For reign or Foreign..?

Republic Day Special - 
Originally penned by me on April 28, 2007

A very sunny afternoon. Walked to the bus stop opposite to college grunting at the scorching weather. I soon realized that I was not the only one grunting... A blond in her mid 20s was dragging her worn out feet across me, 'beneath' an outsized backpack. 

She was plump, wearing trendy convertible cargos; her bright coloured spaghetti top complemented her catchy saffron-tinted sunglasses. She was completely exhausted. 

She accosted me and enquired if the bus to the Pondicherry Beach was due. I affirmed with a grin and gave her specific details of where to alight.

I signaled her the approach of the bus.

We embarked the bus that literally 'brimmed over' with civilians.

Right since I boarded the bus, a pertinent question made me pensive.

... infact so pensive that I failed to alight at my bus stop. 

Having realized that it was too late, I had to alight at the next stop.

I alighted.

... and so did the woman who was the prime reason for that persistent question in my darn head...

I was surprised to see her walking briskly in a direction opposite to that of the beach.

I caught up from behind her and cried, "Pardon me my good lady, I'm afraid you are venturing in the wrong direction..!"

An earnest smile lit up her face. "I thought I needed some repose... This's my inn..." she said, pointing out towards an inn.

"Repose... repose... ??? Ah yes... 'relaxation'...", I thought to myself, smiling, with the satisfaction of comprehending a White woman's words...

"I presume the Ashram Guest House is replete by now..?", I inquired, aware of the fact that tourists like her make seamless plans ahead of their journey.

"By Lord... You're right... I should've booked a dorm in advance...", she sighed...

I then noticed her exquisite Rajasthani necklace. A master-piece indeed. This rose the pertinent question in my head once again...

Silence...

"I bet you're breaking your head on something..?" she asked, both to my surprise and gratification...

"Quite right... I was just thinking... ... ..."

"Yeah, please go on..."

"... what you foreigners find at all in this country... I mean... Is there anything in this place that is worth seeing, notwithstanding the grotesqueries of your travel... I have been curious since I was a lad... Now that I've found the right person to ask..."

Her response took me by sheer surprise...

She began to belly laugh... And said,

"I'm sorry... I'm afraid I'm the wrong person to be asked this question... I'M VERY INDIAN..!"

I was dumbfounded...

She added, with her arms stretched, "My home... No place like it..."

I still didn't recover from it...

"Well, I am very Indian... Don't you recognize this piece of Indian jewelery..?", she added, with a grin...

All I could do was to chuckle... "So where is your 'real' home..?", I asked, still curious...

"Delhi, our country's capital..." was her quick reply... "After bidding goodbye to Manchester, England, once and for all!"

I could see her eyes twinkling with patriotism... Something that never happened in mine...

I glanced at her one last time... Her benign smile... Her refined countenance...

"Happy travelling my fellow 'Indian'..!", I greeted cheerfully...

I walked my way to the bus stand... Only this time pensive with another pertinent question...

"How can an adopted daughter have more love on her mother than the love for the same mother had by her very own son..?"

Epilogue 1:

Exactly four years since I pen this, down to the very day (April 28, 2011), yet another blond uploads her musical cover of one of my most favourite Hindi songs with a spectacular video featuring her wearing not just Indian jewellery, but also Indian attires, and even Indian henna! Blond coincidence?

Epilogue 2:

Another Friday, and I'm set out to catch a bus home from work, curious to meet my niece before she'd go to bed mad at me. A PRTC bus arrived, fully loaded as usual, and I manage to get my bum into the bus.

Inching my way in from the engine-side of the bus, I come to stand next to what was an unusual sight, for me and to some folks nearby.

Seated on the floor of the crowded bus is a blond, well into her 30s. Interestingly, every belonging of hers, right from to her (inexpensive) pink Churidhar, to her luggage bag (adorned by the logo of Pondy Sri Lakshmi Jewellery) on which she's seated and the purse it carried, were all quintessentially Indian. Clearly, she's not a tourist, but a resident, like me.

I want to start a conversation, but, as always, didn't want to sound corny.

 "Hi, do you speak any French?"

 "Oui."

 I notice how completely exhausted she is, gasping for air -- possibly for some strength too.

 "Too bad I can't speak a word of French! Do you know the meaning of the word spelt aah-bey-bey-eh-akson-thegyoo?"

"Monk. You know monk?"

"Yeah, I do, but not many, except the author of this book I'm reading. This Christian Missionary had left France and lived in and traveled throughout southern India for almost 40 years, earning the trust of the natives and documenting their lives along his way."

"Jean Antoine?"

"Sorry?" Zaanantwaan? Why do the French sound like they've swallowed a Japanese kid when they begin to pronounce a French name?!?

"The monk... Jean Antoine?"

"Well, the cover of the book reads Abbe Dubois"

"Yes, Jean Anroine Dubois it is!", she says after letting out a tired chuckle.

"Here, look... A portrait of the monk... Looks like a native... Dressed like a native..."

"Just like me, eh?" she winked, as she pounced to grab a nearby seat of a passenger preparing to alight the bus. She's definitely lived here long enough to master the Indian art of seat-hunting!

As the bus resumed its journey, I watch let her heavy eyes succumb to their weight, and begin to wonder where my own journey is taking me to.

Where will I go?
Who will I meet?

What will I find?

What will I lose?

Can't wait to recall it all as I lay in my own death-bed, far from today, after having lived my life to its fullest...