Happy Feet

Someone just randomly asked me this week... "who's the happiest person you've ever met?". I couldn't remember. For almost a week now i've grinded my brains to try and think of anyone who might fit the bill. And out of "no where", without the inspiration needed from a physical object, i had another 'Ghost Day'. And i just had to write about this person (whom i didn't actually 'meet') before i completely forget about him again...

It was mid March 2005. Also the time when i didn't drive yet see, so my most economical mode of transport was the B.E.S.T bus. Now i dont remember where i was coming from, but i was certainly heading home (I'd love to say i was on my way to Poly's but i cant lie, i never partied), i was on E. Moses road, heading towards Worli Naka. Bad traffic, we were moving 2 inches every 10 minutes, god knows how long we were stuck on that stretch of road with no sign of the worli signal getting any closer. The sun had set, the air had gotten cooler, so after a point (especially after the bus driver turned off the ignition which atleast stopped the nauseating vibrating of the bus) me and the rest of the bus passengers stopped complaining.

Then, on the other side of our road (where traffic is moving smoothly mind you) a very noisy shaadi ka baraat started passing by, completely in ignorance of the fact that they didn't own E. Moses road, full on middle class type dancing on the streets, and moving ahead at snail's pace, thus, leaving us poor bus people with no option but to force ourselves to like their music ("raat ko aaunga main. Tujhe le jaaunga main") since they were intent on making the world hear their music, plus they were gonna take their own sweet time to pass by.

And "then".... i saw him. An elderly man, simple cream shirt, grey trousers, rubber chappals, carrying a plastic bag. God knows where he popped up from, he just stood there. His back was hunched, only his side locks were grey, his eyes were huge, and he was staring straight at this passing 'dhinchak' procession. I think i got a little freaked out by the way he was looking at these people, because for the next few minutes i didn't take my eyes off him. He stared at the crowd of dancers for a little while longer, then, i saw a thought pass through his head, he smiled, he got an idea. He walked upto one of the apparent members of the groom's family, and even though i didn't hear it, i clearly understood through an exchange of hand gestures that he was asking for permission to join the dancing baraat. The Baraati agreed.

With a spring in his step now, the old man first walks up to a kinaara shop and requests the shop owner to hold onto his plastic bag. He then trots back to the baraat, and for the next five minutes, proceeded to do the following :- 1) raise left hand to head level and make door banging gesture. At the same time, keep right hand at waist level and make stabbing motion. 2) after two beats exchange hand positions and continue gestures.

Five minutes.... thats all he did, uninhibitedly, even when the song changed. People around him stared at him with strange looks, but he didn't give a damn. His energy !!! His youth which suddenly sprang out. Losing balance only once, very slightly, but still carrying on. But most importantly, his smile. Oh !!!! As much as any baby's smile can stop wars, if any of you, saw that man, 'smiling', at that moment. He had clearly left something behind for that brief moment, it was like seeing a new born child reacting to a simple magic trick. Then for 'just' a few seconds, the man shut his eyes, still carrying on with his dance, he was in a trance, he was still smiling. There he was, the happiest man I've ever seen in my life.

Eventually, he ran out of breath. He stood still for a while, hands on his waist, catching his breath. He thanked the gentleman who allowed him to join in, walked back to the shop, picked up his plastic bag, waving merrily to the shopkeeper in thanks. Begins to walk away, but gives a last wave to the yet dancing baraat (no one returns the wave), and still smiling, still hunched, walked slowly away. And about a minute later, i started crying.

I dont know where he worked, or lived, or what actual pleasure he got out of dancing with strangers, but its not really important now is it?

I hope that wherever that sweet old man is, he still manages to keep himself happy by doing things like these. Because i somehow think he deserves it. God bless him, and God bless all of us. May we all find our own little sparks of happiness, whenever we want, in the most unexpected places :-D

Different Strokes

My room-mate's Girlfriend and me have the most pleasant conversations. Two days ago she told me about a very intriguing interview of Sudhir Mishra. Thanks to Google i managed to find that interview, here's an excerpt :-

"In my dictionary, a "ghost day" is a day when the past intrudes into your present, pushes aside the immediate, and snarls. "Talk to me," it says and depending on what conversation it wants to have and who it brings, it's either a good day or a bad one."

