Strange Waters

Being in a foreign land is like being on a swing. You don’t know which side you belong to. Your passport must prove that you don’t belong here but where you really belong is hard to tell. This is home if you must acknowledge that home is a feeling, yet facts prove the other way. Nobody really understands this dilemma unless they go through the same waters, get hit by the same waves and survive the same storm. So your peer group in this stage of life might understand. But they are not easily available for women. As time gives us more roles and responsibilities, women have to manage more things at the same time. From “why my child didn’t poop today? “ to “ why Hillary's political career faded?”, everything bothers a woman. The key to her survival is to prioritise things and while doing so she keeps her family at the top of the list. This is why as frequently asked women didn’t top many other recognised lists though she was a permanent member in the school toppers list. So women do not often contact their peer group to discuss her trifles.

Luckily I have my sister, Isabella. We fondly call her Bella. She can relate to anything I would say as she had come all the way I had trodden though she didn’t really want it. I know a part of her hated me for she had to (as she claimed) live in my shadows, yet a part of her admired me blindly. That’s okay because there is a mixture of hatred and love between every siblings. If there isn’t, you know they are lying. Had she but realised that she wasn’t living in my shadows but she is my shadow, the only person who can mirror my feelings!

Revisiting this Arabian land with family is a matter of immense pleasure. This is the land I had spent the best of my days. Returning now with the family I had built, I really miss my parents and siblings. Even before the arrival and its plans, I had insisted my husband to rent an apartment in the area we had stayed. Though you cannot undo the changes the time had brought, some things will still remain the same. Though most of the buildings around here are either new or refurbished, the one where we had lived still remained the same with its black and white gates. I wonder how our apartment would look now. This time we had rented an apartment in the next lane, to be exact, opposite to the single storied house of the “Shouting man”. I don’t know if anyone else other than I and Bella would remember the man or call him by that name. He seemed to be mentally disabled. He often shouted from his house's balcony. I never saw his face. During the day he stood along the sun's beam that his face was never lit and at night he stood there in the dark. I don't know his name, age or ethnicity, not even what he was shouting. But I still remember him. I am glad that after all these years, he still shouts at the same spot, something time didn’t touch. But now his voice cracks, and he seems to be old and weak.

My husband and children are by now fed up with my childhood tales. Of course they can’t grasp the essence of it, those waters are strange to them. I don’t know how to explain them the way this land had broadened my sense of acceptance. Growing amidst people of different race and culture had opened my eyes to see things differently. Unlike the expected social frames we have to fit in in our country, here differences are welcomed. Everyone with their own differences abide to the same law of this land. It may not be favouring many, but it never intruded in their personal lives.

This morning, I woke up hearing unfamiliar voices outside the street. I opened the window and saw many men going here and there. Usually mornings until the day gets warm are quiet and foggy at this time of the year. While proceeding with my chores, I kept an eye on the unusual happenings outside. By the time I had sent my kids to school and was ready to go to the office, I saw a funeral procession. It started from the Shouting man's house. Suddenly it struck me that I hadn't heard him shouting for two days. I knew I didn’t know him. But for some reason, tears rolled down my cheeks. Perhaps only Bella can understand.

The Art Of Saying "No"

Our train was slowly coming to the halt. The wet platform before me brings me a thousand vivid memories. The engine, the platform and the fellows rushing in and out make a beautiful mixture of voices. When I got off the train at Wilzar, a pleasant shiver flavoured with grief and loss passed through my body. Suddenly I heard a very familiar voice,

“ Rebecca”

“Jessy?!”, I muttered with a suspicious smile.

Before I could say or ask anything further, the real Jessy Fernandez came forward, helped me with my baggage and led me out.

“ Have you made arrangements to go home or shall I take you in my car?”, I know I am answering to Jessy's queries but my mind is in fact wandering in our good old days. Jessy called the driver and we made our way to home, though it's just an abandoned house now. On the way Jessy didn't speak a word, perhaps she didn't want the driver to hear our private conversation and me overwhelmed with wonder and guilt, didn’t know where to start.

The last pleasant memory with Jessy was our journey to Thiheli. It was almost eleven years ago, when I had a camp there as a part of our Tribal Research Project.

I and Jessy were neighbours at Wilzar. Though she was younger than me for a few years, she seemed to be more matured and spontaneous. We had in fact nothing in common, yet we had a clear understanding of our differences which helped us mutually to get along. When I talked about my research project, it was she who suggested that she could accompany me and reside at her aunt's until my camp would be over and return together. It was the journey we looked forward. Then on one fine morning we packed our stuff and took the train to Thiheli. Thiheli was actually the last stop and Jessy had planned to get off at the very station before it. Midway there was a great waterfall at sight, the train usually halts there for half an hour. We had collected all the details. It doesn't matter where you are going if you are accompanied with someone with great energy and excitement. Jessy was that pure soul that could feel for every moment she lived. She can be really happy if you give her a nice compliment and she could easily cry if you just rise your voice. But she can lift you up literally and figuratively and take your breath away with her talent.

