Tag: people

Chapter Six: Teacher Coaxer

When Praveena entered late to class, her Science teacher had already begun. Seeing her at the door, Ms Marrie smiled and gestured her to enter. She said nothing.

Praveena took her seat feeling miserable. She knew Ms Marrie wouldn’t ask her anything. Marrie knew how much the higher staff hated rule breakers, but wasn’t one of them. She often declared that it’s alright to break the rules once a while.

Marrie continued explaining heat conductors with a flourish. Praveena couldn’t concentrate. Science was not one of her favourite subjects, but she liked Ms Marrie, and tried hard to score more in her subject.

Today though, her mind drifted. ‘Could Ms Marrie be like Andrew? Does she really love teaching, or is she convincing herself of it everyday, like Andrew said?’ Praveena was so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn’t realize the bell that rang to signal the end of class. She startled when everyone stood up to thank Ms Marrie.

Ms Marrie came up to her and said in a quite voice, “I want to talk to you. Follow me.” It was neither a question nor a suggestion. It was an order, but she made it sound like a request. That was Ms Marrie’s speciality; she knew how to talk to a person.

Praveena didn’t think what they would discuss, instead, she followed Marrie out of the class as if possessed. Just then Andrew approached them, book in his hand. It was not his class.

Ms Marrie spoke to him as Praveena watched. His old flourish was back. He looked as if nothing made him happier than teaching his favourite subject. Praveena was confused. He had been so upset and broken the previous day, yet now, here he stood pretending like that never happened. Though she did notice he refused to make eye contact with her. It annoyed her. Why did he still pretend? If he didn’t like the job, he could have at least left to do whatever he wanted, he didn’t have to worry about anyone or anything. Then why was he still voluntarily miserable?

Praveena couldn’t make out a probable answer. She only knew Andrew had wasted his life away. And she pitied him.

“Come on,” called Ms Marrie as she walked towards her room. Her blue sari swung in the breeze, mildly caressing Praveena’s arm. As the sari made contact with her arm, Praveena thought of her mother, and how she doesn’t dress up anymore. She felt her eyes searing and wiped them in a hurry.

Ms Marrie stopped in front of a door, opened it, and entered. Praveena followed.

Ms Marrie’s room was smaller than Andrew’s, but more familiar. The table was strewn with books of various sizes and there were four or five paper cups stacked with tea bags inside them. Praveena smiled. Ms Marrie was an avid tea-drinker, she realized, like herself. The walls were all plain except for a single poster of a man she didn’t recognise.

“Sit down.” Ms Marrie said, shuffling the books on her table. Praveena caught a few titles, The Last Lecture, Persuasion, Tuesdays with Morrie, Wind in the Willows, a couple of Agatha Christie books, and a few more she had never heard of. “Sorry for the mess,” she apologized, taking her chair.

Once she was settled facing Praveena, she asked, “So, how are you?”

“Huh?” That was unexpected.

“How are you?” Ms Marrie repeated more slowly.

“Fine” said Praveena, defiant and a little louder than was necessary.

“No you’re not.” It was just another statement, but Marrie’s was so sure that it surprised Praveena.

“Something is bothering you.” she paused for a reaction, and sure enough, Praveena’s eyes tensed. “You want to talk about it?” she continued.

“I — er — I was just worried about being late…” Praveena trailed off. She couldn’t hold Ms Marrie’s gaze and dropped her eyes to her hands which she twisted on her lap.

“You know,” Ms Marrie smiled, “you make it so obvious when you’re lying.” She sounded amused. She had caught a lot of students telling lies, but Praveena was the easiest by far.

Praveena remained silent.

Ms Marrie leaned over on her elbows, peering into Parvenu’s downcast eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me about it,” Praveena’s eyes met hers. “but something tells me you need to get it out of your chest. I’ll only tell you that you can trust me. I’ll be a good listener. If you don’t trust me, you can leave. I’ll hold nothing against you.” Ms Marrie’s voice was calm, she hadn’t raised it at all. Yet she had made her point clear. She hadn’t threatened Praveena, or demanded her to talk. She spoke like a friend might — earnest.

Praveena didn’t move. She had her doubts. She was scared to talk to Ms Marrie. Why did Marrie want her to talk about her thoughts? ‘What if she thinks I’m a fool? What if she misunderstands me? Would she tell Ma and Pa that I am a lunatic? What if? What if —?’

Praveena stood up without saying a word, turned around and walked out of the room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Ms Marrie sigh.

Chapter Five: Reality Check

Praveena wept.

