I like to share food, especially sweets. Whenever sweets are brought home, I go, “Please keep some aside for my special friends.” I always ask for `some’ goodies for my friends. My family usually indulges me. At times, they grumble good-naturedly. “We don’t see any of your `special friends’ pass on anything to us.” I smile in return.
Sometimes, I think, sometimes I just take and give away the family’s share of sweets too. After all, they have eaten some, I tell myself. Now time to give the rest to my friends. The friends circle is from the immediate colleague sitting besides me to anyone passing by when I open my sweet box! So I do need a lot of sweets.
Ponnu was getting exasperated with this habit. I did not realize how much, until last week. A relative gave some chocolates from his trip to Dubai. I thought there were a lot in there and some could be.. Yes, you guessed it right. Some could go to my friends. I took some and happily gave it away to my friends. The next day, I found there were some more in the fridge. I just put my hand into the chocolate bag and had a fistful with me, when Ponnu came by. “Are you going to eat so many chocolates at one go?” “No. I am taking some for my friends.” She looked at me and said, “I hope you don’t think you are the Red Cross,” and walked away. I promptly put those chocolates back. Red Cross indeed!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
An Experiment
I speak quite loud, I think. I mean, if I speak on the phone, every one around me can hear. I have never been embarrassed of the fact.
Recently, with our office shifting to this new place, I have some colleagues in the same work pool as me. In the old office, I had known them at nodding distance when we passed each other in the corridor. But here, I get to see them up close and also talk with them.
One colleague has me intrigued. For, she talks in whispers on the phone. I wonder how she is able to do it. After a few days of observing this, I thought, perhaps, I could try that too. It seemed a good idea, at least then it did, to ape her and speak softly.
In the best of times, my voice can wake a sleeping dragon and in the worst, well, let’s not get there now. But I wanted to experiment.
My Bacha and I talk to each other several times a day. We discuss our plans for the day on the phone when we travel to work. Once we reach our respective offices, we catch up on chat. However, the day I decided to try out the experiment, I had reached office when Bacha called.
My resolve to start the experiment was just being put into practice. I had hardly finished speaking in a `soft’ tone to someone, who asked me after saying hello thrice, “Are you not well? You don't sound right.” Of course, I did not tell her I was trying to be soft spoken. Fortunately for me, the caller hung up soon after.
The next call was from my Bacha. I went into the soft mode. “Hello Ma,” she said. “Hiee Bacha,” I intoned softly. A pause and then Bacha said, “Hello?” I replied, “Yes Bacha,” softly again. “What's wrong? I can hardly hear you,” she said. I said, “I can hear you. Where are you, child?” She went, “Huh? What are you saying, Ma?” I said, “Hold the phone right Bacha. I can hear you.” She tried doing that I think and then said, “Ok, now say. Where are you?” I said, “In the office.” It was then that it struck her that there was something wrong with the tone. “Why are you whispering like this,” she asked. I said, “You know Bacha, I am trying to see whether I can speak softly on the phone.” Bacha was irritated. “Huh?” “I am trying to speak softly. Can you hear me?” Bacha was furious by then. “What is wrong with you? Why are you speaking like this?” I mentioned the colleague who speaks softly that I hear no sound in spite of being seated just a few steps away. I said I thought that was remarkable.
“I don’t want to talk with you if you speak like this, Ma,” Bacha said. “I hardly feel I am talking to the same person. You call me when you get back to your old self.” I came back to the old mode in lightning speed and said, “Now, don’t hang up. Say child.” Bacha said, “Finally! Can we get to talking now Ma?” Of course, of course, I repeated some decibels higher than the ones I use.
The matter was not over. Bacha came home a week later and mentioned this to Ponnu, who looked at me in surprise. “Why would you try to be someone you are not, Ma?” “Oh,” I said, “I was just trying to see whether I could speak softly. Not trying to be someone else, you know.” Bacha and Ponnu pounced on me. “You don’t get soft-toned on us. We will disown you.”
