I clearly remember the first time I sat my foot in the staff room (a good 20 years ago). A lady more a female version of ’Happy Buddha’ sat at the entrance. She had an unusually bright contagious smile and she was buxom. She sipped a nearly depleted lemonade. As I stood undecided, she miraculously sustained her sparkling smile, eyed me intently as she absently straightened her stray curl, that had escaped and casually tucked it in place. She was a comforting sight in a sea of the to-be-male colleagues, almost most of them were in a salt and pepper phase of life. I frantically looked for a vacant seat. At the far end of what seemed like a never ending wooden table sat a young lady of my age. She pulled a chair next to her and beckoned me, before she would change her mind I almost ran to get the seat, momentarily assuming I was in a middle of a highly challenging ‘Musical Chair’ game, a game I’m never good at nor lucky. So I jumped at the offer.
No sooner was I seated, I heard a feminine voice make enquires about me. Still experiencing discomfort on being among strangers, it suddenly dawned upon me there were hardly any lady faculty members and for some strange reason most of them were herded at the far end of the table, except of course the Happy Buddha. I glanced at the source of the investigating voice. She had aristocratic features moreover she had enviable height, pretty tall for an average Goan Lady, I mused. Seated next to her was another young or rather the youngest lady who was in comparison far shorter, later I was to learn her lack of height was compensated by quick wit and an extraordinary knack for detailing.
To my right was the pretty woman who had offered me the chair, I could bet my life during her hey days, she must have broken more than a couple of hearts, with her smile and stunning figure. She wore a dress that did plenty of justice to her anatomy.
My other neighbour was a white bearded gentleman, who reminded me of ‘Rip Van Winkle’, he greeted me or rather grunted. There was another gentleman who enquired about my name. I rattled off my long surnames. Well, a good twenty years ago Hindu married women retaining their maiden surname and marital too was unheard of. “Oh, she’s a double loaded gun, he judged, and almost whispered…lambhi race ki godi”. I could feel my face flush, uncertain of whether the remark was compliment or not. Before I could decide, the bell rang. It was the typical Pathshalla one, the rhythmic clanking of metal against metal.
With the bell, there was change in the composition of the staff room, some salt and pepper heads left and they were replaced by another set of young and not so young heads. I was relieved to see another lady breeze in. She was loud and her laughter was even louder. She was vivacious, she had won a lifetime fan in me.
Years flew by and transformed into decades, my colleagues, religiously chiseled me, pushed me and helped me evolve. Well, big thanks guys.
