Who knew that tapping the kitchen floor with your palms while lying flat on the ground could be so much fun? Or standing in front of the mirror, giggling and smiling at your reflection, while trying to make friends with your own self, could fill one's heart with so much happiness? It is these tini-tiny expressions and humongous joys that little ones are made of.
Every morning (well many of them) my little one wakes up crying loudly. As I rush to her crib fearing something is wrong, I see that she is perfectly fine except that she is crying. A bad dream? Stomach ache? I don't know. But she cries as if she has been bit by a bug. Then just few seconds later, she is all peace and poodle and goes back to sleep. All I'm left with is, the guesswork and a smile.
These little ones have invisible magical wands. At times they just need to babble out few sounds, and I find that I have been brought back to life from my deepest thoughts and worries. As my baby moves her little fingers around my face, I find that she is infusing love and happiness into me. Her giggle, her smile, even seeing her sometimes expressionless face are few moments that I wish, I could just snap out of time and make them eternal.
And when little ones are not amusing us, they are crying. Yes! loud and clear, for the neighbors to hear and parents to bear. As parents, we get to be comedians and singers just like that. But what we also learn is patience, endurance, versatility... to name a few. I've personally never felt so much gratitude for my own parents after being a mother! How did they take care of the three of us?
Demanding as royalties. Sparkling as celebrities. The little ones have always and will always, continue to puzzle and pleasure the society. And now, I need to rush. I want to hold my little puzzler, snug her tight and never let go.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Aisha - the chemistry of physics
This is not a movie review! I'm not a movie buff. So why am I writing this...?
Yes, I loved the movie, as I knew I would do, from seeing the trailers and dancing to the tunes of title song 'aisha'. I have always loved the characters created by Jane Austen. But what got me writing this post is the bonding. Abhay and Sonam look so incredibly cute and so naturally playful together. It was such an exciting experience to see this couple in the movie. What took my liking to the next level was when I came across their interviews in youtube, and I was glued.
If I think about it now, I'm not a fan of either Abhay or Sonam (even after Aisha). I know Abhay is a complete natural. I remember in 2009 my friend first mentioned his name and recommended 'Socha na tha'. He was a fan of Abhay. I had only heard Abhay's name till then and didn't recollect his face. Then I watched that movie and even had myself watch 'Oye Lucky..', but both of these didn't strike any lightnings for me. I've watched Sonam's Saawariya and remember thinking about the money 'not well' spent on that project. And that's how I know that I'm not a fan. But you need to watch Aisha and watch their interviews to see what I'm talking about.
There is a part where Sonam is asked if Abhay is her type. She says, "No, he is too bohemian". For the same question Abhay replies, "Totally!". Or the part where Sonam says, "Abhay looks very uptight when dressed in suits. He completely changes the way he talks". The interviewer agrees that men behave differently in suits. Sonam quickly adds, "But then he smiles and his dimples appear, and he is soooo cute". You can feel your heart melting and you just agree with her. So, be it, "He is a Juhu boy, he is a chocolaty hero", or "She is a lollipop girl, She is charmed by me", there is so much positive energy, fun and laugh that surrounds them, that it was a complete delight seeing something so natural in the glamour world.
With just one movie past them, they know so much about each other already. Their support for each other was lovable. When asked to summarize himself in one word, Abhay says "Idiot". Sonam says "Noooo". "Stupid?", he asks. "Nooo, you are Smart". When asked one thing they would wipe out from each other, Abhay says "She is kiddish, sometimes". Sonam says "He is stubborn". Then adds "Sometimes". And then says a few words and adds, "He is also rebellious". The host has to interrupt and remind that she just asked for one quality and they are going on and on:)
I enjoyed their chit-chats more than I liked the movie. Their adorable wits, punches, smiles and words that were just expressed through the eyes, completely mesmerized me. It was a good script material in itself. So if Aisha is what you liked, the interviews will be surely an icing on the cake.
In their words...the host asks them "Why do you think Aisha works?".
Sonam: "We have a great chemistry".
Abhay: "And Physics".
And I agree.
