Intimacy

(My very first stab at fiction)

They met at a party, and initially seemed to have little to say to one another. He, the reluctant scion of a large and burgeoning business empire operating largely in the shadow economy, whilst she was the star child of an elite family of the city’s intelligentsia. But, bored by the social dynamics of the evening and encouraged by a couple of glasses of wine, they eventually sought each other out and struck up a conversation. Despite the stark contrasts in their background, they soon realised that they were very similar in their reserved, sensitive outlooks to life.

They had been going out for a little over a week, and were still getting acquainted with each other. Everything was charming, quaint and compelling. Patiently they explored each other with ceaseless interest and fascination – spending hours talking, reminiscing and discussing. The little time spent away from each other was endured impatiently, counting the moments till they were together again. In each other they found a mirror image of themselves, and they proceeded to gently unfurl and air their deepest, most intimate thoughts.

On the day, they had only just returned from a long walk together. Hand-in-hand, they walked towards the house in the cold – her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. They had barely said a word to each other, and yet the air around them was crackling with the unspoken connection between them. He was content and fulfilled. He looked across at her and smiled serenely. Warming to his glance, she wondered idly how long it would be, before their relationship also lost this magical quality and became mundane.

“It cannot always stay this wonderful,” she reminded herself silently. “Real life must come knocking some time soon.”

Boisterous sounds filled the air, as they waited for the door to open. His friends were carrying on a lively discussion as they awaited his return.

“… called to say that he cannot make the dead line this month. This is the second time this year. We need to deal with it,” one of them was saying – his beefy face flushed with irritation.

“I say we put up a fight. It will send out a clear message. What do you say?” said the other friend, turning to ask him for his opinion.

He let go of her hand and stroked his chin thoughtfully. With a sense of ease, he seated himself in the centre of his friends. She hung back and watched him awkwardly – unable to identify with the group.

“I agree”, he said. “We need to nip this in the bud. Why don’t we…”

With an almost morbid fascination, she watched him negotiate what could only be the regular business proceedings for the day. He radiated a sense of raw power. It was a far cry from her sophisticated world of books, music and theatre. It was a far cry from the person she thought he was.

A million sorry thoughts flooded her downcast mind. Someone spouted a string of expletives amid jeering laughter. She gradually retreated from the room. He was wrapping up the discussion firmly when his eyes sought her out.

Reaching for her silently, he threaded his fingers through hers. A happy smile broke out on his face as he looked at her.

“So, do you want to take a stroll down to the river and watch the sun dip?” he queried tenderly.

In spite of herself, she warmed up. A swarm of nesting birds kicked up a fuss in the trees outside. It was going to be a mellow sunset

Sister Act!

 

The ya-ya sisterhood!

For those of you who did not know it – my baby sister has been visiting me from India. After months of planning, debating, negotiating and stressing, she finally made it across the Pacific to see me! With barely suppressed excitement, we proceeded to explore Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne and the Gold Coast – and also each other, as adults and siblings. Like opposites, we tend to have varying personalities and outlooks to life – often surprising people with our individuality.

I have often taken the time to get to know friends, colleagues and cousins better – but it was most intriguing to watch the adult personality of my sister unfurl and make itself known to me. And there is no better way than on a fun packed three weeks of travel and adventure!

What follow are some random tit bits, situations and observations from our trip.

 

The over friendly Aussie

Having lived in Brisbane for a year now, I have become immunized to the somewhat over friendly species of Australians. But Smriti definitely was not prepared for it. I found it amusing to see Sydney from her eyes. It was rather early in the morning, when we stepped into McDonald’s for a brisk breakfast, before we were to be whisked off to the Blue Mountains. Groggy and shivering, we carried on a halfhearted conversation about cultural differences between India and Australia, as we dove into a stack of pancakes and coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

A Pancake breakfast!

 

Finally though, it was time for the tour van to collect us. Gathering our belongings, we walked out and were accosted by a lanky Australian, entering the fast food joint.

With a gleam in his eye, he hailed me down. Smriti, unused to talking to strangers, stiffened and walked on. I slowed down.

“Will I get Chinese or Indian takeaway here?” he asked me with a straight face at six am in the morning.

He winked, making me laugh as I joined my sister. She was incredulous.

“So he was kidding right?”

I nodded and she fell silent contemplating.

“You know, that is why these people need travel advice from their governments when they come to India”, she burst out.

I looked at her quizzically.

“I used to think that the governments are paranoid, when I heard of the travel advice they issue to their citizens. But now I realize, that they really do need it. They are so trusting and over friendly – they would never survive in the hustle of India”.

I only smiled and nodded, thinking about her vehement outburst. Is it not strange, that while we are an extremely close knit, gregarious society, we Indians are so suspicious of a stranger? Some call it self-preservation or sanity; I am beginning to believe it is alienation.

Number Chomper

It was pretty late at night when we finally made it into our modest little hotel on Flinders Street in Melbourne – not wanting to splurge excessively on a taxi, we decided to trudge the 15 minute walk, pulling on our trolley bags behind us.  Understandably, Smriti looked like death, as she half slept on the couch in the foyer, while waiting for me to check in. The receptionist was an Aussie student of Indian origin – and it just was not his day. We waited patiently for a quarter of an hour for his computer to boot, silently counted minutes of lost sleep while he looked unsuccessfully for his missing keys and thanked our stars when he was ready to accept my card for a payment.

When I looked at the amount he had charged my card though… I did a double take. It was twice the amount I had mentally calculated. Trying hard not to sound accusing or impatient, I gently reasoned the calculations with him. After another painful ten minutes of sums in his head and in the air, he finally realized his error.  Wanting to shift the attention away from his arithmetic blooper, I asked him what he was studying at uni.

“Oh I’m doing my Ph.D.” he said, battling away with the check-in process simultaneously. 

“Is that right?” I responded. “In which field?”

“Pure Math”, he admitted, sheepishly. 

Smriti and I looked at each other across the foyer and she wordlessly rolled her eyes. Oh well, life’s like that, I guess!

The Chill Factor

When I booked the snow trip to Mt. Buller, I was not yet mentally prepared for the sub-zero temperatures that we were about to encounter. Even when we donned the penguin like boots and the snow pants and jacket (hired at the insistence of our bus driver – who said we might get hypothermia if we were not equipped), it did not sink in.

Sub Zero temperatures!

 

But it was rather hard to ignore the biting -3⁰C temperature when we stepped out of the warm heated bus, into the central square of the alpine village. Visibility was poor, and our feet sank into the snow as we shivered fearfully. It was like being lost in an Arctic snowstorm.

Smriti was indignant and NOT amused! 

“I am a tropical animal”, she stated, as she sank into yet another pile of snow. “I am not made for such drastic cold.”

I laughed, my teeth chattering. 

“I’m serious. It’s like taking a camel out of the desert and putting it in the snow and ice,” she insisted.

 

Picture Perfect

I thought about it miserably, ruminating a wrong choice of itinerary, as we finally found the snow lift to the bottom of the mountain and perched ourselves onto it. Beautiful snow glazed foliage and ice stalagmites sailed past us as we started moving downhill. Silently we took in the beauty of the moment.

An avid photographer, Smriti slowly uncapped her camera lens and started to capture the picturesque scene. As the snow lift neared its end, we alit slowly. 

With cheeks flushed and cold forgotten, my sister looked at me eagerly.

“So shall we go try our hands at snow-tubing next?”

Smriti snow-tubing!