THE SCENERY CHANGES, WE REMAIN THE SAME
In
Bruxelles, in the European Quartier, I used to pass by a Tabac when I walked
along with LBGS to her Garderie. On the way home, I may buy LBGS, a “chuppie”,
Americans may call Lollipop, worth only 25 centimes. The old man behind the
counter, reeked of tobacco, was mostly unkempt and always grumpy. But we didn’t
realize how much we missed him till one day there was a sign outside the Tabac:
closed indefinitely due to illness.
We
want to say hello to him. We saw him only during the weekdays and that too not
often, but he had become part of our lives. Same thing was happening to the
concierge of the apartment building, the Italian man who ran the café where I
have my morning coffee and pain au chocolat(both hot and not warm), the Persian
hairdresser (incongruously bald himself) at the end of Rue Archimede, we nod to
each other as I pass by his salon, Darriush who spoke only French and Farsi.
Fernando
Pessoa, that great Portuguese writer, well known for his personal insecurities
had written:
“If
one of the faces that I pass daily on the streets disappear, I feel sad, yet
they mean nothing to me, other than being a symbol of all life.”
For
me, a great pleasure is being able to recognize faces in faraway places, as I
enter a hotel, a restaurant or a common place. Nothing gives me greater
pleasure than greeting the receptionist by name, at Double Tree at Kuala Lumpur
(12 time zones away from my habitual residences) or at the AVIS rent a car
counter at Omaha Airport or the waitress with the sonorous name, Ochun, at La
Burrito Habanera along the Rampa across from the Riviera cine in La Habana or
look for a familiar place along the streets of Palermo in Buenos Aires.
It
is different from recognizing people when I enter an Indian reservation, where
it is a form of acknowledgment of things that has happened and will happen, and
show respect and formalizing our presence in the lives.
But
with people you meet so rarely? Fleetingly? S the receptionist in Salalah has
been in touch for the past two years and was eager to have dinner together,
only to realize that we really don’t know each other but teaches a lesson to
accept the other person wholeheartedly as possible. It is a sort of a milestone
in this ever changing world which has become so superficially globalized. Such
a simple interaction gives me a satisfaction, a sense of purpose of living,
that I am not just passing through this life- these are not pit stops on a
journey with a purpose, but pit stops that are necessary for me: Siem Reap,
Salalah, Cochin, Kuala Lumpur, Buenos Aires, Leticia; cities which have nothing
in common with each other, just that I am a part of these far flung cities
where passersby can offer me a greeting. Some cities descend into oblivion:
Suva, Yangon, Kingston, Baracoa..the list is long indeed. The earth rotates and
I find myself in another part of the world; In Easter Island I no longer feel a
stranger, it is I who is not changing with the revolving scenery, like the
stage that rotates during a theatrical performance.
Just
yesterday, I passed a farm worker along a dusty road east of
Salalah in Oman, who wanted me to drop by on my next visit to the Sultanate.
The haze over the mountains dividing the Sultanate and Yemen gave me such an
exhilaration! I thought of my ancestors who might have traversed these
mountains centuries ago but I thought mostly of the day, Inchallah, not in too s distant future, I will be walking along the sandy beaches of Mughsayl with
LBGS, and I would ask her:
Do
you remember the Tabac in the Quartier Europeen in Bruxelles where the old man
who reeked of tobacco and didn’t smile?
Do
you miss him?
I
always miss so many people that tears come to my eyes when I think of a reunion
at KLIA just four years ago. It is not a nostalgia nor a longing but a true
reliving of the innocence and the mindfulness of that moment. Saudade, perhaps,
as Cesaria Evora would sing it!
This
is what I would like to teach LBGS.