Sonam: "We have a great chemistry".
Abhay: "And Physics".
And I agree.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
M'dear
You hold my fingers tight, in your tiny palms...
And move them around and round and round.
I make a funny noise that gets you laughing...
You smile and twinkle, waiting for more sound.
You come crawling, when I pretend to sleep...
And touching my face, you knock and you pound.
I read a book to you and your mouth is wide open...
You marvel at the colors and shapes that surround.
And when I kiss you or hold you close, my baby, m'dear...
It's love in the skies and jingles all around.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Matters of Height
Genetics is an amazing science. It is all credit to the genomic sequences that one may grow up like a giraffe but the sibling might refuse to expand vertically. Attention from society is guaranteed in these situations. There is a difference though. The tall ones get 'awes' that are mixed with exciting gasps whereas the shorter ones mostly get sympathetic sighs.
The realization of 'my' height problem didn't take many years to descend on my family. My sister and I have an age difference of a year. As we moved into teenage, she became taller than me very soon. This influenced the entropy of my life in a way that is hard to describe. It was soon publicly acknowledged in my family that I have a height problem. And every body was keen to resolve it.
My maternal grandpa was one of the most concerned. We lived in the same town and met frequently. Every time I visited him, he would advice me to do stretches on a metal bar that he had at his home. As popular believes go, this is a very good exercise for height issues. So I often found myself hanging on to it like a monkey does to a tree branch, wishing that this would work its way into my body. But when months turned into years and grandpa didn't see much improvement, his concern incremented. It got to a point where each and every time we met, he would ask "What's your height now? Has it increased or not?". This often happened even if we met only after a day. And then he would shake his head in disappointment when I answered in negative. I started avoiding him. The moment I saw him approaching our home, I would run away and take refugee at a friend's place, roof, playground etc etc. Sometimes I would pretend sleeping. He would then involve my mother into his worries. "It will be very tough to find a groom for her", he would say. And then his face would be shadowed by some recollection of his social experience.
I had my share of contributions to this drama. My mother was quite religious. Influenced by her and our bollywood cinema, my first attempt was in form of prayers. I scribbled tiny notes with appeal of help. I hid those among several idols and frames of God that my mother had in her temple room. Sometimes when I went to pray in the morning, I sat with my hands clasped in front of the idols and waited for a flower-drop. Now for those who pretend ignorance to this bollywood theme, here is a recap. A troubled unfortunate human. A big Idol of God. Eye-wetting cry for help in form of a song or emotional dialogues. And then it happens. A flower-drop. A flower adorned on the idol falls on the stretched out hands of the human. It signifies blessing and all the troubles go away one after another. Now I'm pretty sure a flower or two dropped on me over years. Logically thinking now it was mostly gravity working with frictional forces. It might have been the breezes working their way from the window in the temple room. But back then it was 'Hope'. And I believed that my prayers play a role in all the inches I score.
Where did schooling fit into all this? Hmm...With so many kids to manage, height was usually the common criteria that resolved many decision makings for teachers. Need to take a class of crazy students to playground, have a line formed by height. Have to show them some informative movie or video, have them seated by height. So, be it boarding a bus, standing in assembly line, parades, almost everywhere, I was there in the front few. I should have taken it as a privilege. It was like a front-of-line pass for the entire school life. But the happy and satisfied vibes that back-benchers gave, always superseded my rational judgment. I mean how can one not envy their eating lunch boxes in the back rows while we had to sit in the front rows and look straight into the teacher's eyes and nod in understanding after every few minutes!
Graduation...Profession...Continents...Marriage...Motherhood. That's life summarized for me over the past few years. It's hard to even recall when I stopped praying for my height increase. Perhaps it was the time when I started focusing prayers on good secondary school results or competitive exams or even affections. But I still get social attention for my 'tiny stature' or my 'so small' outlook and like-wise. My grandpa's worries about finding a groom are now replaced with the concerns about my ability to carry around my growing baby. But I think that I already made peace with my height long ago. Verbs will change. Nouns will remain. On the brighter side, there is a life to be lived.
