Julie & Kishore (17 page)
Authors: Carol Jackson
Before
heading
back to Sundar Garden
we stopped at a roadside vendor
who had a cart situated on the edge
of
Connaught Place
. He
made
fresh juice, similar to a ‘juice bar’ back home. I was a little bit
apprehensive as I noticed the man rinsing used glasses in a bucket of murky
water
,
then wiping them on a dusty cloth before adding
them to the other glasses ready for use. Kishore encouraged me to try so
despite my unease I did. I winced as the man took two glasses from the stack
while asking Kishore which flavour we wanted. He blended the fresh fruit of
Kishore’s choosing
in front of us
in a little
mixing machine. Grinning broadly, the man made a dramatic performance of
pouring the juice from a great height into
the
two
glasses. The delicious fresh fruit juice gave a taste that was divine, fruity
and refreshing with a smidge of zest due to the spices added in the mixture.
The
Hindi word for cook is pakana.
It
was one week since we had arrived, a Saturday, in fact it was Christmas day. To
my surprise I did not miss the usual celebrations, to be honest, I almost
forgot it was what had always been
f
or me one of the
most exciting days of the year.
Ranjini
and Saras were
particularly
excited
this morning
as the three of us were planning to go
to the mall, they were glad not to have to rush to get ready for school.
As I was preparing for my shower I was urging
the water on a pot on the stove to hurry up and boil, we were keen to get ready
quickly so we could be on our way.
While waiting, I half-filled the large bucket
that was sitting in the concrete shower cubicle with cold water. Finally when
the water in the pot was steaming, I carried it to the large bucket and tipped
it in. Carefully I locked the cubicle door and undressed, using a small cup to
dip into the large bucket I douse myself. I lathered soap on my body then
dipped the small cup over and over into the bucket throwing the water over
myself to rinse off the soap.
On hot summer days, Kishore and his siblings
found using only cold water to wash a blessing. They would challenge each other
to see who was brave enough to do this on chilly winter days.
The
three of us arrived at the entrance to the mall and as we walked through the
main door I suddenly felt like I had been transported to another place. We left
the noise, the people and the hustle and bustle on the street outside. Inside
the mall fashionable trendy shops rose high above me. I counted the three floors
of the shopping complex. Escalators slid upwards snake-like onto each level.
Coffee shops, pictures of glamorous models and a few feeble Christmas
decorations caught my eye.
I
had made a decision while sitting in the auto-rickshaw on the way to the mall. As
this was the first
time
I had left the
house without Kishore, I felt bold and determined
that
today I would do something just for myself. Since we had arrived in India I had
relied on others, usually Kishore, for everything. I had him as a guide, an interpreter
and a go-between.
I
was waiting for the right opportunity to come along but I soon realised the
opportunity I chose could have been the wrong
one
.
As
we wandered around the mall I noticed a security guard standing outside almost
every shop. Upon approaching the first store
,
Saras explained that I must leave any shopping bags with the guard. In return
he would give me a little, colour-coded numbered ticket, which equated to the
amount of bags I had left with him. When exiting the shop I was to show the
ticket to the guard and he would return my bags.
As we went in and out of different shops,
I was a bit disgruntled when some
of the guards even insisted looking in our handbags.
Ranjini and Saras took me into a shop that
seemed similar to Farmers back home in New Zealand. Leaving our bags with the
guard, we headed straight to the women’s wear department. I happily browsed
with the girls through racks of traditional Indian attire and a mixture of
contemporary Indian and western style clothes. I soon realised I needed
to use
the Ladies Room, I decided this was my
opportunity to do that something bold. I told the girls where I was going, “No,
Julie bhabhi,” Ranjini exclaimed, “Kishore bhaiya told us to never leave you
alone.”
If
going to the toilet alone meant I could do something independently, I was
determined to do it and there was no way I was going to listen to Ranjini or
Saras.
“I’ll
be fine, don’t worry,” I said, waving my hand dismissively, quickly leaving
before they could say or do anything to stop me. I collected my bags from the
guard and began to search for a sign that said ‘Toilets' but couldn’t see one
anywhere. I was used to them being clearly marked. Just my luck this malls
toilets weren’t. I travelled up the escalator to the next level and
examined the signs I saw
but to no avail.
I received the usual stares from people as they walked past me, I was beginning
to feel slightly worried. I stopped the next woman who was heading toward
s
me and asked for the, “Toilet, kha ha hai?” (“Where
is the toilet?”)
the
woman simply shook her head and
walked away. I approached the next woman and asked the same question and saw
the puzzled look on her face. The woman asked in English, “What do you want,”
relived, excuse the pun, I repeated my question, “Sorry” she said, “I don’t
understand.”
By
now I was starting to panic and needed the toilet desperately. I thought maybe
it was my accent so with the next person I tried a different approach, “Do you
know where the Ladies Room is?”
“No,”
came the curt reply. I stopped several more people using hand motions, not
exactly lady like, and said repeatedly, ‘toilet’ or ‘ladies room,' I even tried
the old-fashioned word, ‘powder room’ but still no one understood me. Finally,
now immensely frustrated, scared and in desperate need I saw the sign, like a
glowing beacon, indicating a ladies room with an arrow.
