In Distress
In Distress
A bright blue saree, a large nose pin, orange marigolds in snow-white hair, a bulging shoulder bag and a face that showed every wrinkle of her 70 or so years of age. She was walking bit by bit towards my parked car; my attention divided between the book in my lap, and the people passing by. She stopped and put a hand out to rest against the car’s hood; gently closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her saree pallu. The sweltry day was taking its toll on her slight frame, and the disproportionately large bag seemed to affect not just her gait, but also her breathing.
My heart beat faster with an unknown urgency. She reminded me of a delicate bird, struggling because of the weight someone had clipped on to its wings. Was there a way I could do something, anything, to stretch those wrinkles around her mouth to a smile? But then, had the lady noticed me sitting inside the car, she would not have rested against the hood. Would it be feasible to take away her few moments of respite just to fulfill my desire to help? Would she feel embarrassed, and walk away once I made my presence known? I stilled my body while my mind frantically groped for answers. Would I even be able to communicate with her as we most probably would be unable to converse in a common language? I started looking around to spot my driver, wanting him to ask the lady if we could give her a ride.
Of course I forgot about the head movement, of course she noticed me, of course her calm expression changed to a cautious one and of course she jerkily moved her hand away from the car. I grabbed the water bottle next to me, smiled, gently opened the door and offered the bottle to her. She looked at me hesitatingly, shook her head with downcast eyes and walked away.
I was so annoyed with myself. I should have been more careful not to move; instead of lending a hand, I had burst the lady’s miniscule bubble of privacy.
I was feeling blue and I saw blue in the car window again. She was back. I opened the door and patted the seat next to me. She sat down, opened her bag and offered me a banana. I took it and offered her the water bottle again. She took it.
I ate, she drank; we smiled. She rested for a couple of minutes. Those minutes brought such tranquility to me. She took my head in both her hands, made a small kissing sound in the air, opened the car door and walked away.
I was trying to help someone in distress. In turn, I became distressed and she kissed my distress away.
A bright blue saree, a large nose pin, orange marigolds in snow-white hair, a bulging shoulder bag and a face that showed every wrinkle of her 70 or so years of age. She was walking bit by bit towards my parked car; my attention divided between the book in my lap, and the people passing by. She stopped and put a hand out to rest against the car’s hood; gently closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her saree pallu. The sweltry day was taking its toll on her slight frame, and the disproportionately large bag seemed to affect not just her gait, but also her breathing.
My heart beat faster with an unknown urgency. She reminded me of a delicate bird, struggling because of the weight someone had clipped on to its wings. Was there a way I could do something, anything, to stretch those wrinkles around her mouth to a smile? But then, had the lady noticed me sitting inside the car, she would not have rested against the hood. Would it be feasible to take away her few moments of respite just to fulfill my desire to help? Would she feel embarrassed, and walk away once I made my presence known? I stilled my body while my mind frantically groped for answers. Would I even be able to communicate with her as we most probably would be unable to converse in a common language? I started looking around to spot my driver, wanting him to ask the lady if we could give her a ride.
Of course I forgot about the head movement, of course she noticed me, of course her calm expression changed to a cautious one and of course she jerkily moved her hand away from the car. I grabbed the water bottle next to me, smiled, gently opened the door and offered the bottle to her. She looked at me hesitatingly, shook her head with downcast eyes and walked away.
I was so annoyed with myself. I should have been more careful not to move; instead of lending a hand, I had burst the lady’s miniscule bubble of privacy.
I was feeling blue and I saw blue in the car window again. She was back. I opened the door and patted the seat next to me. She sat down, opened her bag and offered me a banana. I took it and offered her the water bottle again. She took it.
I ate, she drank; we smiled. She rested for a couple of minutes. Those minutes brought such tranquility to me. She took my head in both her hands, made a small kissing sound in the air, opened the car door and walked away.
I was trying to help someone in distress. In turn, I became distressed and she kissed my distress away.
Labels: Help, hope, Smile, tranquility
posted by Anu at
7:33 PM
6 Comments:
nice story mom. very touching.
aren't u happy that u wait in the car for me while I am in tution?
*meera*
Very thought provoking. Hope this experience will make us more responsive too!
papa
Beautiful post, Anu. You got me there.
I would be very happy to have someone like you in my writing workshop.
Another wonderful thought process, action, and writing of yours Anu. Love it!
Raka
True seva always blurs the line between giver and receiver :-) About this, Dr. V once said that it is ourselves we are helping, ourselves that we're healing.
-r
Dear Anu, You are so wonderfully articulate. Thanks for sharing this moment with us. I think my next few days will pass in reading each of your blogs instead of a book :)
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