"A woman on the road wearing bright blue jeans, red top with a black bindi on her forehead, orange flowers in her hair and anklets on her feet. She is waiting on the bustop chatting incessantly on her cell. Horror, shock, disgust and then pure amazement.
Here was a woman who was caught in translation between being a typical lower middle class South Indian woman and an aspiring woman who wants to get somewhere in life. It was a quixotic mixture of traditionalism spiced with modernity. She might have failed miserably when it came to fashion etiquette but she scored full points for exerting her individuality no matter how garish it would seem to you and me."
So read one of my unfinished posts which never saw the light of the day and I lost that chain of thought forever. Maybe that's why I am blogging as someone asked me to capture the memories. Among the many other things I want to write about, this one is about a bus journey.
Lily Allen was crooning in my headphones and I was looking out of the window, cool breeze hitting my face. I had blanked out the noise around me, just observing. A middle aged woman with huge red bindi and many bangles sat next to me. She had the look of a chihuahua. In front of me sat an old woman in a burqa who was having trouble getting the change for her bus fare. The conductor was patient and gently chided her. A young college student was sitting next to her constantly blabbering on her cell and blushing. I could see people pushing and shoving and I was grateful for my window seat. In a matter of 15 minutes three very different women along with me came face to face with each other. We never spoke but we all had made eye contact at some point. I don't know and I will never know what they thought of me but I was just amazed at the radically different lives each of us led and yet we were together for some obscure bus ride. It was humbling.
As I sat there thinking, the old lady got up and walked away. And before I could notice, there was another woman sitting next to me with a huge basket of flowers. My mind began to think of their stories and lives again..
