Today
there appeared this huge hoarding right in front of the YMCA. She
has one of the loveliest faces I have ever seen. Even in this soft
morning when only a few pass by on these streets, it would be odd for
an old man like me to gawk at a pretty girl's picture. The line -
'Daughters are totally worth it' , struck a painful note somewhere
inside. Long ago I used to fantasize being the father of a pretty,
intelligent, artistic daughter, but fate had it otherwise.
As
one grows older, one is aware of the increasing number of attractive
women all around. I am interested in beautiful, intelligent and
sexually attractive women like any other man, but in recent years, I
have noticed that by and large, I look at young girls in the age
group of say 17- 23 with a queer mixture of love and affection, not
lustily, but quite aware of the sexuality of the young women in full
bloom.
And
young ladies of the said group abound. They flutter around me like
butterflies. They swoop down from the skies at me, pass me swiftly,
leaving the fragrance of their beauty and youth. They are like young
does, jumping and hopping and kicking up dust. I see them, on their
way to schools and colleges or offices, in buses and trains, in the
streets and beaches. Their gaiety is infectious. Beauty is all
around me and I am enchanted by it.
I am
typing this sitting in a train to Trivandrum, my weekly commuting to
home. Facing me sit two of the above kind. I watch them openly and I
can sense this kindly smile on my face as I observe every little
thing they do - munching Lays, talking over the mobile, excited
gestures and giggles, the way their eyes dart. I also notice the soft
hair on their forearms, glinting in the sunlight. I admire the
gentle swell of the breasts, the pale skin and the beautifully shaped
neck. Their earlobes are soft and pink, their fingers long and
graceful, with a life of their own, a language of their own. The
girls share the songs of a single mobile phone, plugging one earphone
to each. I eavesdrop but can't make much sense of their
conversation.
Until
recently, there were four young girls in my office. All of them in
their early 20s, fresh graduates/ PGs, excited at their first jobs
and thrilled to be independent. Joined the bank in the space of last
one year, they offered a hilarious contradiction with us, 4
middle-aged, gray- haired men. To us, they were like our daughters.
We loved to teach them the rudiments of banking practice, teased
them, shared their concerns, hopes and happiness, reassured them if
they were in a flutter. 3 of them stayed at a local working women's
hostel, one commuted from Cherthala, about 20 kms from Alleppey. One
Monday, back from home I gave them a bottle of P's tomato pickle and
how they loved it!
But
within the span of last couple of weeks two of them were transferred
to their home towns. Waving goodbye, I knew it was unlikely that I
would ever meet them again. They were likely to settle down and get
married, go for promotion and lead their lives. Who were I, this man
who had passed through their lives for a brief one year? I remember
those old officers and peons in Chidambaram, way back in 1980. Very
likely they are dead and gone and what had been them, to me? Except
figures, faint in my private memories? So too, I shall pass.
We
don't know much about each other - other than about the immediate
family, where we live, etc. In spite of the fact that we spend every
day together, from morning to evening, we hardly know anything about
our personal problems, other than a very occasional mention of
something.
At the
railway station today afternoon, N, one of the four, came up to me
and asked - 'Sir, is there any truth in astrology?' N confided
in me that she wanted to marry someone but her family was against it.
She was miserable and then went to an astrologer who said there was
some Dosham and according to the stars, the proposed marriage would
not succeed. She looked all twisted and about to break down. 'Pappa
and Amma are against it, so is my sister I hate her now she used to
support me'. So I tell her gently
to have confidence in herself, discuss the matter with her fiancé,
listen to the objections of her parents and convince them. I tell
her, no astrology is not true or anything don't BELIEVE in it, but
sometimes it is a salve for wounds, sometime it offers hope when
nothing else can, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn't, but the
main thing is to have conviction in oneself - it sounds so hollow
even to me. If one knew oneself, one wouldn't need the crutches.
Perhaps it is the 'paternal instinct', perhaps it is the diminishing
libido, perhaps it is the onset of 'andropause' - I am feeling so
fatherly to all young girls. Or is it because of the realization that
I would be interesting to girls of that age only as a father figure?
As the train slows down at Trivandrum, standing near the exit, I
glance at the mirror above the wash basin. I am amused. I nearly
burst out laughing because what I see is the profile of a man who
could be in his mid-60s. But, no Sir, no ridicule. I am happy being
what I am. I am proud that I don't pretend to be what I am not.
whatyouseeiswhatyouget. I think that is quite an attractive feature.
**************** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 22-10-2012
This is a poem I wrote a few years ago.
Sunlight Slants
Sometimes, in the corner of my eye,
I see a shadow flitting by.
A little girl in ponytail,
A pinafore hangs in the sun to dry.
Raindrops on petals, roses so pink,
A pair of hands cover my eyes.
A drop of water drips from the still wet hair,
My daughter asks me to tell her name.
The tinkle of your anklets,
The tingle of your laughter,
The scent of love in your touch,
My fingers grope for your little face.
Who are you, my unborn child, my unsung song,
You with the soft curls that tickle my ears?
Why did you chose to remain in my heart,
Tease me not with your hide& seek.
Sunlight slants- evening is here
Doors are open, I wait for thee.
Come, let the brilliance of light
Glow your hair and warm my heart.
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