If I'd had coffee I'd have thrown it in her face. Sometimes I scare myself.

She 1: If only I didn't have such a big butt, y'know what I mean? I'd be able to wear a much smaller size. Though, y'know even now it's only a size 8. So, it isn't that bad, y'know what I mean?

She 2: You don't have a big butt! It's worse being me. I have no butt to speak of.

She 1: *I* think I have a big butt. I never used to have one this big, y'know what I mean? It's only since I started dating Ian. We eat so much, y'know what I mean?

She 2: Yeah, I know how that feels. It's no use just you being on a diet if he's pigging out all the time.

She 1: Yeah, but I'm totally going to stick to this regimen, y'know what I mean? Like those ads on tv. Lose two dress sizes in 2 weeks, y'know what I mean?

She 2: Haha. Those adverts are just crazy.

She 1: They remind me of my bro. He's an exercise nazi, y'know what I mean? That's why I never work out with him. I just say leave me alone, y'know what I mean?

She 3 (standing up from her seat in the row in front of them suddenly): Yes, yes, woman!!!!! She knows what you mean!!!!! We *all* know what you mean! For pity's sake STOP SAYING THAT!!!

*exit bus right*

Some verbal habits are so annoying I feel like shaking the speaker in an attempt to make them stop talking. Especially on Monday mornings.

Mistaken Identities

She sits on the low wall, legs swinging, head nodding to the beat of the iPod, dappled in early evening sunshine, contented smile on her face. The black burkha clad lady approaching her, sizes her up in an instant. She sees the lips of the small, elderly Muslim lady move and realizes she's being addressed. A little vexed, she removes one of the earphones from her ear and looks enquiringly at the lady. "Asalaam aleikum", the lady repeats with a tremulous smile. "Aleikum asalaam", she replies without even thinking about it. One only has to be Indian to know the greeting. Religion is immaterial. The tremulous smile widens confidently. The lady seems poised on the brink of voluminous conversation when the bus arrives. She gestures the lady in front of her and they both climb into the bus. She sticks the earphone back in her ear and disappears back into her own world. She sees the lady look at her a couple of times, smiles at her. The lady starts looking worried with each passing stop. Until finally the last stop is reached. This is where she gets off but the lady still sits stubbornly in the bus. The driver, perplexed, looks to her for help. She at least looks geographically competent to deal with a black gown clad SouthEast Asian woman. In school girl Hindi she asks the woman where she needs to go. The lady, enraptured to be able to talk to anyone who can understand her, almost flies to her side. Sits nestled beside her, looking at her trustingly, waiting for her to sort the problem out. The matter is easily settled, the exasperated driver appeased and informed, the lady comforted and instructed to sit tight. She will be home soon. The lady looks at her. Two brown pools of gratitude. Thinking "I'm so glad I found kith and kin on this bus in this strange country where noone understands me." Saying simply "Khoda Hafez". She gets off the bus, walks to her apartment.

How easy it is for people to accept you for what they want you to be.

Intent

It nestled in the subtle hollow of creamy pale skin, winking at him. A dark green that was surprisingly translucent when sunlight touched it. The globular gibbousness of it entranced him. He imagined containing it in his palm. Cold to the touch at first, but warming up quickly. The smoothness of the surface interrupted by the little lines of engraving. Rays of the sun on one hemisphere hallowing a fiercely smiling face; and the intertwined moon and star on the other. She bent down to pick up a fallen piece of paper and it swung free of the bare restraint of her plunging neckline. Its weight perfectly balancing its upswing with the downswing. Was it soapstone? He'd never had much of a head for geology. He wondered if it was a symbol of something. Young people these days adopted new cults with the noble air of giving stray dogs a home. He liked the subtle mysterious green of it. He almost put his hand out to touch it. Just once to roll it between his fingers. He felt her eyes boring into him. He looked up, realisation dawning with a horrified whimper. "No, no, I wasn't.." he protested faintly, hurriedly. She collected her bags and stalked off the bus. Her haughtily stiffening spine luxuriated in the freedom of expected abuse. Please, he wanted to say. Just please.

Perspective : II

I
Overheard: words from half a conversation, past nudging the present. I look up. She smiles. Words ensue. Inevitably, the question pops out. "Are you from Madras?" Her face lights up. "You too?" disbelievingly. "Yeah" I confess. "Do you stay with your parents?". "No, they live back home. In India. I live alone". Observed: Heartfelt sympathy.

II
Espied: a stranger's startled upward glance. A smile offered. A conversation sparked. The question "Are you from Madras?", unexpected. To travel half the world and hear this on my first bus trip. Startled into commitment, "I shifted here as soon as I got married. With my husband." Her steady gaze met fleetingly. Recognised: Heartfelt sympathy.

Note: Y'know how they say there's nothing original left to say, anymore? I have to admit that at the very least there'sno original way left to say it in.

The True and Amazing Chronicles of a Commuter: Part 2 3

The bus lurches around the corner at seemingly ill-advised speed and stops dead. They clutch the overhead straps to keep from falling over but continue staggering to the exit. You're allowed to wait for the bus to stop, I want to say. Please don't exert yourself, I almost tell the old man standing next to my seat, waiting for his turn to step out into the winter cold. I have a grandfather like you, I feel the wish to confide. Old bones need cherishing. If I said it out loud, would he be offended? I spot an Indian in the queue of shuffling soon-to-be-disgorged-passengers. She's almost at the door. In another minute she'll step out. As she leaves, she turns back to the driver. Thank you, she says, and have a great day. A chord is struck. Board examinations, 1996, Physics. Newton's Laws. I knew them by heart, but I never bothered learning what the words meant either.

Culinary Note: (This is for Adi) You didn't expect it to be edible, didja?

Update: The first part for the curious (yeah, yeah the name has changed, and it wasn't a chronicle - which is why the name has changed, not that this is a chronicle either. Tsk, how complicated)

Update 2: Apparently there's also a second part, so this is actually the third part (d-uh!).

The Pitfalls of Stereotyping

I was on the bus this evening, when three African American guys got on. Big (as they tend to be), speaking in the version of English that's peculiar to them, dressed in punk regalia and I had an accute case of the jim-jams. Irrational, I know, but it was getting dark, and there wasn't anyone else on the bus (other than the driver, let me add, lest you assume that it was some surreal encounter), and I was just inexplicably jittered. Got me thinking about stereotypes. They abound, don't they? I've gotten so used to grimacing at stereotypes, be they ever so casually mentioned, and scrupulously purging my vocabulary (and I suspect my consciousness) that I had forgotten what the word meant. Truly!! Ergo, it was an almost epiphanic moment today when I realised that the reason a stereotype BECOMES a stereotype is cos there actually exist a large number of people belonging to a particular group who act/dress/speak/think in a particular manner. As Wiki wisely says, stereotyping "may express sometimes-accurate folk wisdom about social reality". What would we do without the Wisdom of Wiki?

Riding With Strangers

Don't you love sitting on the bus, surrounded by strangers, and just drifting off into this limbo, cos just for a while you don't have to rush around or make any immediate decisions, or talk to anyone or do anything! You can sit there in your seat and space out, gather wool, think anything (as the Five for Fighting guy exhorts). I've been missing out on that for a while now (cos of the Current Obsession, viz. Dawkins). But this morning, I closed the book firmly (which made quite a thump, cos its a hard cover) and just sat like a lump the whole way into work. Such fun! And y'know how you tend to think in third person (at least I hope you do!)? Lately I've realised that I'm framing sentences in my head like they were meant for an audience. The wicked ways of blogging, I presume. *Sigh*.