Chronicles of Bani - III

The art of smiling in front of the camera isn’t easy. I’ve often been told I look rude, snooty and extremely unapproachable. My interview with the South Indian doe-eyed actress went fine. Except for the fact that I looked like I had a tree-trunk up my.. well, you know.

I practised smiling in front of my mirror. Nah. Too fake. Too much teeth. Little less teeth, maybe that looked a bit more genuine. Sigh. Better but still forced. The eyes need to speak, I remember my drama teacher’s decade-old words echoing in my head. Does that mean I have to feel happy? Too much analysis. Just smile.

“That was XYZ speaking exclusively to us about her new film. With cameraperson Raj, this is Bani Jambulingam for Niyo News.” Grin.

Wait. No. Grin throughout, not suddenly at the end. My phone rang. Thank god. The art of fake smiling was obviously not too easy. My colleague’s faraway voice on the other end of my phone.

“What? No, I didn’t know….. When?..... Ok I’m going, I’m going. Gone! Bye!”

Nonsense. Controversial statement made by South Indian actor aired exclusively by rival news channel. What am I supposed to do now. And when did entertainment become my beat anyway, I wondered. Entertainment means more smiling on camera. I groaned. And ran.

**

That was a bad week for me. A friend fought with me because I looked “rude” at his play and did not speak to him properly. (the fact that I made time to see the play did not matter to him at the time) I got no stories apart from a couple of lousy entertainment ones. I was told I need to smile more and ask more relevant questions. Softer questions. And then I was told to be more aggressive at getting news. Soft aggression?

I was looking forward to my day off. Which unfortunately came on a day when aforementioned actor made another idiotic statement and I had to run to get it. 24-hour news channels suck. It was that day Sudhish suddenly called me. After so many months and when I had finally begun to move on, it was rather cruel. I, in my usual manner, let loose an expletive when I realised it really was him. And said I would call him back.

Meanwhile my mother’s friend’s son called me out of the blue. A boy I had met once when I was barely 3 feet tall. Amidst thoughts of Sudhish and the art of fake-smiling (which I managed rather well with the idiotic actor, or so I heard), I thought the poor boy was calling from a bank which had been harassing me to invest or take a loan. After I hung up on him and he called again, I listened in amazement.

“I saw you on television. Well my mother and I saw you actually. You managed the piece well, though I’m not too interested in cinema or what actors do and say. Mom said she knows you. I just thought I’d give you a call and er.. you know tell you that I liked your piece.”

I nearly groaned aloud. My mother had perfected the art of matchmaking. Or not rather, because it was still so obvious she was doing it! I sweetly replied to the boy (or maybe he was a man) and told him I would call him back.

I banged my head on the nearest wall before my boss called me and saved my life possibly.

Afterwards, while I was twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the head office to okay my script and send me home, I got bored. And wrote the following on a tissue I found on the floor.

A mosquito buzzed near my ear.

The fan worked in the distance.

Street lights out the window

And dogs lying on the road.

During the day I dream

But at night

I’m wide awake,

Dreams torn apart,

Hopes crashing down.

Disappointment after disappointment.

The night is empty.

Like my bed.

Pillows cannot make up

For where you once lay.

My chin on your shoulder,

Your arm on my waist.

I would listen to you snore gently,

Watch your chest rise in the dark.

I know.

Love doesn’t last forever.

But memories do.

Forgetting takes a lifetime.

The bee stings in a second.

But it takes days to heal.

Mosquitoes buzz around me.

My only companions tonight.

I wonder when I will forget.

Stop missing you.

When I can dream again.

I stopped before it got any worse. Obviously I needed to move on. I walked home that night, wondering when I would get over Sudhish. Maybe I’d call the other boy in a few days. I missed my mother’s cooking and nagging. I always miss her when she’s away visiting relatives in faraway lands. Even though she comes back laden with gifts and anecdotes for me.

I read through the poem before I went to sleep that night. Obviously I had to work on mastering my poetry as well, apart from the smiles. The art of writing poetry had always been a mystery to me. It was like the sun on a cloudy day. Sometimes it decided to come out and bless me with some warmth, but many times it remained hidden behind a layer of grey.

The art of poetry and the art of smiling. Among other things. I had miles to go before I slept.

I sighed, put off the light and fell asleep.