Veranda Tales-Bonds of friendship

Storytelling has been an integral part of my life since childhood. I grew up listening to stories during the hot summer evenings and nights with my cousins. Mothers and grandmothers would gather all of us children for story time. It was usually pitch dark except for a very faint light coming from the flickering candle. Power cuts were as frequent as the hot and humid summer days. We all spread out on a cool concrete floor or bamboo mats on the veranda intently listening to fascinating stories about kings, queens, princes, princesses, and peasants alike. Stories about love, life, families, and people entertained and taught us life skills. These stories transported us to distant worlds, strange yet familiar. Often the same story told by two people sounded different as storytellers added new twists and turns adding their personal style and flair to the stories.

Storytelling wasn’t limited to summer evenings and bedtime. I was surrounded by adults who didn’t pass up an opportunity to share their wisdom using the art of storytelling. These rich vibrant oral traditions include songs, poems, stories, and సామెతలు (Sametalu are proverbs in Telugu). Men and women sing songs as they work in the fields, grinding grains and spices and doing other daily chores at their homes. Stories are often used to teach important life lessons, interpersonal skills, and survival skills. These stories and the time spent listening to them made our lives richer leaving an impression on me. This series is all about reliving those memories as I share these stories.

పంచదార పలుకులు - విషపు చూపులు (panchadaara palukulu - vishapu chupulu)

We were looking at our menus trying to decide what to get for lunch, when I said to Meera, “Did I ever tell you what happened to me when I was ten years of age?” I have known Meera since our teenage years. We met when we were barely sixteen. We went our separate ways after college pursuing our dreams. We stayed in touch over the years keeping our friendship alive. Our friendship has survived over many years enduring long distances, careers, and family obligations. We didn’t get a chance to talk to or see each other for long periods of time, giving very little attention to our friendship as it starved and barely survived. Strong relationships are like Tinajas that can weather famines when they are built on mutual respect, understanding, and love. Life in Tinajas goes dormant waiting for the right opportunity. A small rain brings the ecosystem back to being vibrant with life. Fairy shrimp appear within hours laying eggs that persist for long periods of dry seasons. When we meet our friendship comes back to life giving it a chance to survive through long spells of time and distance.

Meera said, “You shared many stories with me, but I am not sure if I heard this one, hey there is no time like present to hear about it”. I was about to start when our waiter came by to take our order. We quickly ordered our meal. When the waiter was out of our earshot, I started slowly and hesitantly.

“When I was about ten years of age, my parents, and I traveled to our grandparents’ place with our extended family. Our traveling party had six adults and six children ranging from eight to twelve years of age. We traveled by train all night long and then took a bus in the morning for the last leg of our journey. We went from the train station to the bus station in a caravan of rickshaws.  Once we got to the bus station, we ate breakfast while we waited for the bus. It was hot, muggy, and dusty at the bus station. It was crowded as usual. None of us had a chance to take showers at the train station. We barely managed to brush our teeth and wash our faces before we got off the train.

Everybody looked tired, even the most rambunctious kids in our group. We were all full of energy when we boarded the train the night before. We were playing card games, telling jokes and stories well into the night until we heard the adults tell us to stop and get some rest. We were fresh out of energy in the morning as we patiently waited for the bus to arrive. The bus did arrive after what felt like a long time. My father said he was hoping we could find seats together or in close proximity. There were tons of people on the bus already. So we managed to sit wherever we could find seats. Once we all settled into our seats, we looked around and took stock to see how we fared. Surprisingly we ended up in three adjacent rows of seats.”

I stopped to catch my breath and take a sip of water before I continued, “You probably remember the seats in these buses?” She nodded and I went on to say, “There was a seat by the driver and then several rows of bench style seats with an aisle running down the middle. Two narrower luggage racks ran the entire length of the bus on both sides. The bench seats on the left side of the bus were wider and could seat four adults comfortably. The narrower seats on the right side of the bus could seat two adults comfortably. I made a pact with my cousin who was close in age and a good friend. Whenever we traveled we tried to sit together. We managed to find seats together next to a younger child in our group who promptly claimed the window seat. My cousin sat next to the younger child, and I sat next to her closer to the aisle. There was enough room for another adult to sit next to us.

