Strangers over a Dosa

Bincy’s alight into the metro city hasn’t been a smooth transition. Kochi demanded more than what she had, her strength, both physical and mental. Even she wasn’t aware of what the city had in hold for her.

Always, life demanded something heavily from her. Once it was her loneliness, then a breakup, and when she finally gathered her senses, her parents sworn to their duty to marry her off. She was a good human, a kind heart. So, every time she visits home she hurries back, not to come back but only to not stay.

Why would anyone want to give her away? The wit’s demise in the hold of culture has been a debate that never had an end. Inside the bus under the scorching sun, the passing wind lifted her hair a little. The curls danced on the window pane as she held her head high hoping for better challenges, maybe easier ones.

Other than the soothing melody that hummed through her earphones and into her lament thoughts, she was so out of company. The driver was busy driving of course, and the conductor had his hands full with old currency notes, a whistle and a watch in which he continuously rested his eyes. Maybe he was late. For a brunch with his partner or maybe for another trip on the road.

She envied his paid nomadic life, but she couldn’t run down the same path again and again. It would deprive her off the new possibilities. She had an 11 to 8 job with no regular holidays, she knew the hardship. Slowly, she rested her head on the window sill, slightly caressed by the sunrays that skimmed through the pale clouds.

From the bus station, she switched to another one, which run locally through the city. It took her closer to her hostel. A room where she was not welcome by showering love, homely food and a bunch of proposals. Here, she faced nothing, a calmness in the loneliness.

Nothing dramatic to increase her anxiety. Not the faces of strangers who would ask her if she knew cooking, whether she would wash their family’s laundry. She was this close to discuss the salary package with the probable grooms sarcastically but didn’t. And just smiled helplessly like all bound women did, for ages since.

A bell intruded into her thoughts and the bus halted at a familiar place for her. Now her legs had to carry her, no more wheels. The sun was settling into the noon. Her hunger building up. But, she had luggage to unpack and some weights from home to put down. She is far from there.

Her experiences with traveling were very less and this constituted to her broken compass in her brain. She struggled with directions and in the heart of the town in Kochi, where everywhere looks like everywhere else, she had zero idea as to how to go, alone.

Gathering her courage, she set forward like Columbus and ended up in the wrong alley, just like Columbus. Unlike him, she didn’t find a new land. She just walked back the other direction.

This time, she reached her hostel.

She had very little time to settle down. Mondays are bluer than clear skies. It’s the start of another work week and meetings would start earlier than usual. She had little time to dwell in the tiredness of the travel. She searched for her wallet from the big bag and set foot to the nearest restaurant.

Brindavan had turned out to be a comfort place for her in her hard times in Kochi. Not just for her, her close circle. She always gave away the wisdom of eating good food when in sorrow. She says it will boost up the mind’s state to better thoughts, a relaxation. A short escape from the harsh realities of life that pinned you down and suffocated you, this I said not her. She speaks normal, like a normal person. But she speaks a lot.

Form being an introverted person to creating small circles of friends, and to hugging and meeting new friends from far, she grew. Like an uncut tree spreading its branches for birds to rest. She made herself a retreat, a place for others to find the calm she had been missing. Bincy turned out to be good for her friends, and Tessa turned out as a savior for her.

Tessa was her niece, her sister’s daughter, but for her, own daughter, an angel weighing lesser than her troubles. She practically raised her as her own giving up sleep and food. There is never a day that passes without her trying to face-time the one year old. And I believe Tessa feels the same too. Her gugugu language is not familiar, so I’m not sure about that, but the excitement in those tiny pearl eyes is a linguistic I’m familiar with.

Brindavan was buzzing with people, mostly families that were on the highway searching for some good food. On the road, people opt for veg foods because it is safe. The yellow green building had very little free chairs inside. A family rushed past her almost pushing her off the ramp. But one of them made way for her. She smiled looking at the ground and entered inside.

The air conditioning inside felt like a cold shower considering the heat outside. Her umbrella had the thermal state of a dosa tawa by now. Her eyes searched for a vacant cabin of two. Single tables are very hard to find in the restaurants nowadays, she used to complain on our tea outings. She felt hugely disappointed that the discrimination towards single was existing in all restaurant chains.