The realization of 'my' height problem didn't take many years to descend on my family. My sister and I have an age difference of a year. As we moved into teenage, she became taller than me very soon. This influenced the entropy of my life in a way that is hard to describe. It was soon publicly acknowledged in my family that I have a height problem. And every body was keen to resolve it.
My maternal grandpa was one of the most concerned. We lived in the same town and met frequently. Every time I visited him, he would advice me to do stretches on a metal bar that he had at his home. As popular believes go, this is a very good exercise for height issues. So I often found myself hanging on to it like a monkey does to a tree branch, wishing that this would work its way into my body. But when months turned into years and grandpa didn't see much improvement, his concern incremented. It got to a point where each and every time we met, he would ask "What's your height now? Has it increased or not?". This often happened even if we met only after a day. And then he would shake his head in disappointment when I answered in negative. I started avoiding him. The moment I saw him approaching our home, I would run away and take refugee at a friend's place, roof, playground etc etc. Sometimes I would pretend sleeping. He would then involve my mother into his worries. "It will be very tough to find a groom for her", he would say. And then his face would be shadowed by some recollection of his social experience.
I had my share of contributions to this drama. My mother was quite religious. Influenced by her and our bollywood cinema, my first attempt was in form of prayers. I scribbled tiny notes with appeal of help. I hid those among several idols and frames of God that my mother had in her temple room. Sometimes when I went to pray in the morning, I sat with my hands clasped in front of the idols and waited for a flower-drop. Now for those who pretend ignorance to this bollywood theme, here is a recap. A troubled unfortunate human. A big Idol of God. Eye-wetting cry for help in form of a song or emotional dialogues. And then it happens. A flower-drop. A flower adorned on the idol falls on the stretched out hands of the human. It signifies blessing and all the troubles go away one after another. Now I'm pretty sure a flower or two dropped on me over years. Logically thinking now it was mostly gravity working with frictional forces. It might have been the breezes working their way from the window in the temple room. But back then it was 'Hope'. And I believed that my prayers play a role in all the inches I score.
Where did schooling fit into all this? Hmm...With so many kids to manage, height was usually the common criteria that resolved many decision makings for teachers. Need to take a class of crazy students to playground, have a line formed by height. Have to show them some informative movie or video, have them seated by height. So, be it boarding a bus, standing in assembly line, parades, almost everywhere, I was there in the front few. I should have taken it as a privilege. It was like a front-of-line pass for the entire school life. But the happy and satisfied vibes that back-benchers gave, always superseded my rational judgment. I mean how can one not envy their eating lunch boxes in the back rows while we had to sit in the front rows and look straight into the teacher's eyes and nod in understanding after every few minutes!
Graduation...Profession...Continents...Marriage...Motherhood. That's life summarized for me over the past few years. It's hard to even recall when I stopped praying for my height increase. Perhaps it was the time when I started focusing prayers on good secondary school results or competitive exams or even affections. But I still get social attention for my 'tiny stature' or my 'so small' outlook and like-wise. My grandpa's worries about finding a groom are now replaced with the concerns about my ability to carry around my growing baby. But I think that I already made peace with my height long ago. Verbs will change. Nouns will remain. On the brighter side, there is a life to be lived.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
So Pure...
I want to call you an angel my little one,
But they say angels have feathers, and you have none...
I want to call you my shining star,
But you are near me, and stars are far...
I want to call you the apple of my eye,
But apples can be sour, and that is why...
I cannot call you this and cannot call you that,
Oh! you are so pure, my words fall flat.
(Babies are so pure. I realize now that parenthood is such a big responsibility. Parents paint a character into the blank canvas of a baby's mind. I hope we do a good job of it.)
Monday, May 10, 2010
A Mother to me, A Mother to be
I blinked and dreamed inside her womb
Kicked and played my very first game
While she waited for me to arrive
Bearing the pain, calling my name.
She held me close to her warmth
You are my little angel, she said
Her eyes shining, her face calmth.
And I know she'll always be there for me
In all the prize and dooms of life
In blacks and whites, greens and blues
In smiles and tears, in less and rife.