Co-incidentally, i had a 'Ghost day' of my own. You see, this past week, thanks to the efforts and perseverance of my Fellow Piscean (and her 2 maids) my house went through a process of, what i like to call, 'Getting turned inside out process'. So basically, whatever hadn't been touched since 2006 "had" to be chucked out. So apart from the staple, yellow phone bills, torn clothes, fungus clad suitcases, Cooking oil with an '8/06' expiry date, old Dishwashers, etc. One of the most 'random' things which my room-mates Girlfriend chanced upon was an old pink eye brow brush. Small, almost as big as my thumb, soft nylon bristles on one end, and hard plastic teeth on the other...... Its hard to put in words... which is why I needed Mishra's words to sort of translate what happened to me the 'second' i saw that little pink object.

For more than a decade of my life, my Mum used to brush my eye-brows with that thing. Reasons being, i can imagine, me being gifted with an immensely thick pair of curtains for my eyes (eye lashes are another chapter). Every morning, between finishing my breakfast and running out the door for school, 3 minutes "had" to be kept aside for my protection against the horrors of nature waiting outside for me. Namely ultraviolet rays.

First, a generous amount of 'Fair & Lovely', not to make me fairer oh no !!! (trust me, in school, i glowed in the dark) but because, i have such oily skin na... any kind of sun screen will give me pimples, hence Fair & Lovely to keep the sun's rays away from me(oh ! and the one especially for oily skin with Papaya extract was welcomed in the house with an Aarti). After the cream, using a puff, a few dabs of talcum powder, to (hold your breath) HIDE the fact that I've applied any cream, and not just any powder, 'Ponds' powder. Used perhaps to make me smell like a rich kid, or, to get rid of the smell of omelette from my mouth. Then, a few strokes with a hairbrush which took the least amount of time because my Mum mastered the art of making my hair look like a mushroom with a side parting back in 1994. And "finally"... violent strokes with that pink brush (both sides, the hard one was always scraped hard. Perhaps because my eyebrows were made of copper wire) to always make my eyebrows flow diagonally upwards, something like the NIKE logo. Because you see, with such thickness, if the eye brows fall too much over my eyes, then i look very ugly, i look like a thief who's constantly frowning, upwards is much more decent. All this, and all the while making sure that i dont come face to face with a mirror, for fear of reality and logic coming together in my head.

You'd think that all this would've ended once yours truly ended up in college... but sadly..... No.

Those dreadful 3 minutes were still there, the only difference being, that i did most of the applying this time (90% of the time supervised by Mum). But with college came hormonal problems, skin became oilier, sweating became heavier, thus, the collars of most of my shirts were left with a white residue which, on black, looked like a perfect trace of the map of Gujarat. So,the amount of Fair & lovely halved. Not more than a drop was tapped on each cheek, my forehead, nose & chin (and when t-shirts had no collar the neck..... shiver.....). The powder puff officially had a restraining order, mostly because from school till now that "same bloody puff" was being used yaar !!! Hence, only molecular dabs and spreads Via my fingers. My hair, even with my own brushing, again took very little time, it only fell in one direction (post 2004 it just 'fell) so i just guided it there. But the eye brow brushing was still Mum's responsibility. Because now her son's in college see... girls shouldn't run away from him because they think he's a thief, hence, the NIKE logo continued being displayed.

I cant remember how long i stood frozen there holding that little pink brush, maybe just a minute, maybe 3... But i remembered this 'Ghost Day' , this one aspect of my daily life which I've conveniently chosen to forget. Its strange,,, but i think, i actually didn't mind the eye brow process that much. Because, i guess, as life got more hectic, as i kept growing up, as my family got smaller, as my Mum and i grew further apart, as the hugs between us lessened...... Those few seconds of her brushing my eye brows, especially in college, sort of, became one of the few warm moments I'd have with her. I'd sometimes be fascinated by seeing her face so close, counting her multiple beauty spots, noticing an oncoming wrinkle near her eyes, admiring how fair she was, seeing her cheeks jiggle while she brushed my eye brows and sometimes they jiggled so much I'd pinch them softly :-) ....... That tiny object, suddenly reminded me of "so much".......... I cant adjectivize it. But i remembered, and i told my room-mate's girlfriend about it's history, and she perhaps saw the look of nostalgia in my eyes, which is why she mentioned the Sudhir Mishra interview......

I threw that brush away, along with all the other bits of nostalgia which littered my house. Because keeping that, meant that i might be tempted to hold onto something else, in that case my house will always be littered. It was hard, but I had to do it. I have to let go, i have to move on..... & thanks to my Fellow Piscean, I can easily do both now, with the hope that the only 'Ghost Days' that want to talk to me, will only talk about the good days :-D

What's that ??? oh.. what about my eye brows you ask ??? Well.....("Polished chuckle").... For the past 4 years i've let it fall wherever it wants to, i do make sure i never get a unibrow though. My trusty tweezer takes care of that.