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.  

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.   :-)