A lady wearing blue jeans and a pale yellow jacket walks across the
Food court area. She is carrying a black background, white polka-dotted
handbag on her side. She heads straight for McDonalds and stands in line
to place her order. So, that is her favorite amongst all of Pizza Hut,
Subway, Quiznos etc. Her standard fall back option. Mine would be
Quiznos. (Only because I can expect a decent vegetarian meal
from it). Another woman joins the line soon. This time its a a blue
shirt over embroidered jeans. Good taste I think. After spending a few
hours of shopping in New York over the weekend, my taste for fashion is certainly ignited. I can see myself taking special interest in watching
what people wear. I remember we used to do this
often as a pastime during our college days, it was a lot of fun. Another
woman just crosses my table. She is carrying a multi-colored Jaipuri
printed bag. With blue and brown as the foundation colors on the bag, I
notice that she wears a coffee colored skirt and a light cream top
alongwith it. Everything matches so well. Would she wear any other dress
while carrying that bag? Or is she one of those who have a matching bag
and a sandal for every dress they own. I see that she also wears a
white pearl necklace.
Amidst
all this, I hear the siren of a moving cart. There are two old ladies
and one young woman sitting on it along with a lady driver. They have a
smile on their faces. A smile as if they are class I travelers in a
train. Lower class people have to walk on their own feet carrying their
luggage. They would also give them way as the cart moves across. All the
driver needs to do is blow the siren constantly. But he is patient about it.
A guy comes and parks a cart
close to other carts and takes out his 25 cent reward from the machine. My friend F and I exchange a glance. We both think the same thing at the
moment. We then start reminiscing about how Tom Hanks earns his money in
the movie Terminal.
We calculate, 25 cents * 10 (carts) = 2.5 dollars. So, you can at least
get one burger a day if you can get hold of ten empty carts and park
them here. I go a step ahead and calculate 25 cents * 20 (carts) = 5
dollars. So if he can manage 20 carts then he should be able to get food
twice a day. How difficult would it be to manage getting 20 carts in a
day, my mind prods. Somehow, I want to settle in my mind that it is not
difficult to do that. I want evidence that someone doing this can
easily manage to have food at least twice a day. If he remains hungry,
it would be sad. I feel a perturbation about it.
By now, I feel a slight pain in my
wrist. I realize I am not using any support for the writing.
I am scribbling uncomfortably on my lap and my hand posture is not
good. Deciding to take a break, while I take a short glance around
exercising my wrist, I see people looking at me suspiciously. They seem
puzzled about what this woman is upto - looking around and scribbling
something constantly. My neighbor even sneaks a peek into my writing
but I am sure at the speed with which I scribble, my handwriting is so
illegible, that she would only worsen the suspense for herself. For a
moment, I feel like a criminal. I try to look normal and make a logical
conversation with F. I am not insane or prodding into your lives is
the message I want to get across. Finally, I choose to stop writing.
