There are several posts on 'things that happen to me only.' Of course this entire blog is about things related to me. And now there's one more about stuff that only I can attract or so I console myself offering a cushion of supposed uniqueness as irrelevant as fish sleep with their eyes open (will overlook fact that they don't have eyelids).
Methinks it started last evening. On having identified one of my biggest crushes despite his long hair and eyes that don't seem to be of the same colour, I decided and insisted that I do have a phenomenal memory for faces. And in that strain I excitedly pointed out at someone who had just walked into the pub and exclaimed that she was a classmate of ours to two of my skeptical friends. But considering they had downed a few, they were quite willing to trot after me as I went up to say hello to her. I swear she looked like that classmate! From the side that is. When she turned around my face blanched. But then I couldn't walk off after she having seen me stride with such purpose towards her. So as N said, I ensured large scale loss of maanam and went on to say "Hi! by any chance are you so and so" in one breath, didn't stop to hear her say no, spun around and scuttled away to my corner with sheepish grin plastered on my face.
And this morning I got thinking maybe Mondays are kinder. Kinder in its consistency on what to expect - a short fuse, a lengthy lazing session in bed with tea and news paper (tis the one time I read all the articles to egg the day further away from me), Billie Holiday (great voice but wedges in the melancholia) or Sarah Vaughn followed by Acid Jazz when I finally get sick of playing blue, mild sense of urgency that sets in and has me rushing out of home in a hurry to face Monday and get it over with, and invariably late to work.
Its days such as today -unpredictable, twisted bully who pushes the limits of mockery- that leave me wondering about better mondays as I lay sprawled like a battered cockroach in time that stops and stares to wonder if the day would flip me on my back and stamp me out.
I wake up on time. Leave on time. The bridge is choked. Another route that usually allows bikes to meander ahead turned out to be gelatinous. By the time I made it to the end of the stretch I memorized enough of the two people in transit on either side. And then when it seemed like pace could be spelt, the bike falls apart. Literally! The foot rest on either side detach. I didn't pull over to retrieve them but because just about the same time pretty blue decides to emit a guttural roar. Deafening. There are times when Douglas Adams' 'total perspective vortex' comes into play. This was one such time. Standing under a scantily leaved tree in the heat 'why' resonated. The choleric traffic got me back to thinking. Trundled the bike to a mechanic down the road. My arms feel great by the way!
I don't go through life consciously aware of my sex. I see myself as a person and not as 'female'. Primarily cause I'm very comfortable with my body and who I am. There are of course a set of conditioning that goes undeniably into being a woman. I acknowledge them and accept the ones that work for me and question or deny the ones that don't. In spite of all this comfort, there are times when I'm made painfully aware that there are things that will be determined by sex. One of them being the assumption that I don't know how my bike/car works. I have to prove to the mechanic that I know what I'm talking about. And it's a long grueling process where smirks and egos have to be fielded.
That done an auto comes to me as though on cue. A cue I should have missed and hailed another. I was late already. And I was phenomenally late by the time he dropped me off at work. Man didn't know the way. Insisted he did. And right when I was about to believe him he juddered his way through the longest possible routes to the most easily accessible destinations. I couldn't stop him!
Finally out of agonizing ride, dazed, I was happy to enter my cozy room at work, settle in and dive into familiarity. When it rains, it pours. Or so I thought till Nina Simone crooned 'Feeling Good' drawing the shades off the sliver linings.
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