So much for an experiment. I am back to my usual tone.
Recently, with our office shifting to this new place, I have some colleagues in the same work pool as me. In the old office, I had known them at nodding distance when we passed each other in the corridor. But here, I get to see them up close and also talk with them.
One colleague has me intrigued. For, she talks in whispers on the phone. I wonder how she is able to do it. After a few days of observing this, I thought, perhaps, I could try that too. It seemed a good idea, at least then it did, to ape her and speak softly.
In the best of times, my voice can wake a sleeping dragon and in the worst, well, let’s not get there now. But I wanted to experiment.
My Bacha and I talk to each other several times a day. We discuss our plans for the day on the phone when we travel to work. Once we reach our respective offices, we catch up on chat. However, the day I decided to try out the experiment, I had reached office when Bacha called.
My resolve to start the experiment was just being put into practice. I had hardly finished speaking in a `soft’ tone to someone, who asked me after saying hello thrice, “Are you not well? You don't sound right.” Of course, I did not tell her I was trying to be soft spoken. Fortunately for me, the caller hung up soon after.
The next call was from my Bacha. I went into the soft mode. “Hello Ma,” she said. “Hiee Bacha,” I intoned softly. A pause and then Bacha said, “Hello?” I replied, “Yes Bacha,” softly again. “What's wrong? I can hardly hear you,” she said. I said, “I can hear you. Where are you, child?” She went, “Huh? What are you saying, Ma?” I said, “Hold the phone right Bacha. I can hear you.” She tried doing that I think and then said, “Ok, now say. Where are you?” I said, “In the office.” It was then that it struck her that there was something wrong with the tone. “Why are you whispering like this,” she asked. I said, “You know Bacha, I am trying to see whether I can speak softly on the phone.” Bacha was irritated. “Huh?” “I am trying to speak softly. Can you hear me?” Bacha was furious by then. “What is wrong with you? Why are you speaking like this?” I mentioned the colleague who speaks softly that I hear no sound in spite of being seated just a few steps away. I said I thought that was remarkable.
“I don’t want to talk with you if you speak like this, Ma,” Bacha said. “I hardly feel I am talking to the same person. You call me when you get back to your old self.” I came back to the old mode in lightning speed and said, “Now, don’t hang up. Say child.” Bacha said, “Finally! Can we get to talking now Ma?” Of course, of course, I repeated some decibels higher than the ones I use.
The matter was not over. Bacha came home a week later and mentioned this to Ponnu, who looked at me in surprise. “Why would you try to be someone you are not, Ma?” “Oh,” I said, “I was just trying to see whether I could speak softly. Not trying to be someone else, you know.” Bacha and Ponnu pounced on me. “You don’t get soft-toned on us. We will disown you.”
So much for an experiment. I am back to my usual tone.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Sea Sights
My office overlooks the sea. I have a seat next to the floor to ceiling (almost!) glass windows and I can see the shimmering waters in the afternoon sunlight. The waters get dark as the sun goes down and then I can’t see it anymore. Most days the sun is beating down too hot and I am forced to draw the wooden screens down.
When my office shifted to this location offering an amazing view of the sea, I was caught by the newness of it. Every few minutes I would shift my gaze from the computer to the sea and watch its ceaseless movement. When the newness wore off, I forgot to pull the screens up once I had pulled them down.
Two days ago I was traveling to work by train, as usual. Seated opposite me was this beautiful elderly woman. Her skin was like cream that settles down once milk has boiled and if you were to gently blow on it, it creases. Well, that’s how her skin looked. Lovingly creased over time. She wore a white sari and had glasses which were secured with a thick white thread running to the back of her head. None of these caught my eyes at first. What did were the four pink glass bangles that she wore on each hand. I have rarely seen an elderly woman with glass bangles. Usually, it is some metal or the other.
