My first embarrassment

Throughout my childhood years, I took part in several competitions but the one that interested me the most was the fancy dress competition. I for one have always enjoyed a game of pretend. What better platform to dress up and impersonate the character you wish to be than a fancy dress contest?

I have previously been a mummy, a pharaoh and a butterfly. But the first time I ever participated in a fancy dress contest, I was a Maharani; it is a time I can never forget.

I was almost 5. The contest was held as part of Christmas celebrations at my play school, Green lawns. I was extremely keen on dressing up as a Maharani or Indian queen and was unwilling to settle for anything less. It is common for little girls to want to be princesses or fairies, etc. so it was normal that I chose to be this. My family helped prepare me a week in advance. My grandfather was kind enough to have made an artistic tiara for me to wear on my head. Much work went into it. My mother kept drilling into my head the lines I was expected to say on stage to introduce myself as a Maharani. My aunt worked hard on my costume which was bright pink in color with a lot of delicate embroidery. My father couldn’t wait to capture my first appearance on stage.

Finally the day of the competition arrived. My grandmother blessed me and wished me luck shaking my tiny palm. When my mother dressed me in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but say to myself that I was going to make a great Maharani. My aunt finally placed the big Tiara on my head, (the highlight of my costume) and I gazed at my reflection, my smile as wide as could be. It was now time to leave for my preschool and my dad drove us there. I was in a trance the whole way, absorbed in thinking about how wonderful I looked in my avatar. I completely forgot about everything else. I was unaware about the whole point of a fancy dress contest back then. It was simply the fact that I got to dress up as whoever I wanted to be that appealed to me most.

I entered the venue with my family and saw my peers in different costumes. One little girl was running about in a ladybird costume and a boy had dressed as Krishna, the Hindu God. There was a cute little girl dressed as a fairy and I must admit she was my only rival. I was comparing myself with her when the time to go on stage arrived. As we formed a single file, I noticed that the fairy was just before me. My mum spoke my lines to me one last time. But I don’t remember why I just wasn’t paying attention. Within no time the fairy finished with her little act on stage and it was my turn.

I climbed up the three steps to the stage and the first thing I did was search the huge crowd that had gathered there for my family. I was immensely relieved to have spotted my mum who gave me an encouraging look. I felt no fear whatsoever. I stood there for what seemed like a full minute without saying anything. However, I still had a smile planted on my face. My class teacher who was just in front of the stage gently urged me to say something. I on the other hand, looked innocently at her and said, “Miss, WHAT TO SAY MISS?” in the mike so that everyone could hear it.

At this point, the whole crowd erupted into gales of laughter. I stood there beaming at them all, happy to have proved to be pretty entertaining. Later I met my parents and waited for the results. I was disheartened to find that I got the consolation prize while the pretty fairy secured 2^nd place. After many attempts, my family finally managed to console me.

This was my first embarrassment in my childhood years. Every time I remember this incident I can’t help but smile at the kind of girl I was back then.  

The tourist guide

Our tale takes place at an Egyptian market in Cairo, the capital city of Egypt. Market places in this country are always bustling with life and energy. Tourists from all over the world are seen exploring these markets, often accompanied by guides. The Egyptians are generous and helpful people on the whole. However, there are (as is the case in many societies) a few elements that do not quite fit into the system. Some guides, (not all) who accompany tourists, are examples of this. Since, they are not always chaps who wish to make an honest living without causing harm to any faction of society.

There was a man named “Omar” who happened to show my parents and me around the city throughout our stay in Egypt. We had known him, for a little more than 48 hours, yet his true nature seemed to reveal itself at the smallest opportunity that arose. We were unknowingly made to pay for his expenses as well as ours, he would not only eat with us but would not leave us alone at all.

Omar always wore the same pink- striped shirt and brown trouser with the same white cloth wrapped around his forehead. He was a tall, lean man with an oval shaped face who wore round spectacles. He was completely bald. One couldn’t say he had a real sense of humor. But whenever he was on the verge of being caught at his tricks he would cover up by singing the lines “Oh, my daddy…” over and over again. Which I must admit I found a little disturbing. On first impression we noted that he was money-minded and greedy.

Now, perhaps the most common way for a tourist guide to make some extra money is to demand commission for everything. Tourists that do not speak English let alone Arabic are easily taken for a ride by one such as Omar.

On the afternoon of our visit to the market place, we were met with by a cheerful and highly enthusiastic Omar, come to take us. Although we had a particular market in mind that we wished to visit, he overruled us. He claimed that he could help us get good bargains since he was well acquainted with most shop owners, at the market he was taking us to. We trusted him for he seemed pretty convincing.

All seemed well as we made our way along the crowded streets, lined with shops selling miscellaneous items on either side. These shops were owned by commoners that had whole families to support.

While we continued to explore the street and find a shop of our interest, Omar appeared and disappeared at regular intervals. One minute he would be muttering something walking beside us and the next, he’d be chatting with some other Egyptian just around the corner. It became clear to us that he did indeed; know everyone in this market place.

