The Banyan tree and other stories
Little things that tick the contentment meter!
was reminded of this particular incident from our early days in Ireland because I have recently had a haircut and I wear my big hair open. When it is windy, my hair flies everywhere, sometimes like a halo drunk on electricity, at other times an unruly being with hundred long arms.
If this were a short story (and an absurdly short short story!), it would say - two Indian women went out to buy groceries. They came back with a mysterious whole chicken that was priced at 20 euros. No one knew why. It looked like a chicken. It tasted like one. It was packaged as one. But 20 euros for a chicken?
I know it sounds cheesy to start a piece by some very amateurish lines of verse. But some places are so magical, so other worldly that words begin to form, without effort, arranging themselves in neat lines like conscientious schools girls during morning assembly. Glendalough or the Valley of the Two Lakes is one such place.
Do we only see our neighbours when we are taking out the trash or while in the lift? Or do we, visit each other, sharing food and evenings and conversations and becoming like my parents say 'first families' to each other? I hope we do, because there's so much to gain from being a good neighbour and from having one yourself.
It was our first evening in Dublin. My husband had accepted a job in Ireland, without either of us ever setting foot in the country before. When we reached the service apartment where we were to spend our first ever night in Ireland, we couldn't get anyone to let us in. It would have been a very sad evening if it wasn't for the warmth and friendly banter of the Irish taxi driver who had driven us from the airport to the service apartment and welcomed us to our new life...
The Banyan tree and other stories 