Danseuse's moves

As we stepped onto a busy road in Jayanagar 6th block, we squinted owing to the bright almost blinding afternoon sun. The nearest Southern Railway booking center was in Banashankari 2nd stage we were told. Booking counters were supposed to be serving the public from 10-1pm everyday, and we were already late.

Weirdly at that point of time, it could have been as far away as Timbuktu and we wouldn't have realised it!

Our first day in Bangalore, and we decided to take a call taxi from the city railway station. We had to go to Sankey road and all we had amidst us was a piece of paper with the hotel name scribbled on it. We were warned that trains stopped at many small stations as the main city of Bangalore neared, but only for a minute or so. So we, the brilliants decided to take no chance and agreed to get off at the last stop-City station. This also meant it gave us extra 1/2 hour of heavenly sleep!

Now that having been said, we stormed out of the station like resident veterans although the little piece of paper and the not so small boxes would have given us away for sure. Our eyes met one of the cabbies, and he came towards us menacingly. We proudly proclaimed the hotels name searching his face for flicker of recognition. We saw something & we decided to take it in the affirmative! He volunteered that the hotel was in Hebbal and the fare was Rs 350. Wow! is this place near Mysore or something...I wondered, hearing the cost to get to the hotel. I gave Manu a puzzled look and his face registered utter shock, perfect corroboration!! We looked at him a little pointedly, and he showed us a printed sheet which had Hebbal- Rs.350 clearly specified. We conceded and 10 minutes later we reached the hotel. "Hmmm.. that REALLY WAS fast" I thought. Did we really fly or was this Maruti van/taxi been boosted with extra horses??? We got down, stretched & paid the fella. He bolted from the hotel in full gallop before we could thank him. "Must be trying hard to make ends meet, poor fellow! See he's rushing to ferry passengers from the next inbound train..." we commented. "Life must be tough being in such a job given the present standards of living" we empathized.

Reaching the lobby, checked into the room and was relieved to be in what would be our home for the next one month. The maid who came to tend our beds started talking, and we casually asked her what good restaurants were there in Hebbal. She laughed, " you have to travel 20 more kms to get there. Do you have relatives there?? ". Thoroughly outraged to find that the hotel wasn't in Hebbal as the cabbie had suggested, we also realized out that the actual fare was only Rs.150!! We had just tasted the occassional dishonest Banglorean in an otherwise extremely honest, friendly and wonderfully cultured clan. Exceptions, Exceptions... was our final verdict.

I flagged down an auto (it's a wonderful creation which is like having 2 seats set up in the center of a triangle with tires adorning each of the 3 corners). I looked at my watch, it read 12.42PM. The auto came to standstill and auto driver looked at me expectantly. I looked at Manu. This seemed to go on for more than a few seconds when I felt a gentle nudge on my elbow.

I had been anticipating this for a while, but now being faced with that eventuality sent me reeling, feeling dumb & thunderstruck. Where should I start? Should I try talking in Tamizh at all? "Oh.... don't worry, most people in Bangalore understand Tamizh", people had repeatedly drummed into my head the last couple of days. I suddenly shuddered, thinking the irritation I felt when I was thought to be a North Indian and someone started yapping in Hindi. How could I possibly do that to him, our very own ticket to heaven--the railway booking counter ?? I carefully contemplated my next move, the hows and whys of it. My POA (aka plan of action) jumped right out at me.

Most people understood signs well and I was supposed to be pretty good at miming (or so I've been led to believe!). I relied heavily on my miming capabilites and my cerebellum got down to breaking up the words. I needed to convey our dire necessity to go to the southern railway booking center, rumoured somewhere to be in Banashankari, god knew where that was! Now, 3 words crossed my mind. Train, tickets and late. I was deperate to make him understand the destination and nonetheless, emphasize the importance of being late. It was imperative he knew that we were really running behind schedule, and it was real important we reached there in the next 15 minutes.

