Borrowed Tales
Maria stood in the local train with a long beige coat that covered her entirely — except, her feet slipped in black heels, and her delicate fingers that carried a thick book. And her face, of course. Or should I say, her eyes? Her face was hidden behind a mask, as was everyone else’s on the train. I’d describe her eyes but I forgot to notice them. I had learnt to not notice the face when the pandemic stole them all away from us.
She was just a few tones lighter than her coat. And, her skin sharply contrasted with her jet back hair that ran straight down her back till her hip.
She must have felt warm in the metro because she decided to take off her coat. Underneath, she wore a blouse full of matte pink roses and pastel mint leaves that seemed rather faded next to the brightly patterned green and red phanek. Her light pink nail polish almost admitted that the phanek was borrowed. She coiled up the coat hurriedly — almost carelessly. And placed it on a translucent plastic bag full of clothes that was near a tear. It also had one choco pie in it. Just one. Next to a cautiously embroidered pouch that matched her outfit.
She pulled out the pouch to reveal an iPhone of a colour that belonged to the leaves she wore on her blouse. It seemed like the plastic bag was something she hadn’t anticipated she would carry. She shoved the pouch back into the thin bag while she kept clutching onto the book in her hand. Against the black hard cover rested golden letters ‘The Holy Bible’.
First I observed her because she stood right in front of me, next, because she looked beautiful and I wanted to look like her, and then because she seemed hard to figure out — and was full of contradictions — at least I hadn’t seen anyone carry the latest iPhone in a flimsy plastic bag before. And every little bit her presence revealed about her turned her into a different person altogether.
But I was not a new player either. With hundreds of successful stories under my name I set out to reconcile all I knew about her. She was Maria, to me at least. Christmas was around the corner, and it came in handy. Maria had to practice not only for her choir but also for her reading at the midnight prayer. The phanek was obviously a dress code she had to adhere to but Maria knew she could just borrow it at the church rather than invest in one she would never wear again. Her friends were generous — a bit more than she had expected. They decided it would be great for her to have options. So they put a couple more in a plastic bag for her to try at home. Maria knew she wouldn’t need them but she has always been so polite to say no. She thanked them multiple times and brought the phaneks back with her. Later she would return them and let them know she liked the one she wore the most as it was the colours of Christmas.
She had decided to make this count and used the bag for everything else she would have been carrying in her hands instead except, of course, the Bible. She had tried to fit it in but looking at how flimsy the bag was, she had decided against it. The phanek, her pouch and a choco pie was also just a long shot she was willing to take. She had gotten that little treat for her baby sister who was down with Covid. Maria’s sister loved chocolate. She was recovering in fact, and her tastes were returning. Her throat could now handle some snacks. Maria couldn’t bring her the joy and excitement that filled the church on Christmas Eve, but she could get what came the closest to it.
I understood so much about her but I never knew Maria could be a distant neighbour. As my station arrived, she too put on her coat, ready to face the cold of the city and then scooped up the bag in both her arms. She knew it would tear apart if she carried it any other way — she had tried.
She looked so uncomfortable. But hurried with fast, short steps to the train’s door and out down the stairs. She wanted to reach home as soon as possible. For no real reason in fact, she just liked being home. But knowing her like I did, she would have to stop mid-way even though she didn’t want to. Her bag was so unevenly held, she would have to readjust it at the bench at the station gate
As I walked out the station, I saw her pass by the bench. I had never been wrong before. Maybe I underestimated her desire to be home. She walked straight down the busy street, glimmering with headlights in the evening. As I saw another bench out on the sidewalk, I pinned my hopes to it. But Maria didn’t stop there either. Defeated, I turned to hire an autorickshaw to my home in the opposite direction. And right as I sat in it, I saw Maria drop her bag with a sudden thud. She knelt and began gathering it all — the snack, her poach, so many pieces of clothing. I smiled to myself. Maybe she wasn’t as put together as I knew her to be. Could it have been in her eyes? I forgot to notice them.
