If Only I had Listened......

 

I knew I should have said no, but had been unable to lie. I was driving down to Rachol Village in Salcete, South Goa for a heritage walking tour. The walk itself was just two hours but the drive from Siolim  was over 55Kms and since it was the first time that I was driving to the South, I wasn’t sure about doing it alone. Varun, of ‘Soul Travelling’ that organises these tours, suggested car-pooling. I thought it a great idea and so he shared my number with those interested. First Vaishali called, then Akshita whatsapped me and we were going together. I was to meet them at the Panjim bus stand. But, Vaishali decided to go it alone, so there was just Akshita and me. I was on my way to meet her, at Porvorim, when the phone rang. It wasn’t a saved number. I didn’t know who was calling. The traffic was sluggish, so I took the call.

 

Someone called Pallavi, who spoke good Hindi, unusual in Goa, was on the line. She mentioned Varun and joining the car pool. I didn’t like the sound of her voice. Or the way she prefaced the conversation, her undecidedness and mostly the late hour of her request. The road cleared up and I couldn’t talk while driving, so said I would call her once I reached Panjim. Then on hindsight, a few minutes later,  I stopped the car on the side and called her to say I was barely five minutes away from the pick-up rendezvous, if she could reach there in time. She had mentioned taking her car, instead of mine, at the outset, so I suggested that otherwise, it was best she made her own way to Rachol. But, she said she could be there in five minutes. I wasn’t happy but in some strange way I had actually facilitated her coming by calling her. And yet, I knew that I wasn’t in the mood for this chatty, odd sort of person.

 

You may well ask, how I knew this and I cannot remember the conversation verbatim but the irksome whining, nasal tone of voice, along with her needless chatter and, an internal radar warning that she wasn’t good news, is how I summed it up. But she was coming and that sealed the deal. I thought, okay, how bad can it be. There is another person in the car and maybe she can chat with her and I’ll concentrate on driving. But she wanted to make friends and that made it really awkward.

 

After Panjim, we had to get off the highway, but missed the exit. Akshita , who was navigating hadn’t give me enough warning to turn left, so I drove past. After that, I never heard the end of it from Pallavi. Eventually I turned around and said, okay so we missed the turn, it happens. There is no way back, this is the highway. Google is indicating another route, so now let me drive in peace and stopping cribbing. If it takes longer and we are going to be late, we can call in and inform the group, if and when it comes to that point. It turned out that eventually we were just five minutes late. But, even with forty minutes to go, madam promptly called Varun ‘Sir’ and informed him that we had missed the turning that would have brought us through Loutolim, and would  instead be coming via Margao. And, all through the route she had plenty of advice to give. From Panjim to Rachol and on the return too, seated in the back of the car, with google maps also switched on her phone, she mumbled to herself commenting at every turn. She wasn’t happy in the rear of the car. She needed more space and cribbed about the stuff that was left on the backseat, even though I had moved it to one side, leaving more than enough room for one person to sit comfortably.

 

Soon after our journey commenced, since we were all strangers, I asked Akshita what she did for a living. She was a lawyer working with an apparently reputed firm in Panjim. Pallavi, who is from Gujarat and has been living in Panjim for ten years, knew of him, excitedly jumped in and informed that he had done the sale deed for their flat in Caranzalem. Then she went on asking odd questions about this said flat, citing that she was in litigation with her husband, going through a divorce and wanted to know various details about property paper legalities. Young Akshita was impressive and firm, asking her first find out whether it is a sale deed or agreement with the society, if her name was on the papers and stuff like that. It was evident, our Gujarati lass had not done due diligence in this regard, because she quizzed Akshita (whose name she couldn’t pronounce correctly even at the end of the trip) about the scenario regarding various possibilities, because she didn’t know the recorded details. Changing the subject, I asked Pallavi what she did for a living. Very abruptly and without any additional information, which hadn’t been the trend for anything else that she had shared thus far, she said “I’m in real estate”. I didn’t know how true this was or her experience in the field,  because what are the chances of a realtor not knowing the details of her own property purchase. And, on the way back, when she asked where I stayed and who the builder was. I said Riviera. Her response was ah! so and so is the person behind the company, which was incorrect. Despite her questioning prompt, I didn’t fill in the details, which later generated some humour on the ride.

 

The Slipper Effect - in Indian Tradition a Thwack
Where, getting a slipper (chappal) from your mother
has been an effective disciplinary tool.
 

As it was later than planned getting back, Akshita’s mentioned that she had a pet Labrador waiting for her at home, Pallavi shared that she kept pet rabbits, because she and they are vegetarian, and that she also had a pet tortoise. Curious about what a tortoise eats, I asked and she didn’t respond. When Akshita repeated the question thinking she may not have heard, Pallavi mumbled and whined “I have said so many questions and no one is replying, so why should I tell”.  Akshita didn’t hear this and posed the question again. Pallavi’s response had amused me, so with a laugh I said, she doesn’t want to  respond. When, she promptly filled us in on the details. Funny woman!

