Prelude: Several times in passing, I sometimes stop by a shepherd and watch him skillfully direct his flock, sometimes stop by the woman in the monastery and watch her weave wrist-gears, sometimes take a moment to giggle whenever I see women tactfully bargain, or even sit on the bench in the park during evenings, observing people, and their mood. “You’re such a lunatic! So anti-social!”, I get it all the time. All I do is simply smile it away; well honestly stating, I am too mean to ask others to get inside my head and steal my perspective! Every tree borne flutter seems to whisper stories into my ears. So, mostly when I’m unto myself, I’m basically adding prequels and sequels to the scarcely uttered, beautiful stories; and I sometimes take the liberty to play the hero myself and passively experience (I’d rather say re-experience) everything. Most of the stories, I scribble for my own delight; while the others, I share with you.
Well, no matter how much pride people seem to take in being an Indian, we all agree that the inherent conservativeness does show, on one or the other occasion. If not, I’m pretty sure did seven years back. I still remember the old couple from my neighborhood. The man was tall, had broad shoulders, but frankly stating, I don’t quite remember his facial contours, only a prominently stretched mustache extending beyond his face. The woman, I never really saw her face because she mostly had her dupatta arched over it, but she clearly had a sweet voice. I never actually saw them talking. The old man usually sat on his chair and read the newspaper all day, whilst the lady spent hours working in the kitchen and rearing their only livestock. No wonder, I watched a routine set of events each day.
The husband was once away for a couple of months to stay with their only son. So he went, and the sparse parleys seemed to have ended; just when one fine day I heard the lady calling me. I rushed to her. She held some mismanaged documents that she intended to mail to her son. So, I was supposed to seal the envelope and scribble the address on it. I was almost done, the only thing left to write was her husband’s name, which supposedly her son used to mention in his complete address. I asked her to tell me her husband’s name. Heavens! She intensely blushed for an instant, rushed inside and got a document that had his name on it. It came out to be that she wasn’t allowed to speak out her husband’s name, so she got me the document instead. I am usually agitated when I witness typical conservativeness, but that was different, that was cute!