Urmi.

When did i meet her? 1999, when I was still very new in Mumbai meri Jaan.

When I took as long as 3mins and 18secs to say Gujarati from Marati, when the Mumbai-ya hindi sounded very rude, when I gasped in disbelief at women who managed to walk elegantly with their pencil heals, when I still uttered “Tch...Tch” at those coy couples acting cozy, when I got scared to death every time I stepped my foot on the escalator.

When I thought it is necessary for women to walk with their heads down(Mom, didn’t you love me for this, but alas!), when I pronounced “McDonalds” in the most atrocious southie accent possible, When I would get amazed at how those “robes” didn’t fall off the woman’s shoulders, when the smell of shopping malls simply mesmerized me.

If you have lived all your life in small towns and cities which put you at ease very soon, Mumbai would definitely scare you. Be it the pace, the attitude, the crowd, the noise, the “fast” trains, the one-up man ship and everything else; which of course one would fall in love with over the years.

Coming back to the story I intended to narrate; this is about a phenomenal woman that I came across during one of those 2nd class train travels. It was still monsoon, and I noticed that people either love or hated the Mumbai rains. Most of these middle aged women detested the mess rains caused (I strongly believe age has a lot to do with one’s appreciation for rains).

The first week that we traveled together by that “7.20 slow”, we didn’t speak. The next week we smiled at each other and then later graduated to smirking at jokes that “existed” around. I’m sure she was well aware of my occasional “stares” at her shorts-like-skirt, her décolleté tops (or what is that called), her burgundy hair with orange streaks.

And then one day, she “reserved” that window seat for me, as if she knew how incomplete I feel after a journey if I’d not sat next to the window. I smiled and thanked her without uttering a word.

And then she spoke, shook hands (couldn’t resist noticing the contrast in our complexion) and said “Heey, I’m palli”. And I burst out laughing; more so on seeing that confused face.

I said “Sorry didn’t mean to laugh at you. Palli in my mother tongue means “lizard”.

And she goes “oh...I'm almost that, but for the tail of course”.

Yeah,I didn’t understand what she meant by “I’m almost a lizard” .But I laughed out aloud, for having connected, for having met someone witty, for having broken the ice, for all the interesting convos we might have in future, and yes for having made friends with a secsy foreigner.

The first, of many questions that were to follow was “How and why does one wear that long piece of cloth on the shoulders,” When I explained to her the concept of “Dupatta”, she asked hesitantly if she could borrow mine and mentioned that she loved the idea of a long scarf casually thrown around her neck.

I didn’t lend her, gifted one though. She wrapped it around her bosom and gushed ‘I feel very feminine, more than that I think I feel very secure” and I smiled, thought this is the closest she has come to understanding Indian women. And thus started our interesting qn/ans sessions, ones that lasted for those 32 minutes every evening.

I think, we assumed the role of a mother-child. I lived a mother holding the puny fingers of the child trying hard to handle its curiosity. Irritated by trivial question, secretly admiring them. I tried my best to explain the unfathomable Indian culture to her; She was fascinated, to say the least.

I cant forget that evening, when I went out shopping a sari for her in dadar.After almost 3hrs of scrutinizing, she purchased a red zari banarasi, 2dozen “glass” bangles, one huge sparkling bindi, a shade of local orange lipstick, a green dupatta (she insisted on wearing them with every attire that she wore now-including her denim short n shirt), a khadi handbag and jasmine. She looked divine (and a little funny) when I saw her wearing each one of the stuff that she had got the next evening. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful ever;” I exclaimed and admired the way she blushed.

And then there was a role-reversal. I was the one learning now. Everything around me changed, I was no more a petite southie woman from north, but a nomad seeking an dentity. I told mom "I aspire for a borderless world" (Agreed, sounds too clichéd...but what more can you expect out of a 17yr old?)

I asked the questions,i started copying her dememour, walked with pride & energy, spoke like an ardent feminist, shouted my opinions, debated about “free spiritedness and freedom” like never before, felt strongly about women’s rights and started working with the NGO she was associated with.

It was motivating to even imagine that this 30yr old ( I was shocked when she disclosed her age) quit her high flying business analyst job, gave up on the comforts of luxurious American living and bid gbye to her family to pursue higher goals .To educate the sexworkers and their children. It is funny how people one meets for a few days in life, can have a major influence in shaping ones personality.

That dark evening was too memorable, for reasons more than one. We were conversing about her project, the progress she has made, her mother’s ill health etc...She complained about her lecherous ‘mentor’, telling me how he tried making a blatant pass at her that morning. She had resolved to strangle him to death; the next time around he behaves like that.

And then we started discussing the usual “trivial” day to day stuff. That evening she expressed her shock on learning I was single at the age of 17,she thought I was “nuts”. I smiled. And then she told me about her blind date with some Indian man at Leela palace .I asked her to be careful,she simply laughed it off “oh, U kid. Palli is big enough to take care of herself”.

I hope she did, cos I never met her after that day.

(Urmi - A Wave)