She had thought high of ambitions and passion. She had a goal in life: to help people in any way she could. She had drawn her inspirations from the various superheroes who had lined up to do good. In all those years of her feverish fandom, she had not thought for one moment that she would not achieve her motives. Now, though, she had doubts. She had always looked up to the people around her for encouragement. People who walk their daily lives with a bigger and ultimate goal in mind.

All her ideals had just came crashing down. She didn’t know why Mr Andrew’s story upset her so much.

‘Andrew is just one man, there are countless others who realize their dreams’, her inner voice tried to comfort her.

‘But,’ – came the second, more sensible voice – ‘if a single person is so easily deprived of his passion, what hope do the others have?’

The first voice fell silent. But only just. It soon replied, ‘there is hope, you idiot. Realizing their dreams is in their own hands. If Andrew flopped his passion, then it was his fault. There’s nothing you can do about it.’

‘Someone didn’t want Andrew to be an archeologist. That was so cruel of them, right? I mean, what kind of society is this? People telling us we are not worth it? It’s insane; unfair.’

‘Life is unfair, you fool. Stop bugging me and get some shut eye. Let’s talk about this in the AM.’

As the voices faded away into silence, Praveena sat on her now clean bed, confusion gnawing at her brain. Both her inner voices had had a point, but they were so contradictory that it made her dizzy. Like there were two different people in her head. Is this a symptom of craziness? She didn’t know.

She lay back on the bed, her arms stretched out. The ceiling fan was spinning, but her head was spinning faster. Jumbled thoughts swirled like mist, drawing a blurred image.

“Shut up.” She advised her head. It didn’t listen. She gave up, turned over and shut her eyes tight. Hours later, she still forced sleep.

Praveena didn’t wake up the next morning. She was late. Her mother came in to check in on her, and seeing her asleep, left without waking her.

It was her father who woke her at quarter to eight. She hadn’t locked the door, and after a curt nod, Kamal strode in to the room in a flourish. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Praveena?” he called softly. She didn’t move. After a few tensed calls, she stirred. Kamal breathed a sigh of relief.

She opened a crack of her eyes and seeing him, sat bold upright.

Kamal startled, not expecting her sudden movement.

“Pa!” exclaimed quite loud and breathless. “Oh,” she sighed, “you scared me.” She smiled mildly scratching her head. Crossing her legs on the bed, she waited a minute or two for her heart beat to return to normal. When it did, she asked, “What’s up, Pa?”

“Aren’t you going to school? It’s seven forty-five already.”

Praveena looked at the clock, and put her hands on her head. She was so late. The bats will be all over her. ‘Damn,’ she swore to herself.

“I’ll get ready, Pa” she stood up “could you drop me today?”

“OK.” And with that, he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Praveena stood in the centre of the room with hands on her hips. She mentally prepared herself for the explanation.

Sighing deeply, she turned around to get ready for another day at school. When she came down for breakfast, her mother’s smiling face greeted her. “Couldn’t sleep last night?”

Praveena’s look of admiration affirmed Geetha’s suspicions.

Twenty minutes later, she stood at the school gate, waving her father goodbye.

‘School life is a life of stealth,’ she mused walking towards the assembly hall.

 

Chapter Four | Chapter Six

Chapter One: A New Welcome

It was a dark night, no moon and not a single street light shone as far as the eye could see. But that was the least of Kamal’s worries. He wasn’t outdoors enjoying the gentle July breeze that swept through the streets; instead, he stood under fading tube lights, distraught between shooing flies away from his face and staring at the door waiting for it to open.

They had told him to wait. He couldn’t, not anymore; he had waited for an hour already, and his patience was running out, fast. It was as if an invisible force stretched him from both sides, trying to discern how long before he’d snap.

He had waited, along with his wife, for ten long months. Now he understood what they meant, that time would creep when you expect something — or someone. It was torture.

He tried leaning on the decaying walls. He sat, but couldn’t for long. He began pacing to and fro the narrow windowless corridor. He couldn’t think straight; his mind was garbled with emotions he couldn’t explain — even to himself. It was his first experience; he was excited, filled with enthusiasm. But he was also worried, his wife needed him — now — more than ever. But here he stood instead, waiting with bated breath and an uncontrollable urge to break down the door.

For months leading to this day, he had assailed his friends and colleagues with questions about their experiences. He had dedicated more attention to their words than he had ever done during his Economics classes back in college. However, no matter how much he had been tutored to stay calm and relax, it was nothing — nothing compared to what he now faced.