I took both my hands and set them in appropriate front and back motion mimicking a train motion (meaning the wheels part). The driver looked at me quizzically and I felt sorry for myself more than him. I added a Koo.. Chuk Chuk sound effect to the ensuing hand motion and eagerly waited for his response.
He said, Station??
"No no..... no station, only ticket booking" I hurriedly said.

He nodded and I let out a sigh of relief. We hopped in and colonized the rather small space as the auto sprung into motion. I promptly recalled the remaining 2 of the original 3 words. So, I leaned forward and told him "ticket booking, BSK, 2nd stage??"
"Houdhu, adhae" he responded. "Fast please, 1'o clock counter close", I added in for good measure, my last final straw to the puzzle. I detected a hint of what looked like a smile, and I was in 7th heaven . I was one mighty proud lady ....a strange land, unknown language, and yet I had emerged victorious!!

As Manu & I looked out the streets and drank in the city of gardens, we started chatting, probably the first after a tense 10 minutes! Before we knew it, the auto slowed and he pointed to a building on our right. We got down, paid him the fare and stared at the concrete structure looming large in front of us. It had people swarming all over the place. Unsure which entrance to take, we saw our legs exhibit an indolent attitude. As we crossed the street, we heard the auto driver loudly yell "andha side-ula irrukkunga entrance, adhu vazhiyaa ponaa IInd floor-la irukudhu booking center" and his eyes seemed to twinkle. We had embarrassment written all over us!

We gulped, blushing a little and quickly scampered onto safer grounds. We laughed all the way up to the second floor. In addition to the just bygone fiasco, we also got royally frowned upon by the man behind the counter. We were laughing the entire time, so much so the man had to repeat the question a good 5 times before we could hear it amidst our own chuckles.

What on earth possessed me to subject that poor soul to a modern dance recital in the middle of the road, that too in broad daylight?? Why had it been so hard for me to think clear & easy?? All the hands and sound effects?? A lamentable act indeed...*Blink, Blink*

Moves of the Danseuse.. ha ha!!

Does it 'really' matter??

I breathed deep, and after a moments hesitation took the courage to ring the calling bell. The door opened and a pleasant lady greeted me "Swagatham! banni banni..." It was my first day at the rehearsal.

Weighing heavily on my mind for quite sometime now, this concert held more excitement than the regular ones, and being a guest singer for a Kannada concert was going to be very interesting (for you unfamiliar folks out there, Kannada is one of the most musically oriented of the South Indian languages). I could manage a brief few words here & there but there it ended as quickly it started, ususally. It still really is an enigma why they called me but well....

As I stepped into the house, she moved aside, and I suddenly saw a mini industrial fair (akin to ones in India) happening inside those seemingly calm doors. I saw a familiar face in the crowd of people as he came forward and greeted me. Let's call him Mr.Nicey, N for short. N introduced me to the pleasant lady who had banni banni-ed me inside. She had a beautiful smile I noticed, and then she started talking rapidly in Kannada. I stared. Now, do I tell her that I didn't speak the language but was fortunate enough to understand decently enough or do I wait for the opportune moment? I was thoroughly confused. Luckily for me, N whisked me away soon enough, before I made a fool of myself. He thrusted a lunch plate in my hand and requested me to eat. I politely conceded to the request and nibbled on my food while I drank in the happenings around me.

N had emailed me a couple of months ago regarding the concert. I was overjoyed, and needless to say accepted it but only after much deliberation. He effused supreme confidence, regrettably more than me, and I relented ulitmately trusting his judgement. I wielded extra precautions while practising, since performing in totally unchartered territory wasn't an everyday affair. I searched the internet far & wide for the lyrics, compared and contrasted different versions I got, and meticulously prepared for the practice sessions.

I looked around and was relieved to see people re-assembling to their respective places. Took a brief moment to regain my otherwise sangfroid self. By the time everyone gathered, N announced that the guest singer was here, and was pointing at me. Now, that was totally unexpected and I scrambled to my feet sending a few smiles and hi's 360* through. I introduced myself as briefly as possible and got a few smiles in return, more so from the instrumentalists rather than resident singers!