Triumphantly
I entered the modern and clean toilets.
As
I was leaving I bumped into Ranjini and Saras, “We were starting to get
worried,” exclaimed Ranjini.
Saras
said, “We thought we had better come and find you.”
I
told them my story, they both started laughing.
“What
?,
” I questioned, laughing along with them, “What’s so
funny?”
“Just
say bathroom,” Saras giggled, “Everybody understands bathroom.”
“Or,”
said Ranjini, “Say, shuu shuu – shuu shuu means toilet, when we were in junior
school, we held up our hand like this,” she raised her hand
, which was clenched
in a fist with only the pinky
wiggling, “The teacher knew this meant we had to use the toilet.”
The
next morning as promised Kishore and I ventured downstairs to visit the Singh
family, he explained to me on the way just what being a Sikh meant, that
Sikhism is a religion originally from Punjab. I asked why
the men
wore a turban, he said
that,
to
Sikh’
s, a turban is
like a crown from god. Sikh men never
cut their hair, so it is wound and bound around the long cloth and neatly
tucked around the head to make the turban.
Wherever we went in India I was always
welcomed and treated like a privileged guest and it wasn’t any different in the
Singh’s home. We were offered tea and delicious sweets, enjoyed a chat and bid
each other farewell.
When
we left
their pleasant home I reflected on the
people we had met so far in Delhi and the diverse and amazing people that were
in this world. Kishore and I, an English girl with an Indian fiancé had been
warmly received into Kishore’s family home, welcomed into the home of a
Christian-Indian family and just as warmly invited into a Sikh family. Where, I
wondered, had all the conflict of race in this world come from? The people
Kishore and I had met had been so kind, friendly and hospitable.
After
leaving the Singh’s
,
Kishore decided
to take me to the cinema. We hired an auto-rickshaw and drove out to a
different shopping complex. He purchased two tickets for
Amar, Akbar, Anthony
an extremely successful Bollywood movie
starring India’s most famous acting hero – Mr Amitabh Bachchan. Although this
movie was a hit when it was released in 1977, it was currently a rerun at the
cinema. Amitabah Bachchan has starred in many, many Bollywood movies and is
highly revered - in India he is greater than Elvis or the Beatles. Songs from
this movie had been playing constantly on the radio as it was being
re-advertised.
The
most famous song had the line ‘My name is Anthony Gonsalves…’ it was really
catchy, I
even
found myself singing along to it.
With
anticipated excitement we entered the air-conditioned theatre. Looking around I
was astonished at the seating capacity which was around one thousand people, I
realised I couldn’t even see the whole theatre
-
it was so large. An usher showed us to our allocated seats in the balcony area,
with the dress circle above us. As we sat I realised the comfortable seats were
cushioned and reclined.
The
movie had no sub-titles but when it began I managed to slowly follow the story
line. Some of the words I understood and Kishore whispered the explanation of
certain scenes.
Three
brothers had been separated when they were little after circumstances led to them
losing their parents. Each boy ended up being raised by a different family. A
Hindu family adopted the oldest boy and name
d
him Amar. A Catholic priest fostered the middle son calling him Anthony and a
Muslim family adopted the youngest boy, giving him
the name
Akbar.
As with any Bollywood movie it was full of twists and plenty of song and dance
routines, as each brother accidentally bumps into the other as they grow older
but of course, at the time they don’t realise they’
r
e
brothers. Due to a remarkable storyline the brothers eventually become aware
that they are siblings.
The
movie was three hours long but the intermission allowed Kishore enough
time
to go and get ice-creams and two bottles of campa
cola.
As I examined the unfamiliar
and strange
name on the bottle Kishore told me
coca-cola was not available in India as it was banned in 1977. The coca-cola
company refused to reveal their secret ingredient when asked by the Indian
government.
We
finished our ice-creams and sank back again into the comfy chairs as the movie
restarted. As the lights dimmed Kishore reached over and held my hand in the
dark
,
squeezing it tightly, I returned his gesture then
threaded his fingers snugly through my own
.
Indian movies never show any kissing. The
nearest a movie gets to a romantic scene would be the moment the couple look
lovingly into each other’s eyes. You might see an unexpected touch of the hand
or a hug but a romantic song generally shows a lovers devotion with the couple
expressing their feelings with tender words.
On
the way back home in an auto-rickshaw I entertained myself by imagining a
Bollywood movie made about Kishore and me. The movie would, of course, star the
one and only Amitabh Bachchan as the handsome leading man but who would play
me? I adored Audrey Hepburn’s chic beauty but she was not the right age.
Perhaps Farrah Fawcett or Raquel Welch? No, I decided, there could only be one
person to play me and that is Olivia Newton-John,
Grease
being one of my favourite movies. Sandy was an innocent, sweet
and cheerful girl and if Olivia Newton-John,
as a red-head with freckles,
were to star alongside Amitabh Bachchan
I felt the mix would be the perfect combination of Kishore and myself. The film
would of course be a box office hit in India and western countries, making our
story famous all over the world.