Who's the Boss?

I tried my best to avoid eye-contact and never speak to anyone on the train to college, especially since it was Central Railway. CR has a smell (stink) of it's own, a certain drabness despite the mix of gaudy colors of Navari saris, and Hawaiian shirts bought from Fashion Street. A varied class of working people, who we try to pretend don't exist, crowd the platforms everyday, peering over each other's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the 10 minute late train still not appearing on the horizon.

I got in, and got to reading. Outside the window was slums, inside the window were the people from the slums. There was nowhere else to look but into my book. I kept my eyes down at all times, ignoring the hawkers, the beggars, the person on the seat across from me. The person on the seat across from me was not mentally adequate. Dirty frock, haggled hair, glazed eyes, the works; she started up conversations with everybody that sat there and drove them away. I was sure she thought I was a grump, but it was relieving because she didn't try to talk to me.

The hawkers went by, sneering at her, teasing even. She kept up the jest, it was all good. But, she couldn't resist the flower woman with the sweet-smelling cane basket, and asked her for some Mogras. The lady firmly said, "4 rupya." My idiot friend asked again, insisting she didn't have any money. She removed her pouch, and counted some old 5 paise, 10 paise coins and even some 25 paise circles but somehow it didn't add up. This was interesting and I had closed my book to watch the end. The Mogra-seller was shrewd. She looked at me sideways, advising the girl to ask 'someone else' for the remaining 2 rs.

"2 rupya hai?" the girl asked me, finally giving up. I was a little annoyed, but she was a retard wasn't she? And, she was poor. I was full of self-help, do-good books and quotes; decided to 'score some Karma points', proudly labeled myself as a generous person and got out the 4 rs from my wallet, with a high-and-mighty gesture at the girl to put back her tiny savings into her tiny purse.

Flowers were bought, smiles exchanged. The girl smelled her purchase, satisfied. I looked for my lost page, admiring my halo, and suddenly, "This is for you." The girl was holding up the flowers for me. I used the most filmi line ever known, "Kya?!", but she was insistent. I took the flowers, smiled at her, and I can swear she looked even happier than when she had managed to buy them.

It would be rude to go back into my shell now, Arthur Hailey had to go back into my bag. I smiled at her again, and every time she looked at me, I had to smile politely because I owed her. She grinned back each time, unaware of my situation, innocently unaware of how she was holding me hostage. I had to get down at Kurla and we exchanged goodbyes. We were friends, no doubt. We were friends, and I had no say in the matter.

Standing under the giant platform clock, I took a first whiff of my gift and realized who the real idiot was.

Oops! My Bad.

'Sorry' just doesn't cut it anymore. It's more a selfish word than anything; apologizing makes me feel better, especially if it is accepted graciously.

I was having a very bad day sometime last month. I got locked out of my apartment on a weekend, so it took forever to get maintenance to help, and another eternal 30 minutes to convince them to let me break in through the patio door--'It's not illegal to burgle my own place.' Within 4 more hours, I managed to lose my hubcap. The next couple hours after that, my guardian angel was probably busier than Mr. Bush--I almost hit countless cars and people. I was backing out of parking later that night to hang out with some friends, when I scared some young girls who thought I was carelessly gonna run them over. They started to get angry and began venting to each other and I could have shrugged and left. But, I rolled down my window and apologized. "Ohh, no it's ok!! Don't worry about it." Ahh! So much better. That's what I needed. A screwed up form of validation. I had a great time at the party.

It's a good concept in theory, owning up to your mistake(s). But, it's a little more than that. There has to be public acknowledgment. A quiet, internal understanding of your sins is not enough. There was a difficulty associated with the word, several decades ago. Admitting your fault used to be a stab to the ego; when my grad school advisor told me in front of company, "I'm so glad you proved me wrong! Good job." he totally refuted that idea, and had my firm respect.

Examples from experience, self-help books, Gurus, parents, have messed up my 'Sorry'. That word is for me, not for you. I am awesome, I am secure enough with myself to use it openly and mean it. Even if it is not accepted, a big burden is lifted. I said it, I meant it, take it or leave it. Ego unscathed, we throw out sorrys at funerals, forgotten birthdays, break-ups, divorces, party spills so freely. Do we need another word? Or should we raise the price on this one?

It started out so simple when I was 6. 'Sorry is a magic word.'. "Beta, say sorry to that nice auntie." "Aww, kaai nai, dikra...", warm hug and if I was lucky, Cadbury's Dairy Milk. Briefly, during adolescence, there was some weight to the tag: "Why should I call first? His fault, let him.". Then, 'The 7 Good Habits' happened. A little bit of vodka induced, "Who cares whose fault, who cares who's sorry, we're all gonna die anyway!!"

If you plead guilty, there's a lesser sentence. Confess, and all will be forgiven. Be the bigger person. Cronje and Clinton and public sympathy. Germany. Court-ordered apology. 'There is no excuse for my behavior' enters the Book of Cliches for 2003.

And the poor, poor victim with the onus of 'Forgiveness is a virtue.' has been pushed into the backseat because it's no longer about him! It's about the cute little culprit that decided to change his game. Three Hail Mary's and the Rosary must suffice even God.