Now, that wasn't abnormal behavior, I thought. Infact it was pretty common in artist circles as far as I knew. It was always 'survival of the fittest' and any potential replacement was looked on with utter contempt, atleast until well established. I could very well associate with that given that I had been part of fabulous music group for almost 4 years now, and knew the way peoples psyches played on them. It was these good natured peoples rightful turn now... and I was on their war path *sigh*

The practice went on great and the subsequent ones taught me a thing or two about group oneness, tolerance and different genre of people. I saw a bunch of talents in the new group and the D-day fast approached. I repeatedly corrected my pronounciation taking tips from any of them who were willing to help me, which was almost everyone. My fellow singers warmed up to me as I to them. I started feeling less conspicuous, and more at ease with each passing session.

I had been fidgety all morning. I had the vaguest of doubts that I was coming down with throat pain or something, dangerously bordering on Hypochondriasis!! I pulled myself together, and waited.

My song was announced and I came on stage amidst claps. I was fortunate enough to have N as my co-singer in both songs of mine. So I didn't foresee any compatibility issues, a key factor to pulling off any song on stage. As I was correcting the surthi (AKA scale or pitch) in my head, I suddenly heard the orchestra opening the song realising that the female humming followed seconds later. Totally taken aback, I opened my mouth and a strange sound enveloped my own ears. I panicked. Whose voice was this?? I waited until the first bit was over and then took a moment of respite while I looked around. I saw a couple of people smile at me from the first row, and I relaxed visibly for the first time. My part arrived not too later and I sang. The program ended, and it was officially declared a success. I was pleased.

I was totally drained. Having 2 programs simultaneously and practising long hours had been totally zonking me out. My body yearned for a good nights sleep. I held on...

As I came down the steps, I momentarily halted to talk to an elderly couple. They started talking in Kannada and effectively stated that I sang very well. I understood the gist of it and thanked them. As they continued belting out sentences in Kannada, I sorely realised that I had just passed up an oppurtunity to let them know my ignorance of the language. I was thoroughly caught between saying "I am sorry, but I don't speak Kannada" or dillydally, smile and respond in the universal language. I gulped! I debated, and said finally "Oh! that's really sweet of you to complement me, but I really am not a Kannadiga." Silence. Their face registered surprise more than shock or insult, and I was earnestly grateful for that. After assuring them (almost coming short of showing my school records indicating my IInd language!!), I saw a little bit of my convincing netting some effect. They applauded me on my diction and thought I really should take singing Kannada songs way more seriously. I nodded implying my intentions to definitely give it a thought. We parted ways on a good note. They went up the stairs while I down (ironic uhn??)

I smiled all the way home reflecting on my dilemma in voicing out my preference of being 'known' as a Tamilian, who incidentally enjoyed singing in different languages. I also breifly pondered if it had made a difference, or mattered when I had pointed that out a few times in the past. Well, I wouldn't know this until a month later during one of my regular programs, this time around in a language that I knew and breathed.

I was still tasting the sweet remains of success when I heard a voice call out my name as I walked out of the green room. I turned and was surprised to be greeted with a "Swagatham". I smiled. Standing there was the elderly couple from the Kannada program. They commented on how good the program was, and expressed their immense gratification at having enjoyed it inspite of not being a Tamilian. I thanked them for their support and exchanged a few more words before I departed, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment.

I went dead to the world at 10 that night, although I do vaguely remember humming the Kannada numbers I had just belted out.

Interestingly, it wasn't until later that it struck me that the couple had conveyed everything to me in Kannada, yet again. Apparently, it didn't seem to matter to them, probably didn't for me either...

Cutlets and Rigor Mortis

"Da" Man-Manu, the CEO off from work and I, the to-be psychologist on a brief hiatus, decided to eat well today, for a change. 'No counting calories and fats this evening', we decided and arrived at an unianimous decision to make vegetable cutlets.