Finally she found a table for four but decided to just sit there. She was in a hurry to finish and get to office. She went through the menu from top to bottom before ordering a ghee roast, as she usually did. That’s when a sound meddled with her pre-determined selection. The sound was not involved with the buzzing inside there, but rather pointed at her. She looked up to see a young man, dressed nicely, asking whether the seat is available.

She nodded, not gracefully, but calmly.

He settled opposite to her, and the waiter took both their orders. As the napkins on the table stood still in time, he spoke up. Out of the blue within the yellow walls, his words surprised her a little.

“Do you have a scooter?” he asked politely like he knew her before “I need to go to this place” he hung his words over a map from his smartphone.

She paused a little even before talking back.

“Sorry, I don’t have one. I came by walking” she replied jumping out of that sudden encounter. As she settled in the moment, she understood how innocently he had asked. Only if the people were open to each other, the world would have been a better place by 0.05% than now.

“It’s okay. Thanks. I am from Kozhikode, so I don’t know the places here that much. My name is Yedu, Yedu Krishna.”

“Bincy” she reciprocated the courtesy.

After that, the food came one by one. As the hot fumes danced over the tables both of them had found a rhythm in their conversations. They started to talk about things, not world hunger or the religious wars, but about simple stuff like books, movies, etc.

More than the Dosa which was crisp and delicious, his words and easiness in talking, filled her appetite that morning in Kochi. She marked in her mind that this is a breakfast that she would never forget, no one could, and that’s the truth.

Their discussions about movies and books, about their work and all things exchanged, replaced the sides for the Dosa. The chutney felt bad as Yedu’s words made better reactions on her face than its sourness.

In the end, when the bill came, it came as one. The waiter mistook them as a group, a group of two people. But in reality, only they knew they met over a Dosa.

And of course, me too. I came to know about it a little later on her walk back.

She usually calls me in the middle of the day, when both our office works become dormant and boring. Or when we become bored with the work. This time she called hours earlier and I was in the middle of something.

“Are you free?” her voice sounded soft. Usually it’s a mix of laziness and ignorance in both.

And before I could even tell her that I was preparing a document to present that day, she started telling about her excitement.

“It was a good day.” It’s hard to get that from her, which meant she was happy. A breeze inside a dark cave, a rain in the mirages of the deserts horizons. She continued “I met a stranger today at Brindavan. You know how we always sit with other people in big tables, right? Same. I sat with a boy and we started talking and the conversations went on and on. It was so much fresh, man, I loved it. I loved the experience. He was so easy to talk to.”

And there was a pause. She wasn’t expecting me to reply anything. It was just the time to take it all in. We understood that in our conversations since the beginning. Even silences were easy between us. I could hear her breath surfing on wild waves in a faraway beach. We loved the silences, these gaps of bubbles with nothing to fill.

I broke it eventually “So, did you get his contact?”

“No” she said breaking the words in half.

“It’s nothing romantic. Just a good moment, something special to remember by.” She had her smile up. I could feel it in the nuances of her words being structured.

Later in the day, I came across a quote. It said that friends in our life are like horcruxes (Harry Potter references). It means that we, people, give a different part of ourselves to different people, and like voldermort uses them to bring him back to life, we also do that. We give a person a part of ourselves so that we can jump back to life when we meet them or think about them again, maybe in tough times.

I had sent that to her after that and the potterhead in her was so happy to read that. Two good things in a day.

I continued our conversations on the horcruxe that she gave to Yedu, the stranger. She said she would like to meet him again in a similar way, accidentally in an alley. Or in another restaurant over a lunch or dinner.

“Should we search for him and approach for a date?” I asked.

“Nooo...” she stressed the last sound.

“But you do want to meet him, right? You kind of miss him, don’t you?” I asked confidently. I knew she did.

I could hear her giggle at the other end. It was beautiful to see her blush over a stranger she met for mere minutes.

“Are you okay?” she inquired. She always does. And I always reply that I am. If she doesn’t believe. She will repeat it until I spill the truth. It is good to have someone to ask that. I always return the favor too.

Before ending the call, we talked about a few other things. By this time, she had reached the office. I could sense her enthusiasm taking a hit under the heat.

“We will meet for a tea, bye.” I kept the phone down, taking a quick look at our picture before it vanished from the screen. A smile cornered through my cheeks, slowly climbing into the eyes.

I took out my laptop. Opened a new Word document, and typed in the top center in bold letters “Strangers over a Dosa”. And the keyboard rattled.