------------------------------
Oh mother! my precious
What you give me everyday,
Words can't express it enough
Those are things I cannot repay.
p.s. I started this when I was expecting. A day after Mother's day, finally had myself finish this:)
It's snowing in Seattle
Nov 26, 2007: 2 pm
My wish came true. I was cuddled inside the comforter, senses begging to be let loose by the atrocities of this ever wandering mind.....my desire was to sleep, take a quick nap....when it all began. My roommate came rushing inside the room and shouted - "It's snowing outside!! come and see". I lifted the blinds of the window and there it was...small white cotton being shredded by mother nature, it was actually snowing! You might ask what the big deal? But it was an important thing for me. Perhaps the happiness was more brightened because of it being a surprise. I had been wining for quite some days to Sandeep that I wanted to witness actual snow falling..."I've never seen snow...I've never been in a snowfall". So it was really nice to get this so unexpected.
We ran to the roof, those soft cotton balls started entwining in our hair-locks. It was beautiful. It was a very very light snow, but still I couldn't withhold all smiles and gasping. It was actually happening. A day that I want to remember...more like I want to register...for its one more memory I'll cherish for the rest of my life...one more dream, one more wish coming true. And it reminds me that wishes do come true...sometimes it's these sweet surprises, at other times we have to struggle...make them happen:)
My wish came true. I was cuddled inside the comforter, senses begging to be let loose by the atrocities of this ever wandering mind.....my desire was to sleep, take a quick nap....when it all began. My roommate came rushing inside the room and shouted - "It's snowing outside!! come and see". I lifted the blinds of the window and there it was...small white cotton being shredded by mother nature, it was actually snowing! You might ask what the big deal? But it was an important thing for me. Perhaps the happiness was more brightened because of it being a surprise. I had been wining for quite some days to Sandeep that I wanted to witness actual snow falling..."I've never seen snow...I've never been in a snowfall". So it was really nice to get this so unexpected.
We ran to the roof, those soft cotton balls started entwining in our hair-locks. It was beautiful. It was a very very light snow, but still I couldn't withhold all smiles and gasping. It was actually happening. A day that I want to remember...more like I want to register...for its one more memory I'll cherish for the rest of my life...one more dream, one more wish coming true. And it reminds me that wishes do come true...sometimes it's these sweet surprises, at other times we have to struggle...make them happen:)
Famous Five
Once upon a time...
I wasn't a famous girl in fifth grade. We had a half hour dedicated every week to ‘library period’. It was one of those days when my friend handed me a Enid Blyton’s Famous Five.
I was hooked on to it immediately. I can’t recall now what I read before I read the Five. It opened a dream land for me where I could walk in anytime I desired. I could experience someone else’s life, so widely different from mine. I was a very silent girl in school. My teachers first noticed me after grading the unit test copies and seeing good scores.
So I read the first book and then I read them all. All the books I could get my hands on in the library. We got one book allotted each week. I finished mine quickly and started trading with my classmates. My count was 2-3 books a week. I found company in a couple of my crazy friends. I remember we were at a point when we hid the unread editions behind certain sections in cupboards. We use to hide them in sections which we considered boring classic literature, hoping no one would find it there. It seems so foolish now. It was such an innocent childhood act at that time. I finished my homework with more enthusiasm than before, only to get spare time to read the Five. In a way I was having my own adventures.
Our day to day schooling didn't offer much scope for diversion from studies. We woke up, went to school, came back, and then studied. We took breaks but we mostly studied. There would be electricity cut-offs but we would complete homework under a lamp. It is hard to imagine right now how much we studied. Not that there is anything wrong with it! It was so natural at that time. So in such a busy study life, it was really an adventure to steal the reads. Yes! that’s what I literally did. I was a sincere student, but when I had a Famous Five in hand, it took priority over many other things.