We had been planning for this for a while, had booked the tickets, arrived at the station early and occupied window seats. Jessy had another motive behind her excitement. She was all set to become a doctor, had cleared all the formalities of joining the course and it would start the next month. So it was the last journey she could endeavour before entering the hectic life of a medical student. All the way along the journey she conveyed her wish to go with me to the camp which was practically not possible. Then she would add that once she become a doctor she will have a camp at Thiheli exclusively for the tribal people.

The train wasn’t crowded that day. Many seats were vacant and others looked like regular passengers occupying their own seats. It was only two of us in our couch. While we were busy chatting our insignificant issues, we lost track of time. Our discussion was mainly on Uncle Ben whose house was luckily placed between our houses. We had nicknamed him Humpty Dumpty and had developed a sound dislike mutually. He just couldn’t stand us talking across the fences. Even if we were silently gesturing  at each other, he used to feel offended and we really hated how he explained to our parents about our “nuisance”. Amidst our heated discussions Jessy gave me a piece of cheese cake. She had only two pieces with her of moderate size. We took it mouthful so that we could finish it off faster and continue our discussion. Meanwhile a man in baggy dress appeared from nowhere and asked Jessy if she would let him have her seat. The problem was our mouths were full and we couldn’t speak a word but Jessy moved without hesitation. I particularly found that offensive. Why did he want her seat provided  there were many vacant seats in the train? That was the only thing I never like about Jessy. She could never say “no” to anyone. She could stand before a big crowd and give a spectacular speech but never a word for herself.

The man who looked like a typical vagabond was not interested in a conversation with us. He perhaps saw us as amateur travellers who didn’t even know how to eat in a moving train or guard one's own seat. However, Jessy tried initiating a conversation with him several times of all he disapproved the progress by giving single syllabic replies. For me, why would I want to talk to someone who takes strangers for granted and sweeps into their seats? The intrusion of the Vagabond ruined our fun.

Alas! I could recollect all those moments as if they had happened yesterday. As it is said “You cannot have too much of a good thing”. The man didn’t leave until we reached Thiheli. Jessy had got off at the previous station. I went to our camp hoping to have more fun way back home. But after two days I received a message from Jessy that she was leaving for home as her father was taken to the hospital seriously ill. Three days later, mom called me to inform about Mr. Fernandez's sudden demise. I wanted to be with Jessy at that time but leaving the camp would mean my hard work of a whole year be despised. How could I have done that!?

Once I reached back home I paid a visit to Jessy’s home with my mom. I actually wanted to hug her. But things were not as expected as it would have been, they were making arrangements to shift their residence to their hometown. They had come here for the sake of Mr. Fernandez's job and now they were no more. The whole neighbourhood had fit into their home which prevented me and Jessy to have a private talk. That was the last time I saw her.

I have never seen or heard about her in the last decade. I wonder how she got track of me and how she had come all planned to pick me at the station. Or was it just a coincidence? Guilt overpours in me on the thought that I haven't even made an attempt to know about her all this time. I didn't know why but perhaps I felt an unbearable change in her that made a fatal distance between us. But now she seems to be the same Jessy I had known and loved.

What she might be doing now? Must have become a successful doctor. May be she owns her own hospital. Has she made that medical camp in Thiheli? What would be her specialization? Did I see the sign on the car? Why am I struggling with these questions in my head? She is right before me. I could just ask her.

Once we reached home, we had a delighted homemade lunch she had arranged and an open conversation. She started by saying how she came to know about my visit. Last week, she had come here after seeing an ad on her previous home set for sale. She hoped to buy that but her husband being more practical found no gain on that move unless one chooses to live in the past which is not appreciated.  But the visit let her see the maid my mom had kept in charge of cleaning the house. Jessy took this chance and learned about my arrival and has been preparing for it since. She vividly explained how she rushed through her works, especially when there were more to do for a Senior HR Manager during the end of the month. Yes, she has become the HR Manager of the Company owned and operated by her in laws. I very much wanted to ask why she gave up her medical career and chose this profession, but it seems too late and she has been justifying her decision from the very beginning. I know she has the potential to work in any field but when your profession is not your passion, you are trapped in that life. At least that’s what I do believe. Jessy had taken her daughter to her mother’s and done with all the urgent matters that may pop up anytime this week which means the whole evening she is free to talk to me. Indeed we have many things to discuss.

Soon she received a phone call from her husband informing her that there is an urgent meeting with a client which she has to attend on his behalf. We had only just started our talk hoping to have the whole evening. Nevertheless, Jessy had to leave and unknown of her presence here I had already made plans for tomorrow. Waving good bye at her, the thought weighed heavy on my chest “ Will she ever say ‘no'?!”