AKSHI AND MEENA A Blinking Game with a Nun Senjorj school! The cleaner boys cry rings out. The bus stops in front of St Georges High School, which momentarily invisible because of the swirling reddish dust raise by the bus as it braked. The driver jumps out of his seat to the other side of the road and disappear behind a bish. Is it the stop for the Clarist convent? One of the two nuns in the seat in front has turned her head to ask the question. It is, sister, Mathan says, almost in a whisper. It is. The sister, who acknowledges with a nod Mathans reply, is looking straight into Rajus eyes. He stares back because he believes it is impolite to look away when someone is looking into your eyes. Maintain eye contact. It is like a handshake without physical touching, reassuring the other person that the hand that shakes your hand cannot stab you in the back. He does not blink. Nor does she. All he can see is the oval of her face which is encased in starched white cloth. It serves as border for the black hood that is draped over her head. Is she going to blink first? Better still, is she going to smile first? He thinks of the blinking, smiling games he has played with his mates. He smiles remembering how sometimes he would cheat by making faces and force a smile from Akshi and Meena. You smiled first. The sister has said. He blinks and stares again into two laughing eyes. She has two rows of perfect teeth. And dimples, this side of the starched line. Sister, forgive me, Ibrahim comes up and says. Your friend, I mean your sister, no, I mean the other sister, is waiting. Would you like to get down? For the Clarist convent? Its behind the school. Just five minutes walk. Raju has never seen Ibrahim so nervous. Smiling and nodding her head in thanks, the sister gets up briskly, her religious dress, which is not a habit of fashion, unsuccessfully trying to efface the flesh-and-blood person inside it. As she steps down she touches Ibrahims sleeve, which he has rolled up to just above his elbow. It is in fact his elbow she touches. Mind the step, sister, Ibrahim says, perplexed. In the meantime, the driver has returned from the bush, looking pleased with himself and the world. Pokam, pokam! Lets go, lets go. The cleaner boy bangs on the side of the bus, which charges ahead like a recalcitrant young bull.
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 09:22:15 +0000
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