Intricacies of an emotion (Part 1/3) - The Beginning...

It all started during the teen rate race for scholarships. Maths lord and soccer addict, the spare time was spent in completing the tuition work ad going to tuition. Square and chubby, discovering religiocultural faith with that sense of belonging to the Nation, I was mostly the romantic fool, looking ahead for marriage with the first love itself after studies and reaming of work, house, children and so on....which made me also very shy and strict in my girl policy, that is, Thou shall not speaketh to woman unless spoken and indeed, female friends were those who had family ties with me. However, I attached a lot of importance to friendship and until now, I still have some genuine guy friends from high school.

So, one day, after that I was desperately seeking for a pal on the phone, I scolded him for my lost time, when I finally got hold of him, and he told me about his cousin who was having some crush for a guy. Kind hearted and matchmaker like, I offered to help and it turned out hat the guy was another good friend of mine. As I check for his availability and interest in the said girl, which were both negative, I referred back to my pal o break the bad news. However t make him feel good, I jokingly wandered to say that he should fix a date for his cousin and I and so it was!

Before the much awaited date when a food fair was being held at her school, photograph of both parties were exchanged for a correspondent agreement on the matter. As the day came, on the eve of second term exams, I went through all kind of tips and practice from our horde of testosterone, for it was a pleasure for the genuine to see their Maths tutor getting lucky and for the hypocrites to hope that I’ll crash down and lose in their stupid rat race. So the time came, perfume, gel and some gym were the appetizers before main meal, which we camouflaged as a ‘career’s guidance’ appointment, ironically!

In that commotion of squeaky voices, occasional firework and sizzling hot oil, there she was, all shy, with brows translating the insecurity of the next happening and pearly sweat drops glistening on her face. As we were being introduced teasingly by the matchmakers, a simple smile from both parties was the greeting which disappeared as, nearby, some dudes from another school were heating up more than the oil, as it seemed. Not knowing from where did the thought originated, I broke off the eye contact with her and walked towards them slowly and interfered in the discussion to cool off that testosterone boost and so, some blood was saved. As the goon-like band dispersed, I started realizing what I did and how dangerous it was, for me, simpleton, not even in the cool guys squad nor any other, but just a lone strider, who was quickly brought back from philosophical thoughts by his wingman, matchmaker of the day, to reality. He was also a bit taken back by this sudden behaviour of mine, which was the first of many to come…

As we headed to the sports hall, I consciously talked to everyone in the group except to hat pair of secret eyes that was shying away every time it crossed mine. Strategically forcing both of us to sit together, there was no way out now to encounter the unknown but thankfully, the Kaho Na Pyar Hai performance ease the ice breaker as I complimented her on the talent in her school and she replied with a nod before going further to add that Hrithik was her favorite actor – primary conclusion: hunk-loving girl being associated with a chubby gross me: “Houston, we have a problem..”

So I quietly sat next to her, turning a deaf ear to all the side and back teasing until the show was completed. So did she, even though occasionally she commented on stuff to which my sole answers were nods. As we walked out, the stepping on our shadow announced that it was the time to really contribute to the food fair and to have something in the belly. So we ate and still uncomfortably sparse the conversation was. I thought that maybe, it was easier that way, if the game was lost to muscles in advance. However, we continued talking to each others’ friends while obviously avoiding that dreaded conversational confrontation.

While this shy game was ongoing in our post-lunch walk, our friends conspired to force us into some private time as they ignored our vain attempts to shun away from the inevitable encounter. Clearing my throat as she fiddles with her bag and focusing intensely on the road, I asked her about the studies and how is she coping with it. She nodded yet again, as she damped her lips with the tip of her tongue and I could hear her voice for the first time, cleared of all other interference – such a soft, soothing voice, still hesitating but adorable to hear a lullaby from.
Much comfortable, we both were as a smile, a genuine one, was drawn from the depth of both hearts. Our walking pace slowed down to even make a racing snail feel proud, we talked about family, studies, hobbies, well, life in general and as time flew by, our friends grew impatient of waiting for us. While still in the momentum of sharing, she decided to accompany me to my tuition place in another town and still there, in the bus, among strangers, two of them were starting to share their life.

