Little Gestures

Another, more recent one :)

Three years of college life have taught me more than I can ever pen down. From participating in inter-college fests to raising sponsorships in my college, I was doing it all. Since I was getting the exposure for the first time in my life, I was very excited about it.  Academics were conveniently pushed to the background. Somehow, with all the activity around, I was also learning how to be less and less considerate of people around me. For instance, I would be absent for lectures unnecessarily, and would not bother to inform my teachers about it. Words like thank-you and please, which I took for granted from others, were slowly vanishing from my vocabulary.

This incident happened when we were having the last few classes, before our college life ended. Every student loathes these “extra” classes. I chose to stay away from these, except for the classes of our HOD, whom I completely adored. I would slip out of the class after he finished his lecture, and did not bother to attend a single class of the guest lecturer who was requested to teach us for some time.

That day my friend was urging me to attend the guest faculty’s lectures, as the attendance in her classes was low. My friend thought it was rude of students to walk out on her, more so because she was not from our college. I remember what I had said – “It isn’t solely my responsibility. I cannot sit through the two-hour sessions when I don’t feel like”. Then, our HOD entered.  He talked about the low attendance in the other professor’s class, and suddenly shot questions at me. He asked if I had attended her class. I had not. He remembered that I had attended his last class, which was right before the other one. Damn.

He did not yell at me. He did not insult me or throw me out of the class. He simply said this was not what he was trying to teach us for three years and that there was more to education than mere academics. Suddenly, it hurt. It had not hurt when he had bullied me into apologizing to my teachers a few days earlier. However, it did hurt today. It made me confront myself, rather shockingly. I was forced to face the person me, instead of the girl who actively participated in college activities. I realized that I had stopping making those little gestures of courtesy long ago.

A small incident affected me deep inside for some reason that I am still trying to figure out. I still do not know why I felt the way I did. Probably because it was said in front of the whole class. Probably because it was that particular professor who said that. However, I know that I have learnt the importance of that one single word – courtesy. Thank you sir, for reminding me that learning isn’t only about specific subjects. For teaching me that being a better person counts more than being more accomplished.

That reminds me that I smiled and said a genuine “thank you” to the guard who held the door for me this morning. A second thank you was said silently, to my teacher.

Amélie

Ya ya, I AM that vella (well, useless). I ain't got nothing much to do, so I while away my time blogging, or watching movies. But at least watch decent ones. The latest one is Amelie directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, that I saw this afternoon.

Forbidden by crazy parents to socialize, Amelie grew up in solitude. As she grew up, she left her home to work as a waitress. No life, or aspirations. Then one day, the discovery of a small hidden treasure adds spice to her rather bland journey, and changes her life forever.

I wont divulge the story much, it'll take away all the fun. But there is loads about the movie that I liked. First, the brilliant montages. The bold colours - From the blood red bedroom walls to the funfair spirit- save the scene from becoming droopy. And the brilliant special effects - the pumping of her heart and her splashing down on the floor like water (literally!) has been creatively implemented.

The undercurrents of ironies make the context even more richer. Living among cranky parents and later with people with their own eccentricities, Amelie is the odd one out as she is sane. And the interweaving of sensitiveness and insensitivity is also very beautiful.

Andre Tautou with her flawless face delivers a smashing performance. An absolute must watch!

Laxmi

There are a lot of faces that we've grown up seeing. We don't even consider them a part of our lives. Or miss them when they suddenly disappear. This is about one such face, that I haven't seen in a long time.

Cut to childhood memories in Calcutta - the place that I was born and brought up in. In those days, dad used to have a flourishing business of cotton saree wholesaling. Since sarees would be packed into bundles to be delivered, every businessperson would have a 'mutiah' or hired labourer, who'd pack the bundles and get them loaded onto a vehicle. Laxmi did this for us.

He was tall, well-built and very dark skinned. The tan on his skin probably came from toiling in the sun. He has dark hair, and kept a trimmed moustache that ended into his beard. I remember him wearing a white vest and a sarong-like local garment all the time.

Apart from work at dad's office, he'd also be there when someone was going out and the luggage had to be dropped till the railway station. That was generally when all of us would take an early morning train during summer vacations, to visit my mom's parents in Delhi. My younger brother, who'd act all grown up then, would rush to call him (he stayed at a stone's throw from our place). And then he'd come in the next five mins, explaining how he'd been cooking his meal then. I often wondered what did his place look like, and whether he even had a roof upon his head. I used to picture him sitting in the open with a primitive stove, with a vessel in which bitter gourd simmered; how he'd rush when my brother called upon him unexpectedly, and how his food would be charcoal black by the time he returned (he'd have forgotten to turn the stove off in haste!)

And then there were the family marriages and other occasions where Laxmi would be the first one to get up and the last one to rest. He would make sure none of the other guys who were called for help were lazying about. On one occasion I heard him telling my grandpa that he should stop hiring the regular cook for such occasions - the guy often soured the milk with lemon juice so that he didn't have to make tea for guests. At the end of all celebrations, grandpa would generally give him some extra money and ask him if he wanted any more. He never said yes.

My younger brother once told me that he was graduate, with an arts degree. And that he was forced to work as a petty labourer as there were no jobs. And of course, time slipped away...

It's been ages since I've seen him or heard about him. I'm not sure if I miss him.