An older lady came and sat next to me. She had a large cloth bag full of clothes and a basket full of fruits. She propped the cloth bag up on the luggage rack above reaching over all three of us. She kept the fruit basket in front of her, holding it between her feet securely so it wouldn’t get away from her during the trip. She was lean and wiry like most village women who worked in the fields. She had a weather beaten look about her. She wore a simple cotton saree. She looked elegant and gentle as she sat down next to me greeting me with a smile.

My parents sat in the row behind us with another younger child sitting in the window seat in their row. Other adults and children occupied the two rows behind them. I was very tired and dozed off .” I took a break when our waiter brought our food. When he left, I said, “You probably remember how quickly I can fall asleep in a bus”. Meera smiled, saying while she winked, “How can I forget, my shoulder was your pillow and you drooled the whole time.” A little embellishment doesn’t hurt anybody. I protested and disagreed with her memory about my drooling as I started eating while taking a break from storytelling. After we were done with our meal, I resumed my story.

“Our trip was about five hours long. Our bus stopped at small villages along the way as it made its progress towards our destination. At each of these stops, our fellow travelers got off the bus and new people got on the bus. At one of the stops, my seat mate got off the bus when she reached her destination collecting her bag of clothes and basket of fruits saying bye to us. A man in his thirties took her place. He gave a big smile as he sat down. I noticed he had a large scar on his forehead most likely from branding with a hot iron as a treatment to cure diseases. I heard about the practice of branding with iron in villages from a friend of mine. She was branded with a small iron ring on her forearm to cure jaundice. I tried to not stare at his forehead as I dozed off again. I woke up when I felt something touching my thigh.”

I looked at Meera and said, “Do you remember those long skirts we used to wear when we were growing up?” She nodded her head remembering the long skirts we fastened with a safety pin or a tape at the waist. They had a short slit close to the waist to allow for overlapping the two ends of the belted portion. I continued, “I realized this guy managed to get his hand through this slit and was touching my thigh with his grubby fingers. I froze in fear as I looked up at him. He continued touching my thigh while he asked me with a smile on his face, ‘Are you comfortable?’. I wiggled and he removed his hand. I looked back at my father and started talking to him. This guy with a scar realized my father was sitting right behind me and never touched me again. I was very scared for the rest of the trip. We finally reached our destination and we all got off the bus.”

Meera said, “I am so sorry you had to go through that. It had to be scary.” I nodded my head and continued. “A couple of days later, I saw this guy again at a movie theater when I went to watch a movie with my parents and the rest of our extended family. I was very scared as he approached my father and struck up a conversation. I was wondering how in the world did he appear here at the movie theater. Did he follow us from the bus station to our house? Was he stalking us for the past couple of days? He was talking to my father saying how he traveled in the same bus as us. I was scared that this guy was trying to make friends with my father. I wasn’t sure what to do if he indeed succeeded in his mission. I was thinking I would have to just tell my father all about this incident as soon as we got home from the movies. I was very pleased when my father dismissed him with a curt nod. I was scared for the entire time we were visiting our grandparents. I wasn’t sure if this guy lived in the same city. Thankfully that was the last time I saw the guy.”

Meera said, “What nerve? What was this guy trying to do? It could have put you in a dangerous situation if he accomplished his mission to become a friend of the family.” I nodded and said, “That was the scariest thought – He was a good example of what people mean when they say,  ‘పంచదార పలుకులు - విషపు చూపులు (panchadaara palukulu - vishapu chupulu)’”. Meera nodded saying she heard this sameta before. It means, “sweet talking while entertaining evil thoughts”. Then I wondered aloud, “Sure enough if anybody heard what he was saying to me, they would have thought he was such a nice guy. For the life of me I don’t know why I didn’t shout and make a scene in the bus. Was I too afraid to act or was I just ashamed that something like that happened to me? I wondered if I did something wrong for something like that to happen to me.”

Meera said, holding my hand, “It wasn’t your fault. I am sure you would have had the courage to tell your father if it was necessary. I am glad this incident didn't make you afraid of traveling. You are the bravest person I know. I think this incident taught you to be careful. Most importantly, it didn't change your warm and friendly nature.” I squeezed Meera’s hand, saying, “Thank you for listening and understanding. I couldn't have shared this scary experience with others as easily as I could with you.” We gave each other a long warm hug, promising to meet again soon.