As we stopped a bus stop before the usual one, we chose to go spend some time in the nearby shopping mall and we kept talking interspersed by some no more uncomfortable silence. As we stooped into the busy supermarket, we did not worry about who was there or who knew us. In our separate world, we were as if the only customers there and we talked, discussed about products and who used what and so on.
If we were not in our school uniforms, it would have been easy to mistake us for a young married couple gone for a grocery shopping. As we continued our angelic walk among the stalls, looking around, secretly absorbed into the next thing to say to the other, we did not realize that those alleys were a bit too narrow to easily fit two persons side by side and at one moment, it happened!

My usual natural hand swing teasingly brushed her arm and on the way back, our fingers made contact. As naturally quick as for saving one from a fall off the precipice, our finger interlocked as in a secret pact. Soon enough, I could feel her hand getting warmer and I did not dare face her for I knew that both our faces were as red as love could get. We continued walking, silently, cozily holding each others hands into the next alley, then the next alley until I think that we went through all the alleys available and heading towards the exit as the exposed products were of no concern to us. Big mouth of mine, maybe in a sudden fear of being seen as such, I stuttered that it was time for me to take leave, and alas! The hand lock, warm, yet cold, from that continued contact broke off.

Fortunately our matchmaking guardian angels were eagerly waiting at the exit, maybe to tease or maybe to confirm heir self-proclaimed talent. As I took leave from her with a smile amidst the teasing, I turned back, scratched my head as a return button back to reality and walked off without a single look back, knowing that it was not the last time that we’ll be together......

Eyes of Hope...

Some say that the eyes are the windows to the soul…

Among that commotion of a plentiful diner, 2 days back, as some were asking for a second serving of garlic rice with mixed vegetables curry and paneer, others were relishing on their last glass of coke while opening up the wrapped chocolate.  As I walked around, asking them for feedback and if they wanted anything else, they all had this smile of a full tummy which announces a good digestion and a sound sleep in their shelter for the homeless.  Cousins and friends were preparing o empty the food basin to take them back into the caterer’s van and it would have been the usual come-serve-go routine of those weeks.

I have always been seen by many as too friendly or outgoing for I do not mind to speak to no one with a smile, no mater what his/her creed, race or colour.  In fact, back in those days, when I was still a chubby looking walking apple, I had the same approach in primary school, often intriguing teachers and friends, without mentioning the fact that parents will not miss that occasion to scold me so that I do not speak to strangers on the street, but it just never sank in that deep into me.

As I was finishing the round before packing up to go home, on the last table, I was called by one of the tenants.  He looked in his 60s wearing a sun-beaten brown polo shirt and a pair of trousers that obviously talked out the weight loss he incurred over God Knows how many months or years.  His whitish moustache with shy blackish streaks showing up was a typical Mauritian Indian one, which starts broad at he nose to thin up by the upper lip border.

As his voice could not pierce through that curtain of the end of diner conversation, I bent nearer to give him an ear.  He thanked me wit his low voice, as I noticed how his lips were shaking as he chewed out that thanks.  As usual, I would have given a smile and some warm motivational comments and go but two things hinted me that I should stay: His eyes being teary & his quick apology after having thanked me

Intrigued, I just dropped on the chair net to him and looked at him as he stopped.  As I thought that he could have felt intimidated, with that out-of-nowhere apology, I reached out my hand to introduce myself and patted him on the back with the other. He managed a smile and answered my hand shake while looking at my family on the other side of the room as if to ask for their permission before he gave me his name: Mr. Dan Huet (Fictious name).

So we started talking about how he found the food and what he wanted next time, for repetitive food can become boring, although most of the times, there are seldom regular faces that come up at diner time. Then Mr. Huet came back to his thanks:

–        Pa enkoler mo dir ou sa Missier

–        Kifer pou en koler M.Huet

–        Apel moi Dan. Oui, b ou trouver, ou ban indiens. Ek lanner la pres. Pa enkoler Missier

–        Mo pa enkoler Dan! dir moi ceki ou ena dan ou leker!

