sunny days

today i wake up to coolness and quiet, the air soft in its undulations over a greened garden. all so sweet. just as storming and flooding spelled out a bad day in the offing, this perfect peacefulness sets me thinking all optimistic and sunny. on the horizon if only i could see it, must be looming all kinds of good, i think, deep breathing and letting loose the tangle of my hair to be ruffled and fluttered about in the breeze.

morning is tea and newspapers and mangoes out overlooking the garden. the tea cart rattles around from room to room, a man crouches on his haunches as he sweeps the floor outside the room with a rough hand-broom, and in the garden an old couple takes a turn around the flowers. since i had arrived, on fridays (fresh linen day) i had sometimes come back to my bed made mysteriously for me, not just a pile of sheets left waiting on a bare mattress like it was for the other long-term residents. i had wondered at this, worried that it was that one dada with the looks that made me nervous. but today i found out the identity of the bed-maker—one of the older of the dadas, soft-faced and white-haired with crinkles at the corner of his eyes. i catch him at it on the way back from breakfast. he doesn’t say a word, just finishes up my bed cheerfully and tips his head to me, smiling, good day. a little kindness that needs no explanation.

at 9 30, i am supposed to leave for class. but in a panic i am unready, i have been too engrossed in my books, my hair is unbrushed my clothing unironed and all the stuff i need is scattered to the four corners of my room. in a tumble i pull it all together, i get out the door. i am running late, by fifteen minutes. and as if by magic the moment i arrive at the bus stop i see my bus is arriving too, the conductor waving for me to get on. my bus never comes when i need it. ever ever ever. i scramble on and the vehicle sweeps off towards my destination.

in dance class chordi is teaching a bol that is all floating and gentleness, all the little graces, the softnesses and curves of the moments, the delicate adjustments of angles and speed. and today also i do not bungle it all up, somehow i fumble n fudge my way thru it not half so bad. i leave feeling, for once in a long while, that i am actually really moving forward in this, in a way i can feel, not just muddling and bumbling about in it. there is a reminder in this bol of the reasons i am here, the reasons that i am always getting confused about or forgetting. one of those bols that makes you remember again why u fell in love with this art, why you came all this way crossing such great spaces leaving so many people you love behind for the life of strange loneliness in the face of crowds, unexpected companions, and occasional friendships.

on the way home i am reminded of one of my favorite kolkata courtesies. often i find myself expecting a certain lack of the courtesies towards strangers (the inadvertent pessimist i swear!) in my daily observations on these buses of the way people can be so ruthless about getting seats, or even a good corner, the way the pregnant and the elderly are made to stand cuz people won’t bother to give up their own seats for a stranger. there have been moments when i have felt enraged to see women bearing little babies in their arms, precariously standing and swinging with the bus that can toss as bad as a small boat in any storm, being left to manage as best she can while the entire bus just sits there staring at her predicament, mute and even worse action-less spectators. but then there are those other moments, moments when my hope for the human race is revived. for instance, i am always carrying around these huge heavy bags of clothing and water bottles for dance class, and whenever i get on a crowded bus a seated person will reach out and offer to hold it for me, so that i might stand more comfortably. i don’t think i have ever seen this custom in the USA. maybe there is something about private property, people not wanting others to touch their shit or whatever. maybe it is just a difference that exists for its own sake, that refuses an easy explanation. but anyway, today not on one not on two but on three separate occassions my burdens were lifted out of my hands by seated strangers. i was taken care of, and with two arms free, i could properly get my grip. so as the bus sailed over the potholes and between other perils-on-wheels, i could be carefree, swift and secure and flying on to my destinations.

although there is a foreboding cockroach in the hall outside of my room, on its back and waving its legs in the air frantically, i try not to take that as another one of nature’s foreshadowings. i’ve had too sweet a day to declare it all over yet. i know it is only a matter of time before kolkata is again getting to me in its little ways, in its little peculiarities n subtle pressures. but until then, i will enjoy these moments for all they are worth.