Girl, interrupted

It is nine in the morning, on a crisp, cold winter day in Brisbane. The office is warm, soothing and inviting – complete with its ambient music, perfect temperature and piles of eclectic reading material. I check for the coffee urn, stack up some fresh cups, fill up the earthenware water filter and put out some wiped glasses. The bowl is filled with candy and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air as I make my first cup for the day. I always love being the first one in at work, so I can have the place to myself. In a few short hours it will be milling with psychologists, clients who sit nervous and withdrawn before appointments and sniffling to regain their composure after. But right now, it has the serenity of an oasis.

Soon after, P’s first client walks in. A very pretty, blonde girl, she hardly looks like the mother of three that she is. I gaze at her in astonishment. Her appointment is not for another forty-five minutes.

“Hi there M”, I greeted her. “You’re nice and early.”

“Oh, I just needed some peace and quiet”, she smiled at me wanly. “I know I’m early, but may I just sit here?”

“But of course”, I hastened to reassure her. “It’s lovely to have you here. Can I get you a cup of green tea.”

She just smiled gratefully in return – her face looking tired and worn. I had gleaned from our past interactions that she was in fact two years younger than me, and the stepmother of three. She evidently had her hands full.

“You look very tired. Have you been unwell?” I asked, as I handed her a steaming cup of tisane.

Too my utter horror, her eyes fill up as she answers me.

“There is just too much going on. It’s too hard. I must work from home, my computer does not function and my partner has little consideration….”

I looked at her with rapidly increasing trepidation, as she started to detail her problems. We had very strict instructions, to never engage our clients in any specific personal interaction. Their problems were for discussing with their psychologists. We only had general, safe, friendly conversations. I wondered how to gently maneuver her away from the conversation, while we waited for P to come in.

“You know, you really out to have a coffee then – there’s nothing like a caffeine shot to pep you up”.

She tried to look interested.

“Oh really?” she replied weakly.

To which I answered, “Definitely. P is so hooked on to it, he was practically glued to his cup while he interviewed me.”

 “When he interviewed you? When was that?” Her interest was piqued.

“Oh about half a year back. He turned up late, so I was standing outside a locked office. He then proceeded to blame his tardiness on his ‘pussy’ that had planted a scratch on his leather satchel.”

I think she could picture P, hopelessly late. She started to giggle.

“And then he interviewed me in the coffee shop with his sun glasses on the whole time. Mid way through his coffee, it dawned on him that he should be making notes.”

Her face lit up with amusement now. The tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheeks were long gone.

“So he pulled out a note book and tried to write a few words. But it was too hard for him, so he glared at his pen in resignation and put it down.”

“So did he not write anything?” she piped in.

“Oh but he did”, I responded. “He wrote – ‘from India’. Then he ditched the effort.”

She was squealing with laughter now – so hard, that the green tea spilled on her dress. We were giggling and mopping it up when P finally walked into the office. He peered from M to me, like a confused hen, trying to decode the secret behind our merriment. Eventually, he escorted her into his consult room and things quietened down.

Much later after M had paid for her visit and left, P came and sat with me. His silence worried me. I hoped that he was not upset by my regaling M with his silly antics. He had a professional image to live up to. I apologised fearfully.

“Shrooootteee, I am not upset – I trust you implicitly. You did the right thing. M was feeling really vulnerable and raw today. You helped distract her, and uplift her.”

“Really?”

 “Oh yes. Is it not amazing, that we have the potency to improve people’s lives? And its not just our clients, but all the people who come in contact with them, that are impacted by what we do.”

 I had never thought about it like that. I have always love working for P – purely because of the supportive and happy environment he has created. But I have never reflected on the wonderful change we were bringing in the lives of our clients. And I was part of that change.

I got back to my weekly reconciliations with a warm fuzzy feeling. It started drizzling gentle rain drops outside.  

 

A dinner invite

There was no two ways about it – I was lonely. I was miles away from the crowds, the chatter, the open curiosity, concern and network of family and friends. It was a dull grey day, as I stepped off my Bowen Hills-bound train at the station. Even the beauty of the Brisbane river was unable to shake me out of my latest bout of homesickness and self pity. It was going to be a long, cold day.

I walked to university in the rain – wishing for the warm, torrential down pours of Bombay, longing for the crisp, newspaper wrapped kanda bhajji (savoury crisp onion rings) and a short glass of steaming, fragrant cutting chai. Even the little coffee shop with its aromas of freshly ground coffee could not wipe out the memory of a sip of hot, sweet cardamom scented tea. Heaving a gentle sigh, I prepared myself for a boring class amid strangers.

The ringing phone drew my attention away. I looked at its lit screen and rued about the fact that no one called me in Brisbane, except for the odd, short and snappy conversation. It was Rahul – a fellow Indian classmate, whom I had only just gotten to know, through a group assignment.