I woke up early to study. But when I was ‘Famous Fiving’, I use to hide it under my Science book and read it. I would be in my school bus and read it. I use to take it to bathroom and read it. It is only obvious that my mother ended up knocking the door often wondering what a little girl is doing in bathroom for more than 30-45 minutes. I convinced myself that I would finish ‘this one book I’m reading’ and then not touch another one for the next week. Ah! promises.
Another interesting episode is what happened one fine day. I was exchanging angry notes in a classroom over a dispute with my friend in our spare time. I wrote 'stupid' and passed it to her. What happened next was far from my comprehension. Now this girl blackmailed me over that tiny note for a very long time. She said she would hand it over to the teacher. I must have been very conscious of my reputation and so I listened to her for some time. But then I was tired. And guess what? Some of my good friends and I ended up forming a ‘Famous Five’ gang. We brainstormed a plan. During recess the girls would somehow keep the girl busy. The boys would snoop in at that time and search her school bag. Well, I’m all smiles now as I’m sharing this story. But this is one of the most daring things I attempted in my school time.
The gang couldn't locate the paper. How our gang finally dissolved fails my memory. That girl left the school that summer. And time went by.
Today..
A story of past is best complimented with a seasoning of present. I still read. I don’t have to steal reads any more, in fact I have to force myself to read now. It is still a busy life now, just that work and family take precedence over everything else. It is a simple reality of life that time simply tip toes without any stories often. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It is natural. But if you are one of those who like adventures, I’ll just say this, go - have one!
I wasn't a famous girl in fifth grade. We had a half hour dedicated every week to ‘library period’. It was one of those days when my friend handed me a Enid Blyton’s Famous Five.
I was hooked on to it immediately. I can’t recall now what I read before I read the Five. It opened a dream land for me where I could walk in anytime I desired. I could experience someone else’s life, so widely different from mine. I was a very silent girl in school. My teachers first noticed me after grading the unit test copies and seeing good scores.
So I read the first book and then I read them all. All the books I could get my hands on in the library. We got one book allotted each week. I finished mine quickly and started trading with my classmates. My count was 2-3 books a week. I found company in a couple of my crazy friends. I remember we were at a point when we hid the unread editions behind certain sections in cupboards. We use to hide them in sections which we considered boring classic literature, hoping no one would find it there. It seems so foolish now. It was such an innocent childhood act at that time. I finished my homework with more enthusiasm than before, only to get spare time to read the Five. In a way I was having my own adventures.
Our day to day schooling didn't offer much scope for diversion from studies. We woke up, went to school, came back, and then studied. We took breaks but we mostly studied. There would be electricity cut-offs but we would complete homework under a lamp. It is hard to imagine right now how much we studied. Not that there is anything wrong with it! It was so natural at that time. So in such a busy study life, it was really an adventure to steal the reads. Yes! that’s what I literally did. I was a sincere student, but when I had a Famous Five in hand, it took priority over many other things.
I woke up early to study. But when I was ‘Famous Fiving’, I use to hide it under my Science book and read it. I would be in my school bus and read it. I use to take it to bathroom and read it. It is only obvious that my mother ended up knocking the door often wondering what a little girl is doing in bathroom for more than 30-45 minutes. I convinced myself that I would finish ‘this one book I’m reading’ and then not touch another one for the next week. Ah! promises.
Another interesting episode is what happened one fine day. I was exchanging angry notes in a classroom over a dispute with my friend in our spare time. I wrote 'stupid' and passed it to her. What happened next was far from my comprehension. Now this girl blackmailed me over that tiny note for a very long time. She said she would hand it over to the teacher. I must have been very conscious of my reputation and so I listened to her for some time. But then I was tired. And guess what? Some of my good friends and I ended up forming a ‘Famous Five’ gang. We brainstormed a plan. During recess the girls would somehow keep the girl busy. The boys would snoop in at that time and search her school bag. Well, I’m all smiles now as I’m sharing this story. But this is one of the most daring things I attempted in my school time.
The gang couldn't locate the paper. How our gang finally dissolved fails my memory. That girl left the school that summer. And time went by.
Today..
