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Gita"Mary...Mary, what?..Mary," Gita said pushing her English to its limits. She looking into the cloth shopping bag containing macaroni, a piece of cheese, coffee, and a pan. "The pan is dirty," Mary tells her slowly, showing her the inside, then placing it into the sink, filling it with water from the tap. She looking at Gita still examining the contents of the bag. "OK...OK.." Gita indicates she understands, nodding her head shoulder to shoulder. "Your sari is pretty."Mary laughs, "beautiful.." trying that more widely understood word for the third time. Gita understood somewhat, yet holds tension in her face and wrinkles forehead glancing sideways as she works at the sink. "Coffee...?" Gita asks..."Coffee?"Mary exits the kitchen through a cloth hung doorway. Sat at a desk in the office. A moment later Gita served sweetened Indian milk-coffee in an aluminum tumbler lifted from a small aluminum tray. Mary loved her coffee black and unsweetened. Gita brought the Director tea at his big desk. They chatted in Tamil. I told the Director that Gita may have misunderstood---I wanted to let her know I like her plain sari, for the colors and design. But when I go to a sari shop, I'm not allowed to even look at the plain saris, so I must wear zari sari. Threads in border gold or silver. I wanted to change places with Gita. I wish she and I could change clothes for a day. The Director translated to Gita, talking for some time, Gita smiling. Then the Director told me she understood. Madras, India 1992 |
© Marie A. Kazalia