All things neatly set out, we finished making it and fabulous results made our day. The time had come to try the much anticipated cutlets... *smack, smack*. On second thoughts, we thought maybe we should take eating deep fried stuff a little more seriously than we had previously thought. So we resolved our inner turmoils by setting the number of cutlets to 3, no no... 4 per person. We sat down with all applicable sauces in the vicinity, gaping achingly at the beautiful cutlets gently set on a plate. Each of us helped ourselves to 2 patties first. Closing our eyes, we ate it savouring each minute morsel of it. For a brief moment of time, it was as if we had been transported to another world. When our fingers found no more promised food on the plate, we opened our eyes. We looked at each other, and our faces conveyed the unspoken agreement to just have 2 more each. So we did, and the heart followed the same protocol all over again, and again...

There had been absolute slience for the last 10 minutes barring an occassional munching now and then. There were just two left, out of the originally made 18, which meant each of us had had about 8 each!!! Was that an acceptable number even if we had managed to live in Ethiopia under the gravest of circumstances? Manu moved away from the table trying to salvage any remaining promises leave alone self-esteem, while I.... sat there strumming my fingers on the table. "Does it really make sense to leave this here, guess we might anyway polish this off in less than an hour"? my scrupulous self blurted out. His eyes gleamed with mischeif while his legs stopped dead in his tracks. He nodded and we dived into the plate again, each helping ourselves generously.

A sumptuous satiated feeling ushered in a sense of pall, while the never ending act of gorging left us both vaguely resembling a pair of large beached whales.

We sat down dully, an almost ominous plop threatening to monopolize each other's space on the sofa. We gazed intently, yet aimlessly at the TV screen which had been running for quite sometime.

I had a very weird feeling that I will have to run to all places including India, the next time I decided to move. I glanced at Manu, who apparently seemed very normal, moving his tiny toes and fingers to keep rigor mortis from setting in. As for me, I diligently opened my laptop and started typing this out....

P.S: I have quite regained mobility of my fingers by this time, 10 minutes into writing this article. Not bad for 9 cutlets at one shot, ehn?? *wink*

A Mere "Lever"age Issue??

The loud knock on the door almost made me jump. At the risk of dropping the laptop firmly perched on my lap, I rushed to the door. My eyes rested on what would normally be the midriff of a human being, this specific one far from being captivating. I adjusted my eyelevel so I could look at the face. Boy! was he tall or what?? A little taller and it would have warranted breaking the ceiling to accomodate his extended self. I never knew our apartment's maintanence department recruited NBA players !

He inquired about the problem on hand and I faithfully pointed to the patio door. The 10 steps that usually ferried me from the front foyer to the patio door was done in just 3 long strides. Being tall does have its gains, I pondered grimly! Pushing these thoughts aside, I almost had to run to keep up with the hulk. He bent down to check the problem and I couldn't believe his occupying almost 3/4 the height of the french door!! Recovering from the unbelievable sight just ahead, I explained as to how the door got stuck and we haven't been able to open it. The man got down to work, a few seconds passed and he asked me to try the door. I did.

It slid back beautifully letting the cool fresh air in, almost like a door leading to heaven! I gaped, surprise evident on my face.
Whooaaa! how did that happen? I asked fumbling all the way, a thousand questions and situationally right answers flooding my brain.
'It was just the child lock lever', he stated a little too matter of factly!

He showed me how that worked, and I wanted to drown in my own filth that very moment, literally. I openly wallowed in self-pity then, probably trying to elicit some sympathy from the rather large hulk. I muttered some vague defenses as how I never knew such a thing existed, blah blah! Not concealing his surprise as well as he did his laughter, he walked out lecturing me Oh, don't u worry.... Once you have kids, you will know how to fix things more than our whole department puttogether!! I thanked him profusely and uttered a heartfelt apology for placing a work order for nothing at all. He waved at me, and moved on. I closed the door, heavy in thought.

I went back to the patio door and sat down next to it, looking at it intently. Not 1, but 2 of us had contended with it the previous night, but to no avail. We had just not seen the simple lever on the right side of the door.

