She walked into the prayer-hall meaningfully; the back stiff, holding her craning head firm, so that she could get a clear view of the hall. Seated on the floor were mortals of different colours and delineations; and she grudgingly worried if this is where she would be required to sit, as a ‘significant other’. Her scanning eyes did finally trace a not-so-crowded area; here she could snugly fit in with her largish Chanel tote, she thought. She raced towards her goal, and plonked herself definitively, keeping her fashionable tote cautiously right next to her. Still unsure, she acquainted her fidgety eyes to her surroundings – an elegant bangle here, or a refined silk there. The sparkling diamond ring on someone’s hand, or a smartphone gracing someone’s palm; minute cues, which gave her significant assurance, that she was after all surrounded by some who were distinctly in her league; though plenty in that hall, who still represented an unobtrusive category, just like the haggard lady and her teenage daughter, sitting behind her, draped in their diaphanous bright clothes.
The puja was yet to begin, and crowds were still milling into the prayer-hall, filling up the empty spaces like a game of musical-chairs in progress -- except that, the music which set the rhythm to this morning ambience was the lilting Suprabhaatam by M.S Subbulakshmi. Peace was evident on most faces; they tried to immerse themselves in the purity of the morning…with eyes closed. And then trudged along a pedestrian, a dusky lady, probably in her fifties, carrying a paltry bunch of four red-roses and a palm-sized pouch, a cheap velvet concoction in purple, it bore the name of the jeweller in white, which the lady gladly used as her purse. Having noticed the stylish tote from a distance, she made her way, to the area. She picked up the bright Chanel matter-of-factly, and sat down, then warmly handed over the pricey item to its owner next to her. Was it time for all hell to break loose – how could a petty pair of hands touch a Chanel, and one that has been kept so gingerly on the floor...the tote owner just failed to undertsand. Appalled, she firmly demanded an explanation as to why her pretty bag was removed. “Madam, your bag looks so expensive, you should be more careful about it and keep it close to you, lest it gets stolen!” replied the lady prosaically. Least expecting that unadorned answer, the tote owner bellowed angrily, “it’s heavy; I can’t keep it on my lap, for the entire ceremony.” “Madam you have come here to be part of a puja ceremony, to unload yourself of your worries…why have you brought along another headache?” came another unpretentious reaction from the very modest woman. Stunned at that plain-speaking from an ordinary woman, the over-bearing tote owner felt a sharp sting inside her heart that unsettled her to the core; and yet in that instant a realisation dawned inside her. Through the rest of the morning while the purifying Vedic chants rented the air, the tote owner spied glances at her humble neighbour, who was sitting there pleasantly, immersed in the prayers; while she argued the merits of her day’s experience inside her head – the effect of which was jolting, and its lesson taking time to percolate her being. Yet somewhere inside her that message had found roots, and it would only be a matter of time before she herself would espouse that very belief.
The puja was yet to begin, and crowds were still milling into the prayer-hall, filling up the empty spaces like a game of musical-chairs in progress -- except that, the music which set the rhythm to this morning ambience was the lilting Suprabhaatam by M.S Subbulakshmi. Peace was evident on most faces; they tried to immerse themselves in the purity of the morning…with eyes closed. And then trudged along a pedestrian, a dusky lady, probably in her fifties, carrying a paltry bunch of four red-roses and a palm-sized pouch, a cheap velvet concoction in purple, it bore the name of the jeweller in white, which the lady gladly used as her purse. Having noticed the stylish tote from a distance, she made her way, to the area. She picked up the bright Chanel matter-of-factly, and sat down, then warmly handed over the pricey item to its owner next to her. Was it time for all hell to break loose – how could a petty pair of hands touch a Chanel, and one that has been kept so gingerly on the floor...the tote owner just failed to undertsand. Appalled, she firmly demanded an explanation as to why her pretty bag was removed. “Madam, your bag looks so expensive, you should be more careful about it and keep it close to you, lest it gets stolen!” replied the lady prosaically. Least expecting that unadorned answer, the tote owner bellowed angrily, “it’s heavy; I can’t keep it on my lap, for the entire ceremony.” “Madam you have come here to be part of a puja ceremony, to unload yourself of your worries…why have you brought along another headache?” came another unpretentious reaction from the very modest woman. Stunned at that plain-speaking from an ordinary woman, the over-bearing tote owner felt a sharp sting inside her heart that unsettled her to the core; and yet in that instant a realisation dawned inside her. Through the rest of the morning while the purifying Vedic chants rented the air, the tote owner spied glances at her humble neighbour, who was sitting there pleasantly, immersed in the prayers; while she argued the merits of her day’s experience inside her head – the effect of which was jolting, and its lesson taking time to percolate her being. Yet somewhere inside her that message had found roots, and it would only be a matter of time before she herself would espouse that very belief.
1 comment:
Ur stories reveal so much about people's psychology. Thanks
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