Now, I would prefer to call myself a north Indian at heart, courtesy my years of schooling, college & then employment days. But marriage took a new turn in my life & a calling from south was too good to resist. And I wasn’t complaining either because the excitement of starting a new life was something I was looking forward to.
Years went by and the south has made me feel at home with its linguistic hurdles, Kanjeevaram sarees, gajras and most of all friends who have never made me feel any different.
A very recent trip to the folks back in north did open my senses to the fact that something was amiss. I was no longer the assertive, highly fashionable and heavily made up woman walking on the sultry afternoons with I care for no one attitude.
Rather, here I was the oh so simple gal next-door, making my way through ultra fashionable robust aunties straight from beauty parlours. They looked at me with a pity that you would have for a malnourished child from Somalia. And I looked at them with the horror of being run over by an overloaded & over decked highway truck.
My haggling skills all took a toll. Whenever I quoted a price the shopkeeper knew I was kidding. One of them even chased me off predicting I wasn’t good enough for the purchase. Even the autowallahs knew I no longer lived there and had lost touch to bargain. Probably the visible change in my Hindi accent gave them the clue. Whatever it was, but my purse underwent a heavy weight loss and my pocket suffered a huge dent.
Strangely, my taste bud was the most unhurt and had a great vacation. With food straight from mom’s kitchen what else could you ask for?
