. There is none of the innocence, the all trusting faith that you see in children her age, but she can be very persuasive when she wants. She had learnt that you needed some skills to survive and had learnt it the hard way.
Slowly she walks the street up and down, trying to find someplace safe, away from the lecherous eyes that kept following her. She wonders if she should risk one of the neighbouring garages…the dogs are malicious, she may not be lucky to get away with a minor bite this time, maybe she can sneak in quietly and away from the mean brutes. Well, if before nightfall she does not find a better place….it has to be the garage.
Earlier that day she had “taken” a couple of apples from the fruit vendor, would have preferred to pay for it but did not have any cash and was too proud to beg. She must find something to do and makes a mental note to ask the restaurant owners, maybe dish washing or mopping the floor or the tables just anything that will pay. She will do that first thing tomorrow.
Munching on one of the apples, she gives the street another round. The dogs are quite now, it’s her chance to sneak in and find a nice corner to doze off. Thank god it’s still summer…..must prepare for the cold of the winter though, tomorrow she will think of something, right now it’s an effort to keep her eye lids from dropping.
Before the faint lights from the street disappears from her sight she has a vision of a soft bed, softer voice and a nice, warm fire in the hearth….she must find her way home soon…tomorrow she will find a way….tomorrow.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The rain, me and her
Lately, I have been wondering if there was an alarm clock up there to set off the rain exactly before its time to call it a day and head home. I have always associated rain with romance, well I grew up watching Hindi movies what else can you expect. But it’s kind of annoying to arrive home drenched to the bones, which of course is a 100 % probability especially since I neither have wheels nor an umbrella. I did own one though, lend it to some one and never got it back, (am talking about the umbrella) sometimes I stand a little longer in the rain hoping diligently that fellow will pass by and remember to give it back to me, so far I have only managed to earn some strange looks.
So one such day, I meet her again, I know she lives in a little cottage above my apartment, have seen her couple of times. I always have a special smile for her, today she has cut her hair and it suits her. I try to tell her that she looks good, I end up half shouting and half moving my hands in every direction (My own version of sign language!) She is short of hearing. It seems my klutz act has paid off, because she gives me this beautiful smile and tells me I have a very pleasant, happy face, which adds an extra zing to my smile (She keeps forgetting we have met before, acceptable since she is around 90 years old, give or take a few years). I get myself an invitation to tea.
I turn down the invitation, it has started to pour some more and I would like nothing better than to get out of these wet cloths. I promise her I will visit during the weekends. She reinforces that I should. I guess she gets lonely at times, was married a long time ago, had some kids who never made it out of infancy and out lived her husband by some decades. She gets occasional visits from her nephews, who are probably after that plot of land her home stands on. This is what life has dished out to her.
An old woman, living alone, in an old cottage asking every one who shows her any signs of kindness to tea does not seem like a good strategy. We have heard enough horrible incidences involving old people these days. I avoid telling her that, don’t want to scare her. I wonder how many like her are out there? Out of medical reach, alien to warm hugs and some even without proper basic needs. This is beyond me but sometimes I think it’s time the concept of old age home reach us after all.
Note: That was written in 2007, the Dear old lady finally let go off her life in late 2008.
So one such day, I meet her again, I know she lives in a little cottage above my apartment, have seen her couple of times. I always have a special smile for her, today she has cut her hair and it suits her. I try to tell her that she looks good, I end up half shouting and half moving my hands in every direction (My own version of sign language!) She is short of hearing. It seems my klutz act has paid off, because she gives me this beautiful smile and tells me I have a very pleasant, happy face, which adds an extra zing to my smile (She keeps forgetting we have met before, acceptable since she is around 90 years old, give or take a few years). I get myself an invitation to tea.
I turn down the invitation, it has started to pour some more and I would like nothing better than to get out of these wet cloths. I promise her I will visit during the weekends. She reinforces that I should. I guess she gets lonely at times, was married a long time ago, had some kids who never made it out of infancy and out lived her husband by some decades. She gets occasional visits from her nephews, who are probably after that plot of land her home stands on. This is what life has dished out to her.
An old woman, living alone, in an old cottage asking every one who shows her any signs of kindness to tea does not seem like a good strategy. We have heard enough horrible incidences involving old people these days. I avoid telling her that, don’t want to scare her. I wonder how many like her are out there? Out of medical reach, alien to warm hugs and some even without proper basic needs. This is beyond me but sometimes I think it’s time the concept of old age home reach us after all.
