I Swear I’ll Never Be That

I was sitting on the computer, well Facebook to be precise, and ‘liking’ random pages just
because I was too bored to walk to the other room and pick up the new book that I’d bought to
read. Not to mention the October heat was adding to the sleepiness that I was already feeling.
Some of the random pages that I was liking were ‘I hate it when my internet stops working’,
‘coughing when your best friend’s crush passes by’ and ‘sometimes people change into the
people they swore they’d never be’. Just some random pages having no meaning other than
that I have in some or the other time identified myself with that situation or have gone through
it or it’s just plain funny that something like that could happen.

Then I switch off the computer and forget all about it. The next day I was on my way to d
college to attend a meeting. I sat in the train when the person to whom I’d reserved the seat
got up. After a few stations a girl came in the compartment selling flowers and garlands. A
distant memory started swirling in my mind when I saw the flowers. I remembered a younger
me, about 9 years old. Morning 6 am I would get up and take a bag with me and go to the tree
opposite my building. One by one I’d pluck the flowers out of it, trying my best to reach to the
ones on the top. When my bag would be full and I’d be happy that I could make a huge garland
out of it I’d come up again.

It happened for a few days until the fad wore off on me and I felt it was a pain to do it every
day. There were even times when I wouldn’t wake up at that time and by the time I would go to
my window and see the tree would already have been stripped of its white flowers. They
weren’t exactly pretty, but I really liked them because they were the only flowers we had near
my area; 5 petals about an inch long each.

Then I’d come home and start inserting a threaded needle into them. My granny used to
teach me to do it in a certain way but I was too adamant so I did it the way I liked it. Her idea
was to round it around the stalk and tie a knot. Other than the fact that it would take me hours
to do that and that it sounded too difficult I’d just use my method. I’d insert the needle through
the centre of the petals and into the stalk and pull it out of the other end. One by one the
flowers got attached with one another and I’d have my garland.

I’d be very careful to see that I’d insert it exactly in the middle of the stalk and not tear it in
any part because I didn’t like the flowers to go waste and I wouldn’t use the flower if it tore. But
it wasn’t always like that. Sometimes my hand would just slip and the needle would tear the
tender stalk and I’d feel the wastage of one flower. But I wouldn’t throw them away. Instead I’d
just decorate the ‘mandir’* with the leftover flowers.
 The train halted at the next station as I came back to the present heat of the day and the girl
who had gotten off with her basket of garlands probably off to the next train to some other
destination. It made me realize that the garland incident wasn’t much different than a part of
my own life. I always say that I’m a frank person, that I don’t hide things, that I would say it in
your face. Recently, I realized it’s not always like that. I’d been interpreting ‘being frank’ in a
completely different way. I’d always thought that being frank meant to say it to someone’s face
‘I think you look bad in that dress’ if you thought he/she did. I never once realized that I didn’t
follow this policy of mine.

I was never the person to tell something like that to a person. Well, mainly because I’d never
had to face such a hardcore situation, but the few times when I had to criticize someone I never
said it directly. Sure, I made my point, but in a very gently way so that the person gets the point
at the same time isn’t hurt by it; like serving chilies on a plate with honey on them. Isn’t it very
similar to the way I handled the flowers when I was young? Maybe I was just accepting an idea
of someone’s as mine even though my mind wasn’t eager to follow it and my conscience was
finding out ways to put it out to be just as subtly as I put it out to others.

Then I thought if my idea of being frank was wrong. Something told me no, I was not. In the
end what mattered was that I tell the person the truth be it in the face or hidden by a mask, as
long as the person got it. Then again, I was not a blunt person to hurt someone’s feelings by
throwing hot coal on their faces. If I did that then I’d feel the steam on my face too wouldn’t I?

I still call myself a frank person with just the distinction that I wasn’t a sharp person. Maybe
I’d call myself a smooth talker? Then I remembered the page that I’d liked on Facebook,
‘sometimes people turn into the people they swore they’d never be’, I thought maybe they
don’t realize that they’ve changed or maybe they’ve just had the wrong perspective till then,
like I did. Either ways there may be more to people than meets the eye and sometimes you get
to know them in the weirdest of situations.

Note: - *mandir- small place in the kitchen where we keep all the gods and goddesses and
worship them.

-Vishaka Chakrapani

14/11/2010.