Today, I collected some pearls. Soft, velvety, gleaming white little pearls. I watched them spill on to my palm and run off my fingertips.
A sob and a catch…
“Are you crying?”
“Yes I am. Didn’t you call because you knew I would?”
Did I?
My mind went back to an evening in Hyderabad, 15 years ago. My cousin had been struggling with a bad cold and homework. She was so cranky that she had picked up a pointless fight with her mother. My aunt had gently sent her to bed.
I watched another warm pearl land on my palm.
My cousin was 12 years old at that time. What do I do with you? Perhaps a warm glass of milk and a cozy tuck in to bed are what you also need tonight. Where is your mother?
I carefully picked up all the pearls from the ground and put them in the glass jar I kept.
My jar of little treasures was fast getting full.
Oh look at that pink Ruby there.
“Please, please don’t call anybody! I’ll handle it! Please don’t call! Then everything will get into a tizzy! I’ll do anything—I’ll get naked if you want, but please don’t do it!”
I chuckled as I picked up the Ruby and held it to light.
Foolish, foolish girl! Who taught you to treat yourself as loose change? What if my sense of honor slipped?
I had never collected anything as a child. I was busy chasing clouds… Or talking to imaginary characters… Or praying to God that I grew up to be an adult soon… Amen.
As a teenager, I had discovered philosophy.
“What are you? Are you your name, your family, your country, your material possessions, your likes and dislikes, or your memories? Aren’t these just things that you use to identify yourself?”
I gave up material possessions—washed them down the Ganges that the teacher led me to. I carried no baggage.
When did I acquire this jar?
One lazy sleepy afternoon, at the cafeteria, I had picked up a twinkling, gold flecked bright orange Goldstone.
“I’m bored,” I had announced to the kids sitting around me. “Entertain me. Here’s one rupee for each of you,” I had said, distributing the coins around the table. “Tell me one rupee worth of salacious secret about yourself.”
Shy, cautious, Russian roulette went around the table, accompanied by giggles. As the conversation petered out, she had quickly collected two rupees from the other two and handed them over to me. “Now tell two rupees worth of secret about yourself!” she had challenged, with a glint in her eyes.
I had laughed and picked up the Goldstone. I had turned it around in my fingers absently all evening. When I went home, I had impulsively dropped it into a glass jar.
And the stones kept adding up.
Like that day she got back from a vacation in Europe… What had I expected? Perhaps some enthusiasm to see me again? She smiled at me from a distance and went on to talk to a friend. Was I miffed? I don’t know.
I kept my distance, wanting to give her space.
She shuffled up to me in the evening, half diffident, half aggressive. “Is there a problem?” she had asked in a rush, querulously. “You haven’t spoken to me all day!”
The blue satin unraveled, revealing a quietly gleaming purple Amethyst in its folds. I picked it up carefully. “Oh I have been busy…” I had said smoothly.
There was a rain of Cat’s Eye stones in the backseat of the car another night. The haze of cigarette smoke, zebra stripes of light from the speeding city outside, and little zari glints from the top she was wearing.
I had peeped around the front seat. “You should give me more speeches on literature,” I had told her. “Ever thought of a career in teaching?”
She had snorted.
I had turned to Him driving the car. “Don’t you think she was magnificent, all hair and passion, talking extempore on Magic Realism?”
He’d grunted. The loser!
“I am with Him all day, but not really with Him.”
Tiny crimson Coral of agony scattered everywhere…
The self-flagellations, the despair, the meltdowns, the uneasy and impulsive make-ups and messy break ups…
“I can’t stop loving Him. I will get over it, I will. But not today.”
Crowded open-air dance floor, artificial smoke, pounding music. Standing still in the middle of the floor, suddenly bereft. Glistening tears in the kohl rimmed eyes. A walk into the darkness alone…
“He looked at me as if I was the crap under His shoe!”
I had flinched at the coldness of the intense blue Lapis Lazuli that fell on my palm.
My dear, didn’t you know that tears made tough stains?
“How are you, Bitsy Pookums?” I asked, on a nice spring day, inspired by Calvin and Hobbes.
“Ugh! Go away!” she replied.
“Hey, you used to like me at one time!”
“That’s because you never baby talked at that time!”
“I did, all the time, in my head. You just didn’t know me well then.”
“I refuse to get to know you better now!”
“Hello Pootie Pie!” I chirped again on her instant messenger.
After a while, she responded, “You horror! I was sitting with my colleague when your Pootie Pie popped up! She’s been taken ill!”
Cheerful yellow Citrines winked at me.
Jubilant diamonds glistened on the river when I insisted on walking “abreast” with her on the narrow sidewalk of the bridge over it.
She picked one up and showed it to friends. “Can you imagine? Abreast indeed, on a sidewalk too narrow!”