Note: That was written in 2007, the Dear old lady finally let go off her life in late 2008.
Hope
He was like a pintsized adult, waiting to grow taller. I had know him since he first came to this place, how long ago was that? Five? Six? Years ago. He had been a boy of four then, innocent, full spirited and waiting to explore the world. He did not know a single word of Dzongkha, the result of being born and brought up in Kurtoe. Arriving in Paro was like stepping into an all different world for him. There were so many different aspects of living he could not fathom but fully intended to understand.
Initially whenever a vehicle passed by, he would run wildly after it and I would run after him. “You must not do that. It is dangerous” I would try to tell him in my limited Kurtoeb, he would laugh then and till date I never found out whether he had laughed at my kurtoeb or just out of sheer pleasure. I would then collect him in my arms and take him home. But all that was, as I have already said a few years ago. Things have changed these past few years, I have moved away from home and his mother has taken to drinking heavily.
On my occasional visit home, I see him doing everything from cooking to doing laundry to mothering his mother. He has matured beyond his age and before his time, yet there is something heart achingly young about him. At 10 he is a young boy with the eyes of an old man. His mother who chooses to remain drunken five days out of a week either bashes him or ignores him. At times I long to hold him in my arms and tell him that things will improve for the better but am not sure he will welcome my sympathy. I don’t know what it is but there is something about the sorrow and pain of life that teaches you to grow up as an individual and I could see that he has done that.
On my last visit home just as I was about to get into a taxi, I saw him standing by the road. I walked up to him handed a couple of fifties and hugged him close to my heart “Some day,” I said “I hope to have a son like you.” Since the taxi driver was getting impatient I hurriedly got into the taxi and drove off. On hindsight I looked back and saw him running after an Alto car…….children and their resilience……no matter what life decides to deal them, they always manage to see the ray of hope amidst the dark shadows.
Initially whenever a vehicle passed by, he would run wildly after it and I would run after him. “You must not do that. It is dangerous” I would try to tell him in my limited Kurtoeb, he would laugh then and till date I never found out whether he had laughed at my kurtoeb or just out of sheer pleasure. I would then collect him in my arms and take him home. But all that was, as I have already said a few years ago. Things have changed these past few years, I have moved away from home and his mother has taken to drinking heavily.
On my occasional visit home, I see him doing everything from cooking to doing laundry to mothering his mother. He has matured beyond his age and before his time, yet there is something heart achingly young about him. At 10 he is a young boy with the eyes of an old man. His mother who chooses to remain drunken five days out of a week either bashes him or ignores him. At times I long to hold him in my arms and tell him that things will improve for the better but am not sure he will welcome my sympathy. I don’t know what it is but there is something about the sorrow and pain of life that teaches you to grow up as an individual and I could see that he has done that.
On my last visit home just as I was about to get into a taxi, I saw him standing by the road. I walked up to him handed a couple of fifties and hugged him close to my heart “Some day,” I said “I hope to have a son like you.” Since the taxi driver was getting impatient I hurriedly got into the taxi and drove off. On hindsight I looked back and saw him running after an Alto car…….children and their resilience……no matter what life decides to deal them, they always manage to see the ray of hope amidst the dark shadows.
That Girl
This is the story of a girl I used to know, a girl who wove endless dreams with the stars in her eyes, a girl who shriveled with fear if something rattled in the darkness of her room, the same girl who never though twice about venturing into the woods alone. If she saw a bug on the ground she made a point of walking slowly because she seriously felt that loud thuds might give the bug a heart attack, who would have heard of such a silly theory.
She cried buckets for the characters on the pages of some stupid tacky novel or a really silly movie but if you hurt her she won’t shed a drop of that tear, I always found that method of self preservation a little strange.
I remember one day in the 2nd grade she arrived in class drenched in the heavy summer rain, our teacher took one look at her and obviously decided it would not do to have one of her students falling sick and asked if there was anyone who could take her home. She pointed at this boy in our class and said “He can take me home, we are neighbors.” The whole class burst out laughing as she stood there bewildered and slopping wet, wondering what she had said that was so funny. It never stuck her that boys and girls were two different species, which normally as a rule did not mix well together.