“Where have you been, Shruti?” he yelled into the phone – almost as if his volume was trying to compensate for the physical distance between us. His cheerful voice drew an instant smile from me.

“Nowhere. I’m just walking to class. Why?”

“Class? Oh no! And to think that I had made aloo paranthas. I wanted you and Dheeraj to come and try them”. Dheeraj is yet another Indian classmate – being a reserved person, I was yet to interact sufficiently with them.

“I really can’t miss class.” I tried to evade the invitation politely.

“Oh well. Fine. I’ll come and get you after class – You and Dheeraj can come home with me. I have made a whole stack of them. We really can’t be wasting good food.”

“But…But….”, I faltered, trying to counter him.

“No buts – I’ll ask Siddharth, Dimpy and a few more friends. We’ll have fun. You will like them”.

Oh well – I catapulted reasoning that a few minutes back, this was the very Indian quality that I was missing. I sat through class in anticipation of the wonderful home-cooked meal I was about to enjoy. Rahul and Dheeraj were waiting for me when I finished class. Together, we walked to the bus. I was suddenly peppy and enthused.

“Will we have aachar (pickle) and raita (yoghurt salad) as well?” I queried.

“We will have whatever you want”, Rahul replied magnanimously. “But first, tell me, how many potatoes I should boil for paranthas for six people?”

“Maybe about ten. But did you not say that everything was ready?” I queried suspiciously.

“Oh it’s all done”, he injected smoothly. “Its just that we have a few extra guests, and so my housemate is making up some more food and buying some more yoghurt.”

Appeased, I waited eagerly to get to his home. All prior loneliness was forgotten, as we babbled away in a cheerful mix of ‘Hinglish’; comforted by the language. Once we got to his house – a quaint Queenslander, things were suspiciously quiet.

“Right”, said Rahul, rolling up his sleeves. “Time to get to work. I’ll knead the dough, do you mind chopping the onions and the chillies?”

“But….but…. everything was meant to be ready. Now you want me to cook?”

“Only because there are more people coming than I anticipated.”

And so, I was helplessly cajoled into cooking up a storm for ten people. Rahul helped all he could. Different people – boys and girls, wandered in and out of the house – drawn by the news that there were to be aloo paranthas for dinner that night.

I was too busy trying to prevent the boys from scalding themselves, or burning the dinner, to mind. I felt like a schoolteacher with a bunch of impish children. Someone started some music and the atmosphere took on a festive quality.

I was pleased as punch with my cooking. These people would be so delighted with the home cooked meal!

“Did you not say that we would have raita?” someone asked.

“Oh yes I did. Well, where is it?” I responded. “Never mind. Don’t answer that, let me guess. I need to make that as well?”

The boys had the decency to look sheepish.

“No you don’t,” said one of them. “I’ll do it. All on my own. Er, what am I to do?”

Sighing I issued instructions, and watched with barely suppressed laughter as he burnt the jeera being roasted, forgot the seasoning and then added too much water to the yoghurt. Finally we managed to rescue the raita and salvage it to edible levels.

I can honestly say that the evening ended wonderfully – the aloo paranthas were some of the best I have ever tasted. We ended up sitting all night, chatting, singing and laughing.

And so, I was conned, kidnapped, made a bakra of and asked to cook for eight people – but I enjoyed every minute of it. Strange is it not? You can enjoy the quietness, the ease of travel, conveniences and everything abroad, but after some time you cannot help but miss home.

We Indians have a wonderful, inclusive, informal gregarious quality about us. No matter which corner of the world we are in, leaving someone to mope in a corner is not like us – we have to bring them out…even by making them cook!

What can I say… we are like this only!

Missing in Action

I know that I have used the excuse of exams ever so often – to attempt to justify the outdated content of my blog – but I’m afraid I have to use it once more. But having received one e-mail complaint too many about the site’s increasingly startling resemblance to Jurassic Park, in terms of current-ness, I have decided to take matters into my own hands.

Thanks to the miracle of Google talk and chat archives, I am enclosing an unadulterated extract of a chat with one of my girlfriends Carrol – I was meant to have been studying in the library when she pinged me. I just had to offload all my frustrations about the technical jargon used in the financial world. 

3:29 PM carrol: u home or ur still dying in uni

3:36 PM me: in uni

  Why???

 You coming as well to die with me? 

3:37 PM carrol: u wish

me: I am in the middle of trying to make sense of writes, puts, going short and long, bear spreads, bull runs, straddles and strangles. 

carrol: ?????????? 

me: don’t know about any one else – but I wish I could strangle myself 

carrol: hahhaha

  don’t worry

  just one more week

me: Yeah right. You try your hand at this stuff

carrol: no clue what ur talking about there though 

me: I’ll let you in on a secret….. 

3:38 PM carrol: what’s that

 me: ….even I have NO clue what I’m talking about

carrol: hahahhahah

Need I even have to say any more? I rest my case!