A story of past is best complimented with a seasoning of present. I still read. I don’t have to steal reads any more, in fact I have to force myself to read now. It is still a busy life now, just that work and family take precedence over everything else. It is a simple reality of life that time simply tip toes without any stories often. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It is natural. But if you are one of those who like adventures, I’ll just say this, go - have one!
Stop Requested
Familiarity often breeds likeness. That doesn’t
perhaps apply to all things in life like love or marriages(that I've
heard get most unlikely with time). But here I’m talking about my daily
bus rides. I’m getting used to commuting to work by bus now.
The first day was like preparing for an exam. I have not traveled in buses much and I just have a most 'wonderful' sense of Geography. The combination is adventurous. I checked the schedule online multiple times both for the start and return trips. I was there at the bus stop 10 minutes earlier. The bus came. I greeted the driver and looked up. All the seats were occupied. There were people of so many colors and shapes, and vividness. My brain ran out of thoughts. I had to stand all the way to my destination and I was simply disappointed. The return trip was worse.
There is an underground tunnel in the downtown area from where the bus needs to be taken. I reached the stop.The setting was apt for a thriller movie scene, where the silence and dullness is about to turn into something nasty. I found a few people scattered in the platform. I could relate them to mobsters in movies or psychopaths or some to just ‘people who scared me for no reason’. I was worried about what would be my reaction if one of them came and showed me a gun and asked me for my laptop. I then thought about ‘what things I have not done or want to do in life?’ assuming this was my last day. I resolved to at least start focusing on some them as soon as I reach home safely. I then circled my eyes around and saw a guy in a cop like uniform standing at a corner. That was some relief! When I got into the bus finally, I had to keep all my senses up and running to watch for my stop. Well as must be apparent from reading this account so far, ‘sensing and judging direction is not my forte’. Well even to say it like that is an understatement of the situation. If I don’t have to, I never try to remember where I’m going and how I’ll come back.
Anyway, so that was the first day. As my ride continued for a week or two, I slowly learned to relax. I started returning smiles from strangers, or even recognizing some of the regular travelers. I learned to time myself better, so that I don’t have to be on the stops several minutes earlier. Also in a way, I started appreciating diversity that the human race brings in society. For example, there is an ‘oval-face-round-earring’ girl who I jump into often. She always sits on the front seats which are to be abandoned for elderly people in case needed. She gets in the bus before my stop and does not get down before me. I see there are other seats that she can choose to sit. But I always find her sitting right at front and standing after few stops, giving away her seat to an elderly person who comes by. That stranger is sure strange!
Those who mostly make the bus lively are African-American people. Women with flashy jackets, braided hair, skin tight jeans, high boots, men with loose jeans, loose T’s, pierced ear and earphones. If a black woman next to me picks up a phone to talk, it makes me nervous. I can’t make out if she is upset with the person on phone or that’s her usual way of speaking. I would not be surprised if my slight shift in seat can arouse her anger on me as well. So I just try to stay still as much as possible.
There are Asian people. You cannot miss them in any journey in US. Bus rides are no exception. I have never been able to distinguish Chinese from Thai, or Korean from Japanese. If I have to refer to them, I default to Chinese for purposes of ease. They are always a subject of interest to me. They are watchful as if the world around them is like a book they are studying. I find them cautious for reasons I have not been able to understand.
I got a surprise from a Mexican man one day. Again, I don’t know what kind of Spanish origin he was, but the sharp features of black-gel hair, fair color, and black eyes gave him enough substance to be called Mexican in my dictionary. So, I was standing one day without a seat and I heard a sound from back. He asked me to sit and he moved on. I thought he must be getting down at the next stop. But no, he was standing at some distance all the time till we reached downtown. And there I was, kind of open mouthed, not sure if I should extend my thanks in any way or not.
I've come to realize that I’m evolving with each bus ride. I have learned how to grab the seats. People in the tunnel don’t overwhelm me anymore. I have learned that there will be fellow passengers with good and bad odors; it’s entirely a matter of luck. I know that an unexpected talk with a stranger will sometimes make my day. The bad rush at some other day will take a homely cup of tea to cool me down. Rest assured the best part of my journey is the time when my stop is about to arrive, and I see a ‘STOP REQUESTED’ sign on the bus. It is a signal for the driver to know where to stop. The sign so inadvertently tags the start of a day...or its end, as life should be lived, in moments, in stops.