After a while we found a shop that really appealed to us. Omar immediately showed up from nowhere and we found him speaking angrily to the shop keeper inside. We didn’t understand the conversation since it was in Arabic. The tone indicated that it was nothing close to pleasant. After some time, the distraught shop keeper came to attend to his on looking customers. Omar pulls my father aside informing him that the shopkeeper is a cheat and insisting that we leave immediately. My father refused to believe him and it became evident that something was definitely wrong. We decided to stay on in that shop, while an upset Omar walked away from us. We did not expect what happened next. The shopkeeper’s eyes filled with tears and he had a warm smile of gratitude on his face. At once we could guess what was going on all along. Apparently, Omar had demanded a heavy commission from the shopkeeper for having brought us to his shop in particular. This was false, since we went there of our own accord. It all became clear to us when, the shopkeeper further explained that this was not the first time, that Omar brought tourists regularly always demanding a high commission from all shops on that street. By this time all neighboring shop-owners came out on the street creating a din, supporting this man in his claim about Omar’s methods.

For not having fallen prey to Omar’s ways, the shop-keeper was grateful to us and gave each of us alabaster scarab beetles as a token of gratitude. I can still vividly remember the shop-keeper holding my father’s hands in his, with tears in his eyes. On leaving his shop, we promised that we would do what we could and help resolve the situation somehow.

Before we could wonder where Omar had gone off to, we saw him emerge from a side street outside the marketplace. My father told him that we were aware of his foul ways. My mother and I displayed an attitude of indifference towards him. He, on the other hand, behaved as if nothing had happened at all. I presume that it was Omar’s last visit to that market place. As soon as we got to our hotel, my parents and I extensively discussed the matter and then decided that it was best to leave a complaint regarding Omar’s conduct as a guide with the tour operators.

For whatever goodness is in his heart, Omar will have learnt a valuable lesson from this experience and will refrain from asking commission from poor shop owners to satiate his greed for money henceforth.

I do not know what has become of Omar but I hope that he has understood the wrong in taking a part of an innocent shopkeeper’s hard-earned livelihood from him.

The vegetable vendor

This is the story of a vegetable vendor. But mind you, he wasn’t just any ordinary vegetable vendor. There was indeed something queer about him that made people think about him and laugh at the same time.

The very first time I encountered this character is when I was staying a few days in my granny’s home. It was a bright sunny afternoon, a time when one would prefer to rest for a little while after a scrumptious south Indian meal. However, my granny and I preferred to play a game of kowdei shells. We were in the middle of this exciting game when out of the blue a distinct male voice of the highest decibel was heard by us. My granny and I looked up from the game at each other with the same funny look of curiosity evident on our faces. After a few seconds we heard him again. My granny was positive it was a man selling some or other article of oddity. To me, it really sounded a savage-like noise. So much that I had to go out to the balcony and find out for myself who was responsible for the production of a sound of such great vocal complication as I’d never heard before. On looking below, I was shocked to realize it was a vegetable vendor slowly making his way across the street. Neither of us expected it to be a vegetable vendor because the word that the man had pronounced was nothing close to the Kannada word for vegetable. What’s more unbelievable is that when I heard him do it a second time, I was sure the last sound I heard was very close to a loud burp. I summoned my granny to where I was at the same time the vendor made his strange shout again. My granny found that him a bit musical even. After every shout of the word vegetable in Kannada (tharakari) which lasted about 4 counts, it would be followed by a loud burp, a sheer replica of the ones made by old Brahmin men with pot bellies at wedding luncheons.

Soon this particular vegetable vendor became a favorite topic of discussion especially when my granny had guests to entertain. My cousins and I would readily supply the narration with the actual sound effects, the burping sound always being mine to make. A few lucky guests could actually experience the phenomenon if they came at noontime, which was the vegetable vendor’s usual time.

My granny, after much speculation came to the conclusion that the vendor made a loud burp after each shout because he would spend the morning’s earnings to buy a heavy mid-day meal at the restaurant located at the beginning of her street. This latest thesis was further supported by my grandfather who claimed to have spotted the vendor eating to his hearts content at the place a couple of times. Thus the reason for his queer shouts was justified and the legend of the burping vendor lives on.

Recently when I met with my cousins, we were attempting to make our first a capella to entertain our family members, when one of my sisters came up with the wild idea of having the vegetable vendors shout continuously playing in the background! Yes, we did this and it gave all the family many a hearty laugh.

It is interesting to note that the vegetable vendor remains oblivious to this day of his growing popularity.

I do not know exactly what became of the vegetable vendor for I haven’t laid eyes on him or heard him in months now. But I shall be ever grateful to him for the kind of humor he provided us with.

Oh for the love of a star!

I’m one of those people who grew up watching Disney on Television. So don’t be surprised when I declare that I do very much believe in their theme song “when you wish upon a star…”

Disney is all about dreams coming true, fairytales and happy endings. It’s natural for all little girls who read and watch Disney to have hopes and wishes which they believe will someday be fulfilled.

Disney helped me create a habit. I couldn’t let go of this habit for a long time.

