Those we walk with...

I met Priscilla at the school of the town we had moved to. The two of us clearly stood out from the others because of our skin colour. She would be panting by the time they neared school - her son on the cycle and she trying hard to keep pace on foot. They came all the way from Oud Liersbann, perhaps via Oude Godstraat or possibly via LeopoldLei, I am hazarding a guess here. She would pause to catch her breath at the point where she could see that her son was safely through the school gates.

On one such occasion we exchanged hellos and chatted - first in our halting Dutch and then moved on to an easier exchange in English. I had guessed she might be a Columbian or a Filipino, and she was the latter. She was fascinated to know I was from India because she had read a book about the country when she was young. What precisely intrigued her I do not quite remember - she did venture into detailed explanation, slipping back and forth into Dutch and English, and it was difficult for me to follow her thanks to my grumbling stomach. I always had breakfast post dropping kids to school as it would be a peaceful partaking of the first meal of the day. On some days the short drive to the school was invariably stressful depending on my state of mind. I think I just nodded, something I am prone to do a lot.

Perhaps it was the spirituality that she read about India which intrigued her. Her own faith, as I understood from our brief exchanges was more rigid and mandated. I often find it difficult to talk about the diversity of India or even begin to fathom what makes our country and civilisation such a long-standing one, in spite of all the diversity and strifes on a daily basis. Much less explain it to someone else. Just like painting a blank canvas. Yes, I often confess to not knowing it all.

She told me that she refused to move with her then boyfriend to the US, a much sought after opportunity for girls from her country, simply because he had dissed India and she took a life decision based on that. She wanted to visit India once with her husband. I don't know what made her move to Belgium and marry a Belgian, I did not inquire, poor as I am at small talk. And personal enquiries on first meetings are totally out of my comfort zone.

Our acquaintance was limited to hellos, sharing our experiences of being immigrants, integrating, challenges therewith, differences here vis-a-vis our respective countries (the frozen state of encapsulated memories since we last lived there), our children being away from their culture,  and how we try to reconcile to our new lives. She said she missed Philipines a lot, but Europe was a better opportunity for her son. She said she wants to die in her own country but does not see her husband or son moving back with her.

Sometimes I don't get this thing about me, I have so many questions and yet I deliberate before posing them. I come across as indifferent but fact is I am cautiously polite. Those days, I lived so much inside my mind at that point that I never thought of inviting her home to a cup of tea. Not even to exemplify the Indian hospitality. We always chatted at the school gates when we did.

Life is all about change and moving on. I told Priscilla we were leaving for good and going back to India. We stood by the wine section of GB and chatted over this and that. For over an hour. It was the stage where I was still coming to terms with the finality of our decision. I was glad to talk to someone. She told me she was sad to see us go, but happy that we are going back to our country. We exchanged email addresses. I copied hers on the back of a train-ticket. I slid it into the back-pocket of my handbag. Unlike most other women I know, I have only one functioning one, and not black. I also read it out loudly to memorise it, her last name reminded me of Lorraine region of France, and images of exquisitely embroidered costumes of bourgeoise and royal French women seen in a museum at Honfleur flashed in my mind.

I promised her I would write when I got here and settled, though I knew not what. The last we met was on the annual day for the school, we almost missed each other, she waited to say goodbye to me and the kids. And reminded me about our promise to write to each other.  I was not surprised with myself that I lost the address. I am careless and I had lot on my mind then. I was leaving a way of life behind and a lot of people I was briefly acquainted with. Isn't relevance an important thing in our lives?

I know in the initial days of my returning I had waited for a lot of casual acquaintances and friends to reach out and say hello. Weren't these the same people who forever quizzed me about our return-to-India plans, and how great it would be if we were back!! As if in the days of the Internet that was the only thing that stopped them from getting in touch. I have given up hope or desire of renewing my acquaintance with most. But someday, I do plan to play with some permutations and combinations of Priscilla's email address and say hello.  At least give it a shot. If nothing amounting to a bit of a pleasant surprise for each side.