I saw the grandma (for sure, she was that) look out alternately from the window and then crane over a lady seated beside her and look through the door as the train halted between stations. She was a newcomer to the city. When the compartment emptied out and there were just the three of us, I asked the lady who grandma was. She said, “My mother. She has come from Agra.”
I asked grandma, “Do you like the city?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t like it.” Her daughter interjected, “This is her first visit here. I have been married for over 15 years but she does not like to come over, for she considers it a sin to stay in my house as I am her daughter. She lives with my brothers in Agra.” Amazed, I asked grandma, “Why do you say that?” She was loath to explain. “It is a sin,” she replied. “I just want to go back to Agra soon for I don’t want to die here. My soul will not rest in peace if I die at my daughter’s house.” I said, “You surely can’t believe that.” Grandma would not budge from her way of thinking. “I am 85 years now. I will die soon. It is a sin for me to die in my daughter’s home,” she repeated.
It was pouring outside. I wondered aloud where grandma and her daughter were going in this dreary weather. Her daughter said, “Mother has been here for a fortnight. She came here for treatment, which finished yesterday. I have been asking her, since the day she came, to see some sights in the city. She has consistently refused. Last night she said, `I want to see the sea’. So we are taking her today as she is going back to Agra tomorrow.”
The mother daughter duo and the son-in-law traveling in another compartment were making a journey of over an hour and half so that grandma could see the sea. I asked grandma, “Why do you want to see the sea?” She looked at me and smiled for the first time. “I rarely get to see it in Agra.”
Since that day, I rarely forget to pull the shutters up at sundown…
When my office shifted to this location offering an amazing view of the sea, I was caught by the newness of it. Every few minutes I would shift my gaze from the computer to the sea and watch its ceaseless movement. When the newness wore off, I forgot to pull the screens up once I had pulled them down.
Two days ago I was traveling to work by train, as usual. Seated opposite me was this beautiful elderly woman. Her skin was like cream that settles down once milk has boiled and if you were to gently blow on it, it creases. Well, that’s how her skin looked. Lovingly creased over time. She wore a white sari and had glasses which were secured with a thick white thread running to the back of her head. None of these caught my eyes at first. What did were the four pink glass bangles that she wore on each hand. I have rarely seen an elderly woman with glass bangles. Usually, it is some metal or the other.
I saw the grandma (for sure, she was that) look out alternately from the window and then crane over a lady seated beside her and look through the door as the train halted between stations. She was a newcomer to the city. When the compartment emptied out and there were just the three of us, I asked the lady who grandma was. She said, “My mother. She has come from Agra.”
I asked grandma, “Do you like the city?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t like it.” Her daughter interjected, “This is her first visit here. I have been married for over 15 years but she does not like to come over, for she considers it a sin to stay in my house as I am her daughter. She lives with my brothers in Agra.” Amazed, I asked grandma, “Why do you say that?” She was loath to explain. “It is a sin,” she replied. “I just want to go back to Agra soon for I don’t want to die here. My soul will not rest in peace if I die at my daughter’s house.” I said, “You surely can’t believe that.” Grandma would not budge from her way of thinking. “I am 85 years now. I will die soon. It is a sin for me to die in my daughter’s home,” she repeated.
It was pouring outside. I wondered aloud where grandma and her daughter were going in this dreary weather. Her daughter said, “Mother has been here for a fortnight. She came here for treatment, which finished yesterday. I have been asking her, since the day she came, to see some sights in the city. She has consistently refused. Last night she said, `I want to see the sea’. So we are taking her today as she is going back to Agra tomorrow.”
The mother daughter duo and the son-in-law traveling in another compartment were making a journey of over an hour and half so that grandma could see the sea. I asked grandma, “Why do you want to see the sea?” She looked at me and smiled for the first time. “I rarely get to see it in Agra.”
Since that day, I rarely forget to pull the shutters up at sundown…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)