sesquipedalien

“No.”

“Why!?”

“It’s too low.”

My sigh was far from gentle. I had gotten through five changes of clothes, and time was not abundant either. Plus, after six hours of driving, my patience was not exactly patient.

I slipped into the delicate white knitted top and stepped out.

“OK. That’s fine.”

Shoes were in a different circle of hell altogether. I finally walked out in the flattest pair I could find. Apparently he was on the shorter side of the spectrum.

I wished desperately for my sister.

My grandmother brushed my forehead with her lips and told me to be good. I smiled back saying I would be myself. She laughed and the sun peeked out of the shielded sky briefly, just to light up her sweet face.

“T, you always bring the rain.” My mother half grinned back at me as the garage door slid shut.

“Yes, the whole world is weeping with me.”

“No! It’s a good omen! It was raining the day you were born! Hush!”

I thanked the water drops for the lullaby as we drove between the hills of half charred trees. Unfortunately sleep itself was too self conscious to slap me.

A house is a structure. It is most defined, I think, by the scent that greets a guest.

This house was humble. There was no scent.

After respectfully greeting his parents, we gathered in the living room. The sofa creaked solemnly as I receded myself on to it. Interestingly enough, the carpet lacks color in my memory despite the fact that the carpet held much of my visions attention during my three hours there.

I glanced up occasionally, taking in the neat, half packed piles of boxes. There were trophies from the 1996 Catskill NY convention on top of the slightly dusty television. An anniversary gift stood on the lamp table next to my elbow. Only one framed picture stared back at me from the wall… the brilliant smiles of mother and father shone into the camera lens, gazes slightly surprised and unused to the position at which they stood: she in front of him with his arms around her waist and hands in her lap.

“Hello.” He greeted the whole.

The corners of my eyes studied him quickly. Jeans, checked shirt lined in shades of blue, clean shaved, gelled hair cropped closer to the scalp, a slightly dimpled smile.

Perfect teeth.

He sat into the sofa instead of on it. He asked about my brother. He smiled at the carpet. He played with his rakhis. He fiddled with his fingers. His nails were clean.

The parents continued their small talk of one subject or the other. The trips planned for December, the little happenings of everyday life, and oh, did we hear about this family’s hassles?

And then, there was silence. Complete, prologued, breath loud silence.

If I had been human, perhaps my cheeks would have flamed. Bloomed from invisible buds. The spelling of awkward painting its silently loud mark.

I filled instead with laughter. My lips stalled the urge with a wide smile behind my hand. Ah the absurdity of this! Of sitting in the year of 2007 practicing something that was of my cultural norm 6 decades ago! I glanced around to find them all staring at something below regular vision line and bit my lower lip… oh if some one could paint this! I laughed harder inside.

She announced dinner then, and we gathered again at the dinning table. I filled bowls of sweetened milk, fingers expertly doing their job, neatly, efficiently. We bowed our heads and murmured the shlok. And we ate. I sat across my father, he sat across his mother. We sat diagonally crossed.

Women often claim to have a sense of knowing when they are glanced at. I lack that radar most times. I am more interested in where my eyes land to notice eyes being directed at me. If he examined me at any point during the meal, I missed it. I caught his speed, though. His deftness and precision in a simple act as tearing a piece of flat bread. We finished at the same time. And waited patiently for the others to catch up.

He was waiting for our departure. He glanced at his pseudo-blackberry frequently after dinner. He had a place to be. I appreciated the fact by filling up with laughter again. I had a place to be too… land of nod.

After another attack of no-speak, I offered,

“We should be off.”

His father nodded to him and he disappeared returning with a slip of paper for me.

Ah. Contact Info. Nice. Thank you.

You forgot your insurance company buddy.

“That was weird.” I announced to my anxious parents from the back seat. “I don’t think people do this anymore.”

I fell asleep listening to the rumblings of traffic.

Accidents happen.

All the time.

Ha.