Banterings of a gibberish mind

“..people have a way of leaking into each other like flavours when you cook..” - Salman Rushdie

It was just another day for her. She got up after snoozing the alarm for the second time and immediately followed: a cup of steaming hot tea. She looked out of the window. There was nothing much to be seen, it was foggy and misty. There was a certain chill in the air, reminisence of the huge downpour last night. Such days reminded her of childhood when this would have meant no school owing to heavy landslide somewhere between her home and school. The rest of the day would follow cuddled inside a blanket and dreamily reading her Sleeping Beauty tactfully covered inside a thick biology book to avoid discovery. A trick she learnt from her brother who hid an Archies comic similarly. She was quick to learn, observe and absorb.

A phone call from work interrupted her thoughts. She pretended not to see it. I could have fever today, she thought or maybe I will just tell them that there is indeed a landslide nearby. Immediately, she felt a pang of guilt. The same guilt she had experienced on feeling relieved that the bike accident she had witnessed the last day was not with her dear friend, but rather with some stranger who had a similar clothing as her friend. The motorist was not injured, but she was surprised at her immediate and involuntary but selfish reaction - as if his well-being mattered any less. Anyway, the monsoon was going to be a long one, she thought, so she should maybe save the excuse for when it actually happened and ceased to be an excuse. She decided to go. Absent-mindedly she turned on the radio and got ready for work.

She had familiarized herself with the drill on her way. On the left side of her gate would be curious neighbours, a little above would be a small white puppy who would enthusiastically bark at any passer-by. On her way, she would meet a cobbler in his shop who would acknowledge her and she would do the same. In between, she sometimes met a few familiar faces who would politely smile and pass by. Sometimes, there were a few who would ask how she has been doing and she had a standard answer for all – irrespective of how she was actually doing. She knew that all other people she would have asked the same question would have answered her likewise and so these days she had decided to try something else. She would small-talk about objective facts like how badly it rained last night or how frequent the power-cuts are. At least these are common experiences between us, she thought. Once in a while, she would go a step ahead and compliment someone for a pretty dress. Complements, she thought will lighten up someone, but she was careful not to do it too often, lest over-doing ruined the charm.

Day after day, we interact with numerous people. On a non-hectic day, my person-to-person interaction will be one, two.. she started mentally counting in her head – fifteen she decided, resolving to make a note of how many people she would interact with today. Most of them are often the ones who go unnoticed and are non-existent until we see them again. Some guy in the canteen, that colleague of another department or maybe the same cobbler she encountered on the way. In a split second we greet and thereafter forget them. Others are mostly our friends or family, near or far. Then finally come the last set of people who are no longer a part of our lives, but who once were, till the parting of ways. They are also the ones who occupy a larger part of our thoughts on a quiet day. Nonetheless, inspite of all the numerous interactions that we have, all of us have individual personalities. How much of one's personality is influenced by the other person's? Is there any way to measure and quantify it? She kept thinking. She had felt similar fascination on learning that 99.99 % of all human genes are the same and yet in all the world, no two people match each other completely. We still retain our individuality inspite of numerous interactions, or do we? Or maybe the sum total of all of that was us. If there were two people who would talk honestly about a third person, would their views match? Whose would be closer to reality and what would this reality actually be? It would be too simplified to think that the ones we are emotionally close to are the ones who know us accurately. This was easily contradicted with some of her experiences where people opened up to strangers uninhibitedly than their dear ones. She was reminded of those lines from Midnight's children that was stuck on her mind: People have a way of leaking into each other like flavours when you cook.

The honking of car horn brought her to the present. Irritatingly, she looked at the driver who was equally irritated on seeing her recklessly cross the road. The fifth one of the day, she thought to herself, also resolving in mind to make a mental note, next day, of the people who make her feel good, bad or indifferent. Perhaps there are a lot of factors that affect this 'leaking' of personalities, she continued thinking. We imitate - consciously or otherwise - the ones we admire. Or we behave a certain way with somebody for reciprocity, because that-is-how-that-somebody-had-behaved-with-us. We are extra-nice to people we very much like. Which one then would be the true me? Or maybe there is nothing like true me. Our interactions are connected, intermingled and maybe we don't individually exist, she concluded. She looked at other people nearby and often wondered what their story would be. She loved to hear if only they would open up to her. If they didn't, she often had a habit of making up small stories in her mind. Today she met an old woman who had hopped onto the same car she had got on. Her expressions were hard, she looked troubled and she noticed that her thin lips quivered a bit as she spoke. She was reminded of the Queen from Alice In Wonderland and couldn't help smiling to herself as she imagined this woman repeating the Queen's refrain: Off with their heads! She had an overtly active imagination. It kept her mind busy and herself quiet - which people often mistook for snobiness.

Her work place arrived soon and as she got down from the car, she gave the old woman a smile and did not wait for her reciprocation. She had felt sorry for whatever she was going through - an illness, some trouble at work, uncaring children - her guesses were many but not conclusive, and the least she could do for her was smile. As she had walked a little further, someone seemed to call her name from behind. It was her friend who had forgotten his umbrella and wanted to share the one she had. As he went on chatting about the previous day happenings, the girl counted seven on her head and continued to play the role of a listener with him.