My bedroom has two windows and two beds. Although it’s a guest room, I’ve slept in it for as long as I can remember. My bed, the one I sleep on, is beside a big window. Since my room is on the top floor of the house, I have always been able to see the sky and always will unless skyscrapers start soaring around town. Almost every night I wouldn’t close my eyes without taking a final glimpse of the night sky. It was probably my way of saying a little prayer for the world. At times I’d like to photograph that picture of the night sky in my mind’s eye and take it with me until the morrow, so it would bring me good dreams. Despite the fact that it did not offer an extraordinary views (for I could only see the moon at times.) I simply couldn’t sleep without doing this.

There were never any stars, I could see however. This was unfortunate but I knew that it was due to the city’s lights that the stars remained hidden from view.

But like most children I had hope that someday I’d be able to see a real starry night sky, perhaps the Milky Way itself. That day has not come yet. But I was able to see two to three stars among which one stood out prominently. I couldn’t differentiate between planets and stars back then so I guess I took them to be one and the same.

I don’t remember the date that specific star began to appear. But it always remained in the same place each night. Thus my night time ritual was enhanced. I now not only looked at the sky but I also searched for that star in particular. It was the sole determinant of my luck and fortune the following day would bring. Whenever I saw that star, I’d be reminded of those lines from the Disney song “all your dreams will come true…”

So, I’d take my chances and make a wish as often as I could, as if I had nothing to lose. The real surprise is that, those wishes did come true, each and every little one of them.

In this way, not a night would pass without me looking at that star and whenever a wish came true, I would send flying kisses as a token of thankfulness. Thus it became my guiding star. I would sometimes make decisions even with the help of that star.

 It had been two years now that the star stayed where it was each night continually appearing for me. So much so that I thought it was indeed created for me. That star became my friend in the course of time. I grew to love it, I loved to converse with it about my day because it would simply listen- in silence.

But something’s happen so suddenly refusing to offer any explanation.

Yes, my guiding star, my guardian angel call it what you may, disappeared.

One fine night, I happily drew my curtains to catch a glimpse of the star, but alas, it was nowhere to be seen. I was so much of a positive thinker at the time that a part of me wasn’t able to believe that it might never come back.

This sudden disappearance of the star marked an important phase in my growing up years. It meant that I need no longer be wholly dependent on that star to make life’s decisions. In time I learnt to be my own guide without being influenced by a non-living ball of fire miles and miles away.

Looking back I sometimes laugh upon my naivety and how easy it was for me to believe so strongly and get swayed by my own beliefs. But all of that has gone into making me who I am today which I’m proud of. The star has thought me an important lesson of faith, one that I will always remember. It could be faith in God, faith in the universe or some kind of force that holds the world together or perhaps even faith in my own self.

Last night on entering my bedroom I noticed, the curtains were drawn and I swear I saw the very same star in the very same place like it had always been, after all these years. I couldn’t help but say a silent prayer to myself and close my eyes.

Encounter with a dragonfly

One afternoon,last week, I saw a little creature, in a larger than life form. I was literally taken aback. The kind of power that tiny creature had to influence me in such a way cannot be described.

I had just reached the door of my house after visiting a bookstore, about to unlock it and in order to unlock it, was frantically searching my bag for the key, when I looked up and suddenly laid my eyes on the most gigantic dragonfly I had ever seen!

It was as long as two mini Mars bars put together. What’s more, it was comfortably seated on the door handle, thereby dashing my hopes of unlocking the door and entering the house.

I have always been afraid of bugs and insects that creep and crawl about. There I was filled with fear all because a harmless dragonfly was confronting me in this way.

I stood for what felt like hours, my mind populated with pictures of other winged insects,and my ears bombarded with the sound of their wings buzzing. I felt a chill run along the length of my spine as I began to take the trouble to clone that single dragon fly into several hundred that were about to perch on my body which for some reason had firmly stuck to the ground.

I examined the fly from top to toe for perhaps the umpteenth time. Deep inside of me I was fully aware that it couldn't bite or scratch. But then again, I imagined how its gauzy wings would feel across the smoothness of my skin. This caused me to shiver.

I had never been more paralyzed with fear in my encounters with insects. I must add that I have previously met with tarantulas, dung beetles and peppermint bugs yet none of these had me more stunned than this giant dragonfly.

I would have remained in that position for God knows what length of time if it hadn't been for my dear grandmother who suddenly opened the door from inside and greeted my smilingly.

She caught me unawares as the door suddenly flew open and there stood she all smiles to greet me. Before she could make her inquiry as to why I had been standing out so long, I barged into my house and shut the door with force increasingly horrified of the possibility that the creature may enter my house with me. Once I had finished with these stylistic maneuvers, she demanded the reasons for my strange behavior. I retorted with a one liner, my back turned away from her half-expecting to hear what she would say next.

My wise grandmother truly enlightened me that afternoon. She explained that the poor creature itself must have feared me ever so much more than I it. But this was something I had heard often enough. However, she went on throwing light on how all beings co-exist in this world and that irrespective of the gauziness of their wings, the colors on their bodies, or for that matter the flakiness of their skins, all were one and I ought to treat each one of them as my neighbors.

All insects big or small add to the beauty of this world. The least we can do for them is to provide a place to rest by letting them be wherever they wish to be even if it is the door handle of one's home.