All of them, now in my little overflowing jar. What do I do with them? Can you find me another Ganges to wash them away, my dear?
A sob and a catch…
“Are you crying?”
“Yes I am. Didn’t you call because you knew I would?”
Did I?
My mind went back to an evening in Hyderabad, 15 years ago. My cousin had been struggling with a bad cold and homework. She was so cranky that she had picked up a pointless fight with her mother. My aunt had gently sent her to bed.
I watched another warm pearl land on my palm.
My cousin was 12 years old at that time. What do I do with you? Perhaps a warm glass of milk and a cozy tuck in to bed are what you also need tonight. Where is your mother?
I carefully picked up all the pearls from the ground and put them in the glass jar I kept.
My jar of little treasures was fast getting full.
Oh look at that pink Ruby there.
“Please, please don’t call anybody! I’ll handle it! Please don’t call! Then everything will get into a tizzy! I’ll do anything—I’ll get naked if you want, but please don’t do it!”
I chuckled as I picked up the Ruby and held it to light.
Foolish, foolish girl! Who taught you to treat yourself as loose change? What if my sense of honor slipped?
I had never collected anything as a child. I was busy chasing clouds… Or talking to imaginary characters… Or praying to God that I grew up to be an adult soon… Amen.
As a teenager, I had discovered philosophy.
“What are you? Are you your name, your family, your country, your material possessions, your likes and dislikes, or your memories? Aren’t these just things that you use to identify yourself?”
I gave up material possessions—washed them down the Ganges that the teacher led me to. I carried no baggage.
When did I acquire this jar?
One lazy sleepy afternoon, at the cafeteria, I had picked up a twinkling, gold flecked bright orange Goldstone.
“I’m bored,” I had announced to the kids sitting around me. “Entertain me. Here’s one rupee for each of you,” I had said, distributing the coins around the table. “Tell me one rupee worth of salacious secret about yourself.”
Shy, cautious, Russian roulette went around the table, accompanied by giggles. As the conversation petered out, she had quickly collected two rupees from the other two and handed them over to me. “Now tell two rupees worth of secret about yourself!” she had challenged, with a glint in her eyes.
I had laughed and picked up the Goldstone. I had turned it around in my fingers absently all evening. When I went home, I had impulsively dropped it into a glass jar.
And the stones kept adding up.
Like that day she got back from a vacation in Europe… What had I expected? Perhaps some enthusiasm to see me again? She smiled at me from a distance and went on to talk to a friend. Was I miffed? I don’t know.
I kept my distance, wanting to give her space.
She shuffled up to me in the evening, half diffident, half aggressive. “Is there a problem?” she had asked in a rush, querulously. “You haven’t spoken to me all day!”
The blue satin unraveled, revealing a quietly gleaming purple Amethyst in its folds. I picked it up carefully. “Oh I have been busy…” I had said smoothly.
There was a rain of Cat’s Eye stones in the backseat of the car another night. The haze of cigarette smoke, zebra stripes of light from the speeding city outside, and little zari glints from the top she was wearing.
I had peeped around the front seat. “You should give me more speeches on literature,” I had told her. “Ever thought of a career in teaching?”
She had snorted.
I had turned to Him driving the car. “Don’t you think she was magnificent, all hair and passion, talking extempore on Magic Realism?”
He’d grunted. The loser!
“I am with Him all day, but not really with Him.”
Tiny crimson Coral of agony scattered everywhere…
The self-flagellations, the despair, the meltdowns, the uneasy and impulsive make-ups and messy break ups…
“I can’t stop loving Him. I will get over it, I will. But not today.”
Crowded open-air dance floor, artificial smoke, pounding music. Standing still in the middle of the floor, suddenly bereft. Glistening tears in the kohl rimmed eyes. A walk into the darkness alone…
“He looked at me as if I was the crap under His shoe!”
I had flinched at the coldness of the intense blue Lapis Lazuli that fell on my palm.
My dear, didn’t you know that tears made tough stains?
“How are you, Bitsy Pookums?” I asked, on a nice spring day, inspired by Calvin and Hobbes.
“Ugh! Go away!” she replied.
“Hey, you used to like me at one time!”
“That’s because you never baby talked at that time!”
“I did, all the time, in my head. You just didn’t know me well then.”
“I refuse to get to know you better now!”
“Hello Pootie Pie!” I chirped again on her instant messenger.
After a while, she responded, “You horror! I was sitting with my colleague when your Pootie Pie popped up! She’s been taken ill!”
Cheerful yellow Citrines winked at me.
Jubilant diamonds glistened on the river when I insisted on walking “abreast” with her on the narrow sidewalk of the bridge over it.
She picked one up and showed it to friends. “Can you imagine? Abreast indeed, on a sidewalk too narrow!”
All of them, now in my little overflowing jar. What do I do with them? Can you find me another Ganges to wash them away, my dear?
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