The Fleeting Meetings

by Anita N S

Dust clouded Rashmi’s eyes. She could smell the dry summer earth; it was a familiar smell in this part of her journey to school. Going on this road in the school bus gave her the excitement of a roller coaster ride at times; what was a road once upon a time was now dug up and looked like the cracks on the cakes her mother baked.

Rashmi saw the lady again. Dressed in her usual attire of a ‘nightie’, she was sweeping the compound of the huge mansion. There was something graceful about her, the way her hips swayed when she moved, the manner in which she looked up and tucked the loose curly tendrils of hair that fell softly on her face. Rashmi only got a fleeting glimpse of this lady whenever the bus stopped to pick up a student, but she was fascinated by her.

As the weeks flew by, the lady began to wave to Rashmi on her way to school. Rashmi, a girl of 11, usually talkative, but still figuring out how society worked, was often not sure if she should wave back.  The first few days she gave but a slight curve of the lips to acknowledge the wave, but soon she gave a wider smile. A few days later, Rashmi began to wave back.  Now Rashmi began to look forward to seeing the lady at the mansion everyday on her way to school. The mansion in itself was an imposing one and had dark glasses for the windows.

What attracted Rashmi to this elegant lady, who she thought should be the owner of the mansion than the maid that she seemed, was beyond her little years of life’s experience. But she fascinated her, intrigued her somehow many a times. Rashmi found her beautiful, but in a different way, not beautiful like her mom or her aunt Veda. Yet there was a compelling beauty. She was happy to have someone recognize her from among the thousands milling on the road each day. She felt important and remembered her mother’s words: “if you can bring a smile on a person’s face, even a stranger, then your bounty of blessings increases”. She was certain that at least one blessing was assured however naughty she was on any given day!

It was a Sunday morning when Rashmi’s appa announced that they had to attend a Satynarayana Puja at a colleague’s house. All in the household began to get ready, out came amma’s kanjeevaram silk saree, the green border on the yellow coloured silk made amma look like a goddess. Rashmi could not take her eyes off her mom. She on the other hand was handed her deep blue langa bordered with crimson peacocks. Her red blouse had blue peacocks embroidered on the sleeves. Soon mother and daughter were all set – except for jasmine flowers to adorn their oiled and plaited hair. “No worries”, said appa, “we shall pick them near the signal”. Beaming at her mother Rashmi sat at her usual place on the scooter -right in front of her appa.  Appa always made a little space for her to be seated in the front and she felt that she was the one riding the scooter when he allowed her to hold her hand close to the accelerator.

As they neared the bustling signal, they looked out for the jasmine seller. He was on the opposite side of the road and appa honked and waved his hand frantically to catch his attention. Meanwhile, Rashmi saw a beautiful woman going up to people in vehicles waiting at the signal. “Here comes the lazy two bones…”, said amma sarcastically, “…always clapping hands and begging. What a disgrace, pretending to bless those who patronize them with a coin or two and hurtling abuses if one doesn’t!” Rashmi kept looking at the woman. All decked up with a huge red bindi, and an equally red lipstick, jhumki and maati on the ear, colourful bangles filing up half the forearm, anklets on the feet, a saree ever so neatly draped. A slim body with neatly plaited braid tucked with fresh jasmine flowers. All looked perfect… yet something looked misplaced. ‘Let us move,’ said amma, rushing appa. “I do not want such a person coming close to me… we shall get flowers elsewhere”. Rashmi could not understand why amma was upset with the person. For being well off and begging perhaps?

A few days later Rashmi heard some loud singing and dholak sounds. She ran to the balcony to see what was going on in the street below. She saw a bunch of women in colourful sarees each one outmatching the other in their adornments and pitch of singing.  She stood transfixed, intoxicated by the heady singing.  Their dance movements were not smooth but seemed pretty crude; they looked like men dressed in sarees, trying to dance like women but failing badly at that.

Then amidst the dancers she spotted her friend! Her movements and swaying of the hips and body were fluid. She wore a purple saree with shimmering stones, her hair tied into a bun with jasmine flowers around it. Large, shining earrings that somehow did not match the dainty face, and a purple bindi and red lipstick. She was different, looking a little more womanly compared to the others in the group, but still, Rashmi felt she didn’t look like most grown women she knew. As Rashmi stood looking at them, her mother and the maid rushed out.

“Oh, why are these good for nothing here? Singing and dancing and creating a nuisance, they have nothing else to do, do they?” grumbled amma.

“Ayyo, they are here to bless the Setu’s grandchild akka, their blessings are considered auspicious you know?” replied the maid.

“Auspicious, my foot! Close the door and come in Rashmi!” shouted amma.

Rashmi, in the meantime, had been trying to catch the attention of her friend by waving out of the balcony, but was upset that amma had a lowly opinion on those dancing on the street. She had said the same when someone similar walked over the other day near the signal. Yes, they looked a little different, sometimes like men dressed as women, but why look down upon them. Was that bad? They seemed to be harmless. Rashmi’s friend, who was dancing in gay abandon suddenly halted her steps and looked shocked when her eyes met Rashmi’s. She saw Rashmi being dragged off the balcony and the door shut loudly.

The next morning Rashmi woke up confused. What was amma talking about? So people who dressed a little differently and looked a bit different were to be avoided and not considered friends? But the maid had said they bring good luck. So should Rashmi now “unfriend” her friend? Was her friend bad? She did not seem so; she seemed like a gentle lady going about her daily chores religiously. She had the most beatific smile and the kindest eyes.  And Rashmi felt a sense of warmth wash over her every time she saw the lady and waved at her. Was amma wrong? No, amma could never be wrong. She was in a dilemma as she got ready to get to school.

The lady at the mansion was sweeping the yard with a heavy heart; she knew that the one smile that she had looked forward to every morning would not come today. Eager yet heart beating with trepidation, she took some extra time to stay at the yard, to catch a glimpse perhaps of the sunniest smile that she had come across ever.

Rashmi looked out of the bus window as the bus swerved into the now familiar roller coaster part of the ride.  She waited, her heart thumping; was she going to do the right thing, would she be considered a disobedient child or was she going to conform to what she heard and saw? The bus suddenly halted. There was a diversion and the bus veered left onto another street.

Pic from https://www.flickr.com/photos/dilipm/

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