Will Smile, Will Smile Not

The first week into our recent visit to US while standing in a long check-out line, my daughter, Meera observed, “Mom, most people here seem to be so friendly.   They smile even at strangers.   Nobody does that in India”.   She was right.   Subconsciously I had noticed that as well, though had never vocalized it out loud.  

I asked Meera if she had noticed any similarities amongst people who smiled at her.   She thought about it; I thought about it; and we recalled that most often it was the older generation that was more generous with smiles.   Also that African-American store employees not just smiled at us, but also added, “How y’all doing today?” or “You have a good day now”.  

Taking an early morning walk in a park with my sister, I noticed that almost everyone muttered, “Good morning”, or acknowledged us with a subtle nod.   We crossed an African American gentleman who surpassed the others here as well.   He nodded to us along a cheerful, “What a beautiful day!”  

By now this had become a sort of preoccupation with me.   I would cross people in stores, restaurants, parks, streets and try to look them in the eye with a hint of a smile.   While approaching my target, my mind would play the game of ‘he’ll smile; he’ll smile not’, ‘she’ll smile; she’ll smile not’.   My findings reinforced the earlier inference about the older generation and African-Americans.   Young people (students) at a UC Campus seemed too involved in their own thoughts/lives and passed me by as if I was invisible.   Moms with little kids in grocery stores certainly smiled, albeit wearily at times.   Babies smiled and waved most of the times.   Professionals in suits and shiny shoes or heels pretended to ignore me though I could sense that their lips quivered a bit.   All library employees smiled.   I am sure the totality of the surroundings played a role there.   The lady behind the flower counter in the supermarket smiled.   The mailman eating lunch at Taco Bell smiled.   The policeman and policewoman sitting at the next table did not.   Not even a single worker at the airport smiled.  

I continued with this madness half way across the world in Bangalore, India.   The rules of the game are different here.   Smiling or not smiling is a cultural issue.   ‘Respectable’ women smiling at strangers are unheard of.   I smiled at the person at the grocery store cash-counter but he acknowledged just the presence my shopping basket.   College students responded to my smile with a quizzical look that said, “What’s up with her?”   I smiled at a young guy herding 15-20 buffaloes across the road while I sat in the patiently in the driver’s seat; he smiled back with a 1000-watt smile and a wave.   The professionals at the Tech Parks were thoroughly engrossed with either a cigarette or a blackberry or both.   I was absolutely non-existent to them! The old lady selling flowers always smiled back even though I never bought any flowers from her.   The young lady selling flowers did not smile.   The watchman nodded curtly with a “Good evening, Mam”, but did not smile.   The woman holding a baby on the backseat of a scooter rewarded me with a beautiful smile.   The little boy selling magazines at the traffic intersection smiled ear to ear.   At the shopping mall men a lot older to me gave a lopsided smile, men of all other ages either seemed to look through me or seemed perplexed at my demeanor.   Irrespective of their age women shoppers did not want to waste time on smiling at me.  

So, what’s the conclusion? Nothing really.   It was a fun exercise that took my mind off mundane worries.   Here at home in Bangalore, I no longer cursed the buffaloes crossing the road; rather I tried to find humor in its absurdity and smiled.   I did not avert my eyes from the flower lady just because I did not want to buy flowers.   In the shopping mall instead of focusing on the crowds, I tried to focus on finding a prey to smile at.   So, until I am labeled a nut-case, I’ll continue with my exercise.   :-)

Death- What does it rob one of?

I found out yesterday morning that a dear friend had lost her husband in a road accident.   She herself was in the hospital recuperating from extensive knee and plastic surgery.   The only grace of the episode being that their seven year old son suffered just a minor fracture.   It took me a while to sort my thoughts- immense sadness for my friend, anger at the traffic in Bangalore, shock at how life can change in an instant, anxiety about her future and a void in trying to figure out what to say to her, how do I tell her to be strong and how can I be there for her while she grieves.  

I called her on the phone to sense whether she was up to meeting people or wanted to be left alone.   After an awkward moment of silence, she said, “I’ve lost my best friend. ”   She choked on her words, repeated them thrice and started sobbing silently.   The agony in her voice did not show any resentment at the unfair hand she had been dealt with, any indulgence in self pity or any fretfulness about the future.   It was a stark statement about what she no longer had.   It had a chill that could engulf the warmth of an entire planet and yet feel cold.   “A best friend, I don’t have one any more.”   Her child like simplicity carried within it the wisdom of being able to pinpoint the very essence of her loss.  

I was reminded of an email where another friend of mine had written, “Old friends are indeed like old wine, intoxicating to the core.”   I thought of my bereaved friend’s loss.   She had lost not just an old friend but her best friend.   She had lost that what intoxicated her in life or rather, what intoxicated her towards life.   What else was there for her to say, she had summed it up so poignantly.  

A Rendezvous with a Goat

Last evening, I plucked baskets full of spinach, coriander, methi (fenugreek), eggplants, peas and beans along with a few tomatoes, radish, a small pumpkin and a papaya from my vegetable garden.   The sky was draped in an orange glow, butterflies in several color combinations were fluttering at a distance, the wind was gently playing with my errant hair strands and heaven seemed to have descended upon earth.   I was consciously making an attempt to enjoy the ‘bliss’ and stop myself from thinking, “What am I going to do with all this?” The maid, the driver, the gardener and the neighbors everyone seemed to have had enough from the above bill of fare.   My daughter had vowed that she would never make her kids go through the bounties of a kitchen garden.  

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye brought into focus a rather large sized goat jumping over the barbed wire fence; headed for a luscious dinner courtesy my green patch.   My blissful quandary vaporized in a moment as I tried putting on a ferocious scowl and started looking for a stick.   The visitor seemed quite determined to have a feast and it continued ignoring me nonchalantly to the point of being rude.  

Maintaining a respectful distance, I clapped, whooshed, clucked, stomped; all to no avail.   I was amazed at how my thoughts seemed to change in micro seconds.   I wished I was a cowgirl who could smoothly lasso the goat and tie it to a tree; thought about hurling the stick at the target but my dismal record at darts kept me from throwing the only weapon I had.   I cursed my husband for not being around when I needed him and finally exhaled deeply and told myself to calm down- there was no point in getting hyperventilated.  

I glanced at the baskets that I had hurriedly deserted on the ground and I glanced at the goat that was now nibbling at the edges of the spinach bed.   A premonition from the heavens came to me in that moment! I grabbed some veggies in a basket and ran towards the fence.   Dumped the colorful mix there unceremoniously, puckered my lips and made well, er… loud kissing sounds.   That certainly caught the goat’s attention and it started moving towards me.   I pointed to the laid out tomatoes, spinach, eggplants and beans, batted my eye lashes and prayed I made an impressive sight to the four legged creature.   Halleluiah! The goat started moving towards me.   Calmness had left me again and my heart was racing.   I hastily started tossing the stuff over the fence, hoping and praying that the goat followed the food and I had enough time to get out of the way.  

So all in all, the goat was out of my yard and I no longer had to think about ways of off-loading the day’s harvest.   I just hope this uninvited guest does not show up again soon.   And I sincerely hope for better ways to set my heart racing!