Rise and fall of the tiny speck

I tried blinking again. I could see the sky and the trees – I was conscious. My head still hurt in spite of the helmet and I felt bit dizzy. I could hardly move. But being conscious was a relief.

I was riding my scooter merrily a minute ago. Oil spill on the road, a sharp turn and suddenly-turned-disobedient brakes sent me and my scooty dragging and sweeping across the road for a few meters. For those few seconds, I tried as much as I could. Nothing worked. I barely had a sense of what had happened, leave alone trying to mitigate the fall. I and my scooter did a deadly tango, scratching and spinning our way across the road waiting desperately for the music to end. My head hit the road when the incomprehensible motion ended, my left foot squashed below my scooty and I lay there sprawled on the road. I blinked again, unsure of how hurt I was, staring at the bright blue sky.

The minute I took relief in being conscious, I saw a car coming to a grinding halt just a couple of feet from me. A few second’s delay and they would have found me smashed like a ripe watermelon underneath that car. I missed more than a couple heartbeats then and there.

Fun and food. You and me.

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Think of your favorite food that you wouldn’t share with anyone. Now think of those people in your life to whom you shout a blunt “No” at any food-sharing proposal and yet they dig their spoon right in. And you knew they would. You roll your eyes at their quirky eating habits. And you still can’t help smiling.  In spite of the food stealing and quirks, there are few people who would make eating so enjoyable.  There are few people who touch your life like a friend does.

It is friendship’s day next Sunday. And I miss my food-stealers terribly.

******

“Do you like him?” she asked about a new friend of mine.

“No. We are just friends”, I replied while I kept munching on the aloo-chaat.

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL…

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“Carol you are next. Hurry! Lekha, you’ll enter the stage from the left”, I yelled in the dressing room. Frantic assistants, unruffled designers, attentive make-up crew and skimpy or barely clad models thronged the dressing room of the fashion show. Loud music, flashy lights, designer clothes, cigarette smoke and bouquet of wine created the ambience. My part for the next 45 minutes was to put a rhythm to the frenzied chaos.

“You are next, be quick”, I said to another model after a few minutes. The assistants were attending to her clothes while she took another quick gulp of wine.

She had already consumed three cigarettes and almost a bottle of wine. She was wearing a fine gown and finer make up. She was one of the celebrated models of the country that many girls idolize. In a few minutes, a crowd of 200 would be cheering for her. She looked every bit stunning and had had enough wine to make her feel stunning too. For anybody else, nothing about her would have reflected anything but confidence.Yet when she put her glass down to take a look at the mirror, for a second the supermodel froze.

Kismet’s Beautiful Blossoms

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Do you believe in ‘kismet’? Do you believe that there is a greater reason for every coincidence? Do you believe that people enter and leave our lives at an ideal time because ‘it is meant to be’? I think I do.

******

I used to walk to the badminton court every evening during my high school days. And I would see her on my way, watering the plants in her front yard. I would greet her with a “Namaste” and she would do the same with a charming smile. The greetings soon became a ritual that the strangers followed.

I did not know her well personally. We bumped into each other at social events a couple of times where “Namaste” got suffixed with “How are you?”  Next day, we went back to the monosyllable yet pleasant greeting exchange again.  I knew what her name was, that she had two kids, that she loved her plants and flowers and that she would be there watering her those flowers when I walk by in the evening.

One winter night, when I greeted her, she greeted me back with her adorable smile but there was something amiss. Her eyes were red and swollen; her demeanor lethargic yet tense. But she smiled with all her heart and her voice did not quiver on the “Namaste”. I presumed she had fever and I kept walking.

Dream, with extra sugar

“My dream is to become a Movie star”, the minute my friend finished his sentence, uncontrollable laughter from our table filled the coffee shop. “Sir, can I get your autograph in advance?” other friends fired in their sarcasm, “When you turn all rich and famous, you won’t have time for us.” My friend sat there dejected, waiting for the jokes to die. For an aspiring actor, he did badly at hiding his emotions.

“I believe in him. He would make it big one day.” I said, not out of loyalty or pity, but out of the natural sanguinity and optimism of a kid, “Who knows, after 10 years, we will all be watching his movie together. You never know!” He smiled. I smiled. The jokes died. And we got back to our coffee again.

*****

“And some extra sugar please”, I said and the man behind the counter nodded. A young boy beside me waited for his coffee too. He drummed his fingers and tapped his foot at the same time and then glanced back at his table. He smiled and a pretty young lady on his table smiled back. The man at the counter rolled his eyes at what he saw. The boy took his order and walked back coyly to his blushing date.