Who Am I?
One side of me 🙂
So, who am I? I’m just another writer, yes just another writer, who only writes when she feels like writing. “Major mistake”, I’ve been told I should write constantly.
I’m no fancy writer, I write simply, something learned from living and working in the Middle East where the ‘fancy’ vocabulary has no place; heck, where normal grammar has no place when it comes to common speech, where you find yourself jumping into ‘Pidgin’ English every now and then, where you debase your accent so you will be understood by the majority, but still it’s a good place to be at. You know you’ll be understood by all.
Personality wise, I am very blunt, no use in pretending at my age, fun to be with, movie buff – sorry, let me rewrite – sci-fi, action, special fx movie buff, you will not catch me in the theater watching drama or a love story, unless there is a major fx scene (ahem, ‘Twilight’ and the ‘thunderous’ baseball scene). A lot of character flaws – suspicious, absolutely no patience, and sometimes still quick to judge. Why sometimes??
Well, whenever I’m quick to judge based on looks, I think back to a story I’ve shared with many students of mine. I was travelling from Kuwait to Goa, December 1999. Yes, the dreaded Y2K was looming in the distance, and I was quite sure that Christmas was going to be a boring affair for me and my 1.3 year old son, as his father was going to be on 12-hour duty from the week before Christmas right up to the week after the New Year, if the worst didn’t happen, i.e. if ‘1999’ changed to ‘1000’ , instead of ‘2000’.
As it was a late decision, I had to fly through Mumbai. My parents were already in Goa, and so I thought I would do the great thing of joining them. What a mistake that was! In any case, I made it to Mumbai, with my son, luggage, baby bag, stroller et al.
While at the airport, I noticed this ‘foreigner’ who had umpteen tattoos, going on to Goa – shorts, sleeveless vest, flip-flops…the stereotype ‘hippie’. And I got on my mighty horse and looked down on him and thought, yeah, he might be a drug addict too; I must keep my son away from him.
Well my son was in the mood to dance around the airport and entertain every security guard while we waited for the flight to be announced. Finally, it was, and we got up to go…and good God, we had to get on a transit bus to get to the airplane.
And boy, did I have my hands full – I would have to carry my boy on to the bus, managing the stroller, the baby bag and my own bag. But oh yes, I was surrounded by ‘Goans’; surely they would see one of their own struggling and offer to help me. But no, they just kept getting on the bus, looking away. That’s when the ‘foreigner’ stepped in, and asked if I would like some help. He offered to take the stroller and bag, so I could manage my son.
I had not felt shame like I did then. The one person I had thought the worse of, was the only person who came up to help me.
And so, when I get on my mighty horse now and then, I give myself a hypothetical pinch, and remind myself of this story.