–        Oui, b lepok lanner la, dimune p pense fete laner. Couma zot pou fer zot ti fete ek zot fami et amis pou noel. Mais zordi, sa finn bien touche moi ki mo truv zot la. Komier dimoune pou ena, ki pou vin gett nou la veille lanner kumsa ? Sa mem missier, sa fine bien touche moi. Pa bisin ou enkoler.

–        Papa, pa apel moi Missier, mo kouma ou zenfan mem. Ki ou lage papa ? Ek oui, mo pou bien enkoler si ou dir moi pa fer coler mem la!  Mais nou bisin realiser ki nou na pa gette couleur lapo ou ki relgiion ki ou eter. Noune vinne la ek bon leker pou partage ou la peine ek ossi partage nou la joie. Nou tou mauriciens. Ki differnce ena entre ou ek moi papa ? Nou pa respire meme lair ? Nou pa mange par mem al bouche ? Nou pa pipi tata par mem fasson ? Difference la li dan lizier sa. Mais ou, dir moi kifer ou la papa ?

–        Mo garson, moi, mwena 74 bananers.  Mo sorti Surinam. Mo ti p reste la ba ek mo garson. Mais mo fien bisin aller. So frekentation pa ti bon. Combier fois mo fien dir li, jamais lip a ecouter.......a la fin, mone aller.  Zenfan quatre-bornes mem moi, mais mo fien all la ba apres maraige.

–        Ah bon papa. C’est bien. Mias kifien arive ou garson ? li ifne gagne movai maniere lalcool ou la drogue ?

As he took an apple on the table, he said:

–        Kan mo mett sa pom la devant ou, ek mo pa repone ou depi kot sa li sorti, ou pa pou gagne doute ? Missier, mo fine fer mo service dan la police, mo konner sa ban zaffer la. Mais mo pa envi ki 1 jour mo gagne trapepr pou kitsoz mo ap fine faire. Same m mo preferer kitt lakaz aller.  Depi fevrier mo la, ek mo piti ti vine cherche moi pou nou realler. Mo fine dir li non carrer carrer, tank ki li enkor frekente sa banela, mo pa pou retourne dan mo propre lakaz !!

Mais garson, zordi moi, kan mo fine truv zot tou la ki fine vini kumsa, ek ki moi mo creole ek ou indien ek lavey lanner, mo fien bien toucher endan moi. Mo fine truv 1 lespoir, 1 grand lespoir. Sa mem mo ti envi remercier zot

–        Papa, nou pa p fer sa pou gagne vote ou gagne lonner ou vinn populaire. Nou fer sa de nou propre leker ek na p dimann rien en retour. En mem temps, si ou ou ena kitsozp ou dir nou ,na pa hesiter ek nou va aider.....Mais la papa, mo bisin aller la, parens p atan moi

I looked over his shoulders and the guys were all waiting for me while wrapping up the last food basins in the van.  During the conversation, though an acquaintance of a few minutes, we talked like siblings as i patted him several times unconsciously, maybe as a vain attempt to take out his sorrow without knowing the door to it.  I felt that persisting inferiority complex as Dan was looking up to me when talking and I tried to bring him up on the same level.  His eyes were one of a kind – that kind where in the darkness of solitude and despair, a glow of hope has rekindled and the light within his soul was making such tired eyes rejuvenating to fight another day. Though not a heavy burden shared upon my shoulders that day, those teary eyes of his stayed long in my memory as I remembered our small talk where everything else came to silence in that commotion…

As many say, doing ‘seva’ as the Hindus put it, is not the mere materialistic part of showing up and giving games, cloth food or shelter to the less fortunate, but it imports the essence of human connections, a skill rarely developed and often squished by either the ego or shyness.

 

That day, as I pushed away that thin veil of tears, I penetrated into his soul, holding his hands for a warm quick dip of mature social interaction in mutual respect and as he came out a stronger being with the hope of a better world burning till the tip of his fingers, I am resolute now that The Rising is as its name goes by…….