Nose for news

As Pawar began mumbling through his chief guest’s speech, describing food deficit to restive rural folk, my eyes turned to the vast milling audience in front. On an impulse I got up from my seat to get closer. A riot of colour lay ahead: rustic village belles in their finery, the protagonists of Benegal’s Manthan. The next moment I realised I was being watched, actually ogled at. The hypnotic gaze of kohl-lined eyes, the tinkle of their trinkets, the embroidery on their bright coloured fabrics, and the glow of their skin made redder by the filtering sunlight through the pandal, was mesmerising. Their men happened to be 100 feet away.

For a moment I thought of checking if the journey from Gandhinagar to Palanpur had done something to my biceps. Wrong. Thought of the girl in college who spurned me because I had a nose rather too aquiline to fit properly on my face. How unintelligent she must have been to miss me. And here I was the cynosure of hundreds of beautiful eyes, gazing furtively, even expectantly, at me. Like Krishna among his gopis, I thought.

By that time the lone water bottle had changed seven hands, and the demand extended to the tenth row at the back. There were also suitable giggles and chuckles. It was my turn to feel embarrassed now. Reality hit home. I was only a waterman for them. Perhaps my college friend was right. My nose was too big for my face.