The nurses all laughed at his restlessness; the sight wasn’t new for them. Day after day they would watch, as expecting fathers stole longing glances at the closed door.

Each moment seemed an age, and Kamal was growing desperate. He looked around the corridor. It had a surprising sense go gloom, for a labour ward. The lights above his head flickered. In the farthest corner, he saw another agitated young father clinging on to the door knob, expecting news of his child. Turning to his own door, Kamal noticed the paintings on the walls. There were babies. Three babies huddled together in one picture while in another, a baby peeked from behind a fluffy white pillow. Kamal’s lips parted in a tiny smile, and before he knew it, his smile had reached his eyes; he couldn’t wait. He pressed his ear to the door in eager anticipation, hoping to hear the doctor’s footsteps coming towards him. But there was no sound.

Why wasn’t there any sound? He thought back to all the movies he had seen, where relatives waiting outside would celebrate as soon as they heard the baby’s cries and the mother’s wails from within.

What was going on?

A nurse decided to explain; “It’s a sound-proof door, Mr Kamal!”

And a minute later, the mahogany door swung open and out strode the doctor, with two nurses at his heels. The doctor grinned at him through his grey-lined mustache, “Congratulations, Mr. Kamal. You are now the father of a beautiful girl.” The effect was instantaneous — Kamal’s face split into a huge smile and tears escaped though his eye lids. His legs almost gave away, and he clutched the lined chairs just in time to balance himself. For a few seconds, he stood speechless. He opened his mouth but couldn’t form words. Clearing his throat, he tried again gesturing towards the inside of the room.

The doctor threw his head back and laughed. A high-pitched belly laugh, “Yes, you can go and see them.”

Kamal managed a weak “Thank you”, before dragging his weak legs into the room. There on the bed lay his pretty wife, her eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. He saw beads of sweat on her forehead, and next to her, was the cot. He stood at the door, watching his wife. She had suffered in his absence, but he was going to change it. He swore to himself never to leave her side again.

Walking over to the cot, he peeped in slowly, for fear of waking his baby. But she wasn’t asleep; she looked up at her father, smiling and cackling. It awoke his wife. Stirring, she sat up and smiled at him; the same smile that had made him a hopeless lover.

He lifted his girl in tender arms and, trying to be gentle, planted a kiss on her cheek. She began crying immediately. With a baffled look, he handed his baby to his wife. Once settled in her mother’s arms, the baby stopped crying. Smiling at his confusion, his wife mused, “Your beard.”

“I’ll shave it.” He waved a hand, “First thing tomorrow.” He was dazed; his daughter had succeeded where his parents and relatives had failed. For the first time in his life, he agreed to give up his beard. He would give his daughter everything, she would grow up the happiest girl in the world.

“I love you,” He declared to his daughter and she smiled in return. Smiled as if she understood every syllable her father uttered.

Chapter Two

Confessions of a non-shopaholic.

I hate shopping.

shopping

Not surprised?

I’m twenty-something. I live alone, and have a decent income.

I still hate shopping. And I don’t mean navigating crowded streets and striding through stacks of flashy clothes. That I kind of enjoy. But what I hate is “shopping”. Online, on mobile, offline — I hate ’em all.

Because shopping is over rated and has way too many choices. You might have heard of the paradox of choice: the more choices you have, the more problems you have.

And that’s my problem. I can’t bear to think that there are hundreds of different types of — everything.

It happens all the time. I walk into a store thinking about jeans. And what do I see?

Denim jeans, pencil jeans (is that a real thing, or am I just being Indian?), straight fit, slim fit, stretch jeans, torn jeans, faded jeans, cotton pants, maxis, knee-length pants, bell-bottomed pants, and more on a list of never-ending pants.

All that, in one store. After seeing that, I walk out thinking I can manage for at least another couple of months with the pairs of jeans I already own.

Sometimes, when I feel brave, I go through every type of jeans and pants in the store — for about an hour or so — only to realize, nothing fits my style or my size. And I’d leave hating myself. That’s enough to keep me away from shopping malls for a few months, before someone starts commenting on my dressing. Again.

It’s a vicious circle. But it’s only vicious when you’re looking to spend.

Sometimes, towards the end of the month, I go out shopping. Just for the fun of it. I carry just the amount I’d need for essential getting-around, and go shopping.

I look through windows. But I also walk into some stores and lace through the smooth fabric, take in the glow of new clothes, enjoy a silent joke at the woman who sneaked in more than three outfits into the dressing room, and roll my eyes at the price tags.