The first day was like preparing for an exam. I have not traveled in buses much and I just have a most 'wonderful' sense of Geography. The combination is adventurous. I checked the schedule online multiple times both for the start and return trips. I was there at the bus stop 10 minutes earlier. The bus came. I greeted the driver and looked up. All the seats were occupied. There were people of so many colors and shapes, and vividness. My brain ran out of thoughts. I had to stand all the way to my destination and I was simply disappointed. The return trip was worse.
There is an underground tunnel in the downtown area from where the bus needs to be taken. I reached the stop.The setting was apt for a thriller movie scene, where the silence and dullness is about to turn into something nasty. I found a few people scattered in the platform. I could relate them to mobsters in movies or psychopaths or some to just ‘people who scared me for no reason’. I was worried about what would be my reaction if one of them came and showed me a gun and asked me for my laptop. I then thought about ‘what things I have not done or want to do in life?’ assuming this was my last day. I resolved to at least start focusing on some them as soon as I reach home safely. I then circled my eyes around and saw a guy in a cop like uniform standing at a corner. That was some relief! When I got into the bus finally, I had to keep all my senses up and running to watch for my stop. Well as must be apparent from reading this account so far, ‘sensing and judging direction is not my forte’. Well even to say it like that is an understatement of the situation. If I don’t have to, I never try to remember where I’m going and how I’ll come back.
Anyway, so that was the first day. As my ride continued for a week or two, I slowly learned to relax. I started returning smiles from strangers, or even recognizing some of the regular travelers. I learned to time myself better, so that I don’t have to be on the stops several minutes earlier. Also in a way, I started appreciating diversity that the human race brings in society. For example, there is an ‘oval-face-round-earring’ girl who I jump into often. She always sits on the front seats which are to be abandoned for elderly people in case needed. She gets in the bus before my stop and does not get down before me. I see there are other seats that she can choose to sit. But I always find her sitting right at front and standing after few stops, giving away her seat to an elderly person who comes by. That stranger is sure strange!
Those who mostly make the bus lively are African-American people. Women with flashy jackets, braided hair, skin tight jeans, high boots, men with loose jeans, loose T’s, pierced ear and earphones. If a black woman next to me picks up a phone to talk, it makes me nervous. I can’t make out if she is upset with the person on phone or that’s her usual way of speaking. I would not be surprised if my slight shift in seat can arouse her anger on me as well. So I just try to stay still as much as possible.
There are Asian people. You cannot miss them in any journey in US. Bus rides are no exception. I have never been able to distinguish Chinese from Thai, or Korean from Japanese. If I have to refer to them, I default to Chinese for purposes of ease. They are always a subject of interest to me. They are watchful as if the world around them is like a book they are studying. I find them cautious for reasons I have not been able to understand.
I got a surprise from a Mexican man one day. Again, I don’t know what kind of Spanish origin he was, but the sharp features of black-gel hair, fair color, and black eyes gave him enough substance to be called Mexican in my dictionary. So, I was standing one day without a seat and I heard a sound from back. He asked me to sit and he moved on. I thought he must be getting down at the next stop. But no, he was standing at some distance all the time till we reached downtown. And there I was, kind of open mouthed, not sure if I should extend my thanks in any way or not.
I've come to realize that I’m evolving with each bus ride. I have learned how to grab the seats. People in the tunnel don’t overwhelm me anymore. I have learned that there will be fellow passengers with good and bad odors; it’s entirely a matter of luck. I know that an unexpected talk with a stranger will sometimes make my day. The bad rush at some other day will take a homely cup of tea to cool me down. Rest assured the best part of my journey is the time when my stop is about to arrive, and I see a ‘STOP REQUESTED’ sign on the bus. It is a signal for the driver to know where to stop. The sign so inadvertently tags the start of a day...or its end, as life should be lived, in moments, in stops.
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