Post-mortem being useless at that point of time, I threw the reasoning out the same door. 'There will always be a next time for all the alertness to kick in' I firmly decided. What say??

Mysterious machines

What the hell was wrong with this ATM card?? my slowly growing impatient mind thought.

I had checked the card in not one, but two ATM machines just to make sure that I wasn't bungling up the ATM pin. I was growing restless by the second and didn't really make an effort to disguise it. Shoppers at Safeway were nonetheless amused at my huffs, puffs and almost literal bangings to confirm if ATM was indeed working! Each time I got to the point where the required amount was to be disbursed, the machine sported the most nettling noise ever made on the face of the earth!!! At one point I even wondered if this machine had something resembling a 'mute' button, akin to a husband's mouth or a TV remote. I waited, and tried a few more times. Evidently with no luck whatsoever, my patience ran out.

Since the machines did not quite fulfill their job requirement, I decided to do something about it. With an air of nonchalance, I started wandering aimlessly in front of the in-store branch, a rather desperate attempt at catching someone's eye in the process! Ultimately, my aimlessness had its much intended effect, for 'someone' did take notice and asked me "Ma'm, may I help you? Ah! yes.... I volunteered, best explaining the situation. She listened intently while I tried to explain, although her few clandestine glances towards the machines were not lost on me. She assured me that the ATM's were working just fine & I tired to convince her of the machine's almost virtual non-existence at that very moment!! Finally, some appeasement ushered in, and the bank teller offered to help me at her window.

Relieved, I gladly sat and decided to rip open the envelope which contained the cheque to be deposited. Having applied too much crude, instant glue (Ahem, our good ol' Saliva) it proved quite a struggle to un-glue it. Now that I think about it, possibly it was more of the bank teller watching me intently that made me try to rip the already pasted envelope neatly, rather than my own crappy ways!? Enough was enough, I ripped it open with a thousand shreds flying in all directions, forming a soft white carpet at my chair's perimeter. Unminding of the trash around me, I handed over the deposit slip and the cheque to her, a little too gingerly perhaps. She managed to smile and asked me if I was from Tamil Nadu. I looked up and it was then that I caught her name on the lapel pin. Nair it said.... Wow! I thought, a fellow Keralite and my joy knew no bounds!!!

Yes, I answered, creeping out of my joy zone. She nodded, an all knowing smile ornating her lips. She volunteered information about herself and I did too, maybe just a teeny weeny bit, enough to forget my total abysmal failure at the machine earlier! Just as she was finishing up with the transaction, I indicated about a cash withdrawal and she handed me the slip which I started filling out. Unsure of one of my account numbers, I asked her if I could swipe my ATM card inorder for her to pull up my account information. I swiped my card and hung on, but her face registered a blank look indicating her screen was as blank if not more than her! I wondered, what is this? a hatrick or something? Just as I was about to swipe it again, she steered in my direction "Is that what you are using to draw out money?" I gallantly said "yeeesss, this is what I use". She then blurted out amidst giggles "I think you need to use your ATM card and not your CREDIT CARD for this". I looked down and grinned, shame engulfing me!

I made small talk until she handed over the cash, but her face registered immense gratification at having found out the real reason for the mysterious non-response of the ATM.

Well, so many before and after me were successful in having utilized its services, right?

I made sure I had the correct amount in hand, tucked it safely away in the dark corners of my wallet, and said my final good bye's to the lady who broke the da-vinci code. She wished me "Happy New Year", and please come back and see me sometime! I gave her a thumbs up meaning 'you betcha'! As my head turned, I heard a voice saying "Make sure to use your ATM card with these machines the next time you want to use its services!" I smiled, mumbling some vague godforsaken reason for my non-compliance with simple ATM rules and ambled along.

What she probably missed was my smirk in response to her humble request. She just couldn't pass up the opportunity, could she? Atleast she only pointed it out. If I were her, well well......

Well-Done Missy!?! I hollered inside...