 

As luck would have it, we took a wrong turn on the way back too and then lost GPS signal on all three phones and the woman never stopped bitching. She supposedly knew that we had taken the wrong road and had been telling us all along, or so she said. She went on and on and on, until I said: “We took a wrong road. We made a mistake. Akshita has gone to ask the shop for directions, give it a break!” At one  point it pelted really hard and visibility was terribly low. I slowed the car as it was a narrow track with heavy traffic on both sides – headlights adding to my woe, when she piped in about how good she was at driving, knew these routes well and that, “if I didn’t mind, she could drive”. I said without hesitation that I did mind and was  perfectly capable of driving myself. Imagine handing over my car to this one!

 

I would have liked to  get to know Akshita better but any conversation I started with her, Pallavi would chip in.  I could feel her energy invading my space and my irritation at myself, for not having said no at the outset, increased.  At one she point suggested “can I play my music” presumably streaming it through her phone. Having reached a point where niceties no longer mattered, I firmly said no thank you.  I didn’t feel obliged to be accommodating, especially since I was paying a heavy price for being carelessly so, in  the first place. Then she enquired if my car had FM radio. I don’t listen to the radio and it isn’t tuned in, which I informed her of. But was reminded through these prompts that music could be a buffer so played some tracks from my USB, to dull the sound of her whingeing. But, with the windows down, between the breeze and tyres swishing on wet tarmac,  I couldn’t hear the piano’s subtle strains of Chopin’s Waltzes.

 

 

It had been a nice enough walk and generous snacks at the end ensured we were not hungry. For the drive which had taken us an hour from Panjim, it was almost two hours getting back. Partly because of the wrong  turn even though we had turned back quick enough, and partially because of blocks on the highway owing to construction work. It was dark, and then it poured so I drove slower than I normally do, which is not terribly fast to begin with. I suppose I ought to be grateful that she didn’t give a running analysis about my speed and that ilk. But all in all, she annoyed me so much that being a long day and driving in hostile conditions, walking for over two hours et al,  my shoulders really started to ache and I had a craving for ice-cream.

 

After I dropped them off at Panjim bus stand, I took a detour, on the way home, to Anjuna, to get myself some Salted Caramel, Cream Choc Gelato – truly the best ice-cream in the world. Digging into it I said to myself, why didn’t I say no to her at the outset? She had noted my hesitation and asked if there was place or was I “full up” . I didn’t want to deal with the kind of energy I had intuited I was going to carry on board, but in that moment I wasn’t able to lie. I suppose she would have found out when we all reached there that I had been dishonest, but how does that matter when she is a total stranger and one that I was confident I didn’t want to befriend or engage with?

 



The Slipper Effect - in India Tradition a thwack.

 

Why do we hesitate to tell the truth. Why didn’t I say, that I didn’t want to take her. Or why didn’t I say that I didn’t have space and later, if asked when we met, just say that I didn’t want to transport her? What made me dither on this score and thus bring upon myself the burden of her constant carping and uninteresting conversation. Even talking about the tour, she couldn’t share what it was that she liked best, other than saying “I like all these walks, all the steps are good”.

 

Not giving credence to my sensitivity, not being firm has cost me in the past - getting involved in situations that have been debilitating. Some having gone on far longer than a couple hours on the road.  I also don’t like it when people I know have lied to  me. This has hurt and  upset me. But, if a total stranger is fibbing to avoid an uncomfortable issue, what’s the grouse for? Isn’t it our prerogative to please ourselves. And having reached the sixth decade of my life, do I not have the right to dodge, what I know isn’t my cup of tea. Would it have been so bad, had I stooped to lying? So, why didn’t I?

 

But what in our cultural conditioning makes untruthfulness or hasty judgments, objectionable? I know that I have held honesty in very high regard, but also learned that it doesn’t always pay. Just a couple of weeks ago, I had lied when a stranger wanted to  borrow my hand- beater, so what was different now?

 

Later, I had seen them at the pool and recognised them from a couple some months ago. Even if I didn’t know them, I had been unfriendly and ungenerous and it did come to mind. I did question my stance before laying it to rest. Was this a fall out of that, was it not quite laid to rest, I wondered. Or maybe, I was distracted and didn’t really have the presence - the quietude of mind, I had when I opened the door to the stranger with his request.

 

I wasn’t technically driving when I called Pallavi back, so cannot take refuge in that kind of disturbance. There had been an accident on the way and traffic snarls which meant that I was already late. So I parked my car on the side to call, giving her time to get to the meeting point, and not delay us further. She said she could be there in five minutes and that was that. I knew that I didn’t want her along the way, but wanted her to say she couldn’t come. I hadn’t been willing to speak up, based on some intangible idea of not liking her and paid a price that diminished the pleasure of  discovering another part of Goa.

 

But, having put myself through this discomfort, perhaps it will be a reminder of the kind of needless gruel one can go through in not honouring feelings and asserting them, even if this entails some truth-speak or white lies. If only I had listened to myself……..that sensitive radar, ever so subtle, but always right.

 

The Slipper Effect, where in India Tradition its a thwack.
And getting a Chappal from your mother has been an
effective disciplinary tool. Thought it was appropriate here.

 

 

(names in the text have been changed)