Branding & Beyond

Most of her childhood, adolescence and even the retreating youth of life have posed ‘No’ in various forms. She was a support member in her family business when her friends still enjoyed playing in the dusty lanes of their semi-slum. The road side shanty which sold dinner plates hosted on the public road with a few more of its kind was the last in queue of semi-build shops. The government land was occupied in an un-ceremonial way and she referred that shanty as “Our Shop”, oblivion of the fuzzy knots of privately holding a public real estate.
She was lazy but very hard working. Indeed a strange combination of weakness and strength! Years of association made me feel her sluggish movements were a result of mal-nutrition from her tender age. Her notion that my corporate world was full of foreign languages and that made our world smarter, probed her to impromptu speak out a few English words in disjoint pattern during our short interactions. With time she was grammar perfect. She was a shy learner and a hands dirty executor.

Her struggling life had a variety of emotion from lost father, ailing brother, nagging mother, uncompromising sister-in-law, jealous sisters, sly brother-in-law and an innocent nephew. … And above all was her “Shop”. Her customers ranged from apartment owners whose cook may have skipped, bachelors who would like to make dinner cheap, students who would like to pick up a quick plate of food back from late tuition classes, local party office men who may have gathered for a cause to rickshaw pullers who would like to end the day, customer who can’t afford to have the costly plate in the next shop which had a free portable television on display and some more…

When stray dogs fought and their shrill weird barking proclaimed the last drunker is tracing his way back home, the shop would have had its last customer pay its bill. She would zip in the few notes and jiggle coins in an old sock which had lost its pair. This was her bank which offered no interest. She had no hurry to close the shop. Even on chill winter nights she would take the stale plates to the nearby water space. On full moon nights she watched the shadows in the water while ashing out the oil grease. The tall palm tree stood by her on moonless night too.

Every interaction with her had a new way of thought a business persona more real than the management books. Meet her once more yesterday. Stopped by to exchange a few notes! The same dark face painted with natural glow of smile. A sense of respect always translated in her communication. She knew I patronized her business innovations and had once been her Santa to open up a saving bank account for her. She had a secured pair of socks that Christmas on. What she never knew was she inspired me as she was learned though not literate. I meet the opposite composition very often in society.

This year she had bid farewell to her terminally ill brother. Saw the dotting nephew lingering around her to give her a tender supporting hand. The meeting was so sudden that had not much to offer. Cold numb afternoon started on a creamy soft note.

- “How are you?”
- “Good Didi! How are you?” I kept wondering how with so much to crib and grief one can offer a free smile and claim to be good. Was feeling uneasy as to have nothing for her on an eve of celebration. Her nephew came running behind.
He kept starring at me with so much to say but too young to spell. He was wrapped in a colorful hand knit woolen garment. He hold on to a pair of red socks with Santa Claus engraved on it. Some compassionate person may have given him this Christmas.
- “So how is your shop doing?” I had to turn the communication to my comfort corner with light weight vested interest to learn one more new tip.

- “Didi, times are changing, every day value of money is falling.. Have got some interest from the bank, thinking of buying a new mobile…Customers prefer to order by SMS.”
- “That’s great! Mobile ordering”, it sounded so interesting.
- “Need your help to select me a mobile model. I have a budget of two thousand.”

She sounded so technical. I hear these days in - day out but the presentation was so simple and natural that I felt like hearing her some more.
- “Come down to my place, we would work out one for you.” I changed the subject to make it more personal and continued with ease – “So how is your boy-friend? When are you getting married?”
One more smile. Even smile can say so much. She took a pause to compose and carried on –
- “He got married Didi. I had to make a choice. I choose “My Shop”. She held on to the soft nimble fingers of her nephew and looked at me with immense confidence which had no regret.”

Cold empathy engulfed my anatomy. This is how she cut a long story short.…I gathered courage to give my share of warmth. Took out a 100 rupee and pushed it in her hand with the soft request.
- “Buy you nephew something that he likes this Christmas. Have nothing for you for the day.”
Looked at her with flawless care, assuming that I had done what I should. She hold on to my hands and with a painful urge for unknown she said – “Didi, do you still write?”
I was awestruck and gave a shy smile back unsure of the cause of the quest.

- “Pen a story on me! Nobody knows my story but I want to tell many!!”
Back home I opened up my closed story pad once more…Her story is larger than life, just tried to be a Santa to her once more and fill a big wish in a small way!!

Gyan #37 - Your orbit is big enough to spread ripples.

Black Beauty

Valentine season was very compact at personal end, too many events and association. Yet before spring calls it off, jump started typing …

I used to call her ‘Bou’. In my mother-tongue it means married woman specially a newlywed woman. But for me Bou, was a proper noun rather than a common noun. She was dark in complexion, unassuming in looks, had a pair of bronze bangles which hardly had any glitter left, cheap earrings which hanged from ear lope holes which were unwantedly big. My visual sense always prompted that the color of her saree was invariably a mismatch. She was the first women in my life whom I have seen smoking so closely.

She had a family to support. She was the second wife to a man who had three children all from his first wife, which I came to know when she was no more around us and her soul was resting in peace. Her forehead used to be smeared with sindoor and the other asset of beauty was her brilliant white teeth.

Bou was my adult friend in childhood days. Holding on to her hands I had walked down the roadside mom & pop shops to buy bakery products. Her six senses knew my urge to buy colored chalks or marbles with the balance paisa.

Our community knew her as our family maid, but Bou was my childhood icon. Except for her smoking habits, I loved the complete package named Bou. She was a wife with open outlook, a working mother, a faithful employee. With time she introduced her next heir to my family and one morning I realized Bou has retired. Her frequency of visit became monthly and with age yearly. She climbed her journey of life from mother to mother-in-law, to grandmother and then …

I was in mid teens and was on toes preparing for board exams. One such spring noon returned from school to see Bou, sitting on our verandah and sobbing. Empathy was overflowing to see Bou with a clean forehead proclaiming she was a widow. I was growing and some odd rituals were sipping in the system. I rushed back to my room and brought back the glass jar of Horlicks – it had my collections of colored marbles. She hugged me and smiled for a change. The ageless friendship was as unique as the colored marble jar.

Years passed! I was stepping out of my town to embrace the big world and be better educated. Bou came to wish me for my journey ahead. She had hold on to my hand. Her rustic hands were very hard and her eyes had aspiration that she wanted me to achieve. Her wish list had hard and soft touch. We never meet again.

In this world of ours many such Bou, help build the society we live. On eve of International Woman’s day a heartfelt gratitude to all such women who nurture kids in their nuclear homes for the world of tomorrow.

Gyan #27 - Enjoy the bliss if you are a woman, if not hold her hands to be blissed.