I don’t know when or how it happened but I lost touch with that girl. Occasionally I see her eating ice creams in the chilly winter or sharing a bar of chocolate with a stray dog, I can see she is happy. Oh how I miss that girl! Maybe I should have held on to her and believed in all those dreams she had. But people like her would never survive in this world and I am a survivor.
She cried buckets for the characters on the pages of some stupid tacky novel or a really silly movie but if you hurt her she won’t shed a drop of that tear, I always found that method of self preservation a little strange.
I remember one day in the 2nd grade she arrived in class drenched in the heavy summer rain, our teacher took one look at her and obviously decided it would not do to have one of her students falling sick and asked if there was anyone who could take her home. She pointed at this boy in our class and said “He can take me home, we are neighbors.” The whole class burst out laughing as she stood there bewildered and slopping wet, wondering what she had said that was so funny. It never stuck her that boys and girls were two different species, which normally as a rule did not mix well together.
I don’t know when or how it happened but I lost touch with that girl. Occasionally I see her eating ice creams in the chilly winter or sharing a bar of chocolate with a stray dog, I can see she is happy. Oh how I miss that girl! Maybe I should have held on to her and believed in all those dreams she had. But people like her would never survive in this world and I am a survivor.
Living life flashback style
I remember always wanting a life that is made in wonderland completed with the “happily ever after” tag. The endless plans I had for a picture perfect life makes me smile now with remembrance. When the neighbouring children refused to play with me, I thought “wait till I become the Princess of some great land…just you all wait” God that makes me laugh now. I was rather silly then, but it made me happy….for a while life was indeed perfect.
Life took another turn as I turned 15 years, I got hold of my first Mills & Boon series, after that I wanted no Prince from a far away land to come and rescue me….no…that will not do…now its nothing less than a Greek God for me. I was a harebrain I guess (that’s my excuse)…I would say that phase of my life was even better than perfect. Did I love all those wonderful daydreams I had?
Going to college sent my grand romantic plans to the backseat momentarily. My mission was to blend into the bleak wall and concentrated on getting myself a first class degree, whether I succeeded or not is another story. All I remember from that part of my life are the beautiful white daisies which decorated the green patches, the long walks and of course the embarrassing incident of actually flunking math. Life was in its own league there.
After that was the seemingly endless struggle to land myself a decent paying job….which in the end proved to be not that difficult…do I hear whispers of lucky you!....that is something I can’t deny, I was and am always lucky, after all what’s luck but the product of pursuit. This was the most power packed phase of my life. If I had shown half the passion for anything else as I had for my job this story might have taken a different turn…..and maybe not necessarily for the better.
Now 30 years later here I am richer by 3 dogs, a nice neat cottage, lots of tattered books I have collected over the years and a cat who chose to adopt me. People think I am eccentric and sometimes they ask me why I have never married…..all I tell them is “I had a little less look to attract their attention and they had a little less brain to hold my interest.” I had my “happily ever after” just not in the same way.
Life took another turn as I turned 15 years, I got hold of my first Mills & Boon series, after that I wanted no Prince from a far away land to come and rescue me….no…that will not do…now its nothing less than a Greek God for me. I was a harebrain I guess (that’s my excuse)…I would say that phase of my life was even better than perfect. Did I love all those wonderful daydreams I had?
Going to college sent my grand romantic plans to the backseat momentarily. My mission was to blend into the bleak wall and concentrated on getting myself a first class degree, whether I succeeded or not is another story. All I remember from that part of my life are the beautiful white daisies which decorated the green patches, the long walks and of course the embarrassing incident of actually flunking math. Life was in its own league there.
After that was the seemingly endless struggle to land myself a decent paying job….which in the end proved to be not that difficult…do I hear whispers of lucky you!....that is something I can’t deny, I was and am always lucky, after all what’s luck but the product of pursuit. This was the most power packed phase of my life. If I had shown half the passion for anything else as I had for my job this story might have taken a different turn…..and maybe not necessarily for the better.
Now 30 years later here I am richer by 3 dogs, a nice neat cottage, lots of tattered books I have collected over the years and a cat who chose to adopt me. People think I am eccentric and sometimes they ask me why I have never married…..all I tell them is “I had a little less look to attract their attention and they had a little less brain to hold my interest.” I had my “happily ever after” just not in the same way.
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