Namesake

Offlate I have really taken to meandering walks with no destination or route in mind...somehow I get stressed and tempted to turn back  if I took a path that had been tried the previous day. Today evening, on one of those refreshing walks where I soak in everything around me I came upon  a bustling food court in a housing district. It was just after work around dusk so everybody seemed relaxed and noisy as they sat back, gossiped, argued, laughed and sipped beer. As I stepped further into the area , wanted to sit down and have  a sliced water melon before heading off in a new direction...amidst the chaos of loud laughter and crackling cutlery I could distinctly hear kishore kumars voice. It was a pleasant surprise among asian faces...I headed in that direction to discover a punjabi counter in one of the peacefully cut off corners ...It being a while since I had an aloo paratha,  I ordered a couple of them with yogurt and dal and sat down looking back at the crowd at the other end. I was wondering if the order is cliche but im full of contradictions..
But why is somebody shouting my name in the background? I was being chided for not covering the rotis...

Thats when I saw her...my namesake.. . I had no clue if she was related to the rather bossy Indian Lady manning the counter and shouting at her or she was just hired help. I couldnt help but smile when I saw her for the obvious differences. She was this tall, fair and fragile person who seems to be comfortably settled in that tiny space between the heated Tawa and the basket of piping hot Roti...There was something inherently serene and angelic about her. She was dressed in the simplest of baby blue salwaar kameez with her neat long hair plaited effortlessly and was listening to the local radio as she rolls the roti....The more I looked at her the more I was drawn by the ungroomed beauty and the unassumed ease of her countenance ...

She was in her early twenties and yet seemed from a different era. She could have been anybodys daughter or wife in the remotest punjabi village who was just getting dinner ready over an open flame overlooking the endless fields before the men reached home...but here she was stuck in a tiny corner in a far flung island where probably nobody spoke her language ...would she have been happier living among her own people and making dinners for them instead....As exquisite as she looked in this dramatically different setting I wondered if she was indeed happy...that thought bothered me a lot...

but its probably just me for she seemed unaware of the misfit surroundings...there was flicker of a rare smile on and off as she overheard with muted interest, the conversation between two women waiting for their food . She quickly covered the basket and continued to make another dough ball and refused to even glance in my direction..It seemed like a chore soaked in complacency and leisure as she moved to the next roti....There were no side glances or attempts to merge with the loud ambiance. I found that really endearing ... that resigned obliviousness..Its a rare treat .

I took my packed food from the lady at the counter and walked away wishing I could talk to her and ask her where home is ....maybe next time I can strike a conversation and ask her myself....