And then I get out for an ice cream. I prefer dark chocolate. But that’s a rare find, and I’d find all these other flavours I might like. Like chocolate, chocolate & vanilla, chocolate with chocolate chips, double chocolate, death by chocolate, chocolate & coffee, white chocolate, and a more chocolaty goodness.

By the time I finish reading the options, I’d have made my decision. I’d go straight home, switch on Friends and never leave my bed.

Sometimes it takes ketchup to bring us together.

It was 2 pm at the office, and everyone was busy staring into their computer screens. On one corner were a few Windows users sitting by the window, sneaking glances down at the barren streets; anything is distraction. On another corner were the few Mac users, caressing their fingers over delicate keys. They all knew the value of metal, the value of technology.

Time crept away. From 2 pm, to 2.30, and 3.30 and then at last, 4.00 pm.

Like a bunch of young girls hypnotized by a famous boy band, they rose from their places. It was time to take a break from the monitors. They grabbed their smartphones instead and headed towards the pantry for a cup of coffee and something to munch on. Some of them queued up, while some others hung around in the pantry, all of them checking their phones for updates from friends, colleagues and loved ones.

Ah ha. There’s a funny video a colleague had shared — they hit Like and moved a step closer to the vending machine.

In walked a maintenance staff, her arms laden with a tray of steamy samosas. As soon as the scent spread across the pantry, everyone darted their eyes from their mobiles just in time to crowd around the snack tray. They all grabbed a samosa — or two — and stepped back, with a questioning glance at the staff. She stared back, nonplussed, and in complete wonder.

As more and more people turned a glaring eye at her, she grew visibly uncomfortable. One young man decided to ask, “Sauce?”

Oh, right! She hit herself on the head and rushed out of the pantry. The young man and many others shook their heads in exasperation. With the few minutes’ break they had, the delays!

Seconds went by, but the maintenance staff didn’t return. People began shuffling their feet in restless abandon. Some even snorted and left the pantry staring into their handphones. They only just managed to go through the door frame without colliding into it.

Of the few who remained however, was a girl who, remembering something, rushed out the pantry in a hurry. The others stared at the new girl who had just run off. These kids nowadays, had no sense at all. They waited around, their patience ebbing away.

As more of them decided to leave, the new girl strode back into the pantry, head held high and a bottle of ketchup in her hand. She poured herself a generous splash and handed the bottle around.

Not sure how to react, some of the seniors stared at her, while more and more people decided to take the ketchup. Bit by bit, the bottle emptied and everyone had had their share. The tension within the clutter had reduced as the bottle went around, and they began talking.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“Really? That’s where I live. You know Mr. Weatherby?”

“Who’s your team leader?”

“Oh, pity you. I heard he is a tough boss.”

“Hey, where did you learn design?”

Soon, they all knew each other. Someone cracked a joke, and the rest of the party threw their heads back laughing, when the maintenance staff returned with a fresh bottle of ketchup. Out of breath, she apologized and said something about running short of stock.

Curious, they all turned to the new girl. A little red in the cheeks, she explained that she had bought that bottle of ketchup to bring home with her.

They all turned to look at the almost-empty bottle. Everyone felt the gratitude, but no one knew how to convey it.

And then the young man saw it. A little label on the bottle. Something about buying seeds online. He pulled out his smartphone from his pocket, and did a quick search.

After a few moments of confused silence, he handed his smartphone to the rest of the group. As they all peered into the screen, they saw that the ketchup brand had a new campaign that let them buy tomato seeds online. As one, they all knew what to do. The young man placed an order at once.

When they all met again at the pantry, the young man had a tiny box-ful of seeds. He handed them to the new girl. He said it was on behalf of everyone.

Flushing a little, she accepted the gift. On one condition, she said. She told them about her plan. Together, they moved towards the window and peered down at the brown soil around their building.

The HR in the group promised to get clearance and permission. Something good was about to happen.

—

Life went on. Day in and day out, they all clocked in, and clocked out. Like machines, staring into machines, serving machines.

But exactly at 4.00 pm everyday, they bloomed into a group of friends. Over a cup of coffee, and oily samosas coated with fresh tomato ketchup.

And the tomato seedlings grew on. Into trees that would last the test of time.

This post is for a campaign by Kissan India about #RealTogetherness.

Every day at work, I see people with their heads together over a cup of tea and a snack. I wasn’t sure how to connect nature and ketchup, until this scene popped into my head. If joining hands for the greater good isn’t real togetherness, I don’t know what is!