Pretty Please?

I've been alleged to be many things in my 23 years of life on this earth. I've been called sweet, funny, weird, intelligent..the list goes on. I wish to stop at this juncture for I will be at a risk of sounding haughty to my audience which knows me to be humble. Ah. I have, yet again, went on and told you something else that some people allege me to be. You think humble? Nay. Haughty!

Ofcourse, I have managed to shrug off many of these vacuous words that people like to coin to me and who I am. I call them vacuous because we can never encompass all of a person in a few words - people..life, after all, is much more than just a mere countable number of adjectives. I digress and you are (not I) at a risk of falling prey to my petty 'profound' thoughts. Now, I was telling you that I managed to remain unmoved by all the words describing what people assumed me to be, wasn't I? Unfortunately, there's one that still affects me drawing the much practiced smile and nod. Let me track back and prove to you that this particular adjective has been an integral part of my life.

When I was a child, happy and running about, people thought I was sharp and many other flattering things. Then when I was 4 years old I had the misfortune of wondering how old mothers and fathers were. I asked my mom who had promptly told me that mothers were always 32 and fathers were always 35. I, proving how smart I was, told this to my closest 'boyfriend', Ravishankar Chandrashekar Rahul Suresh. The pest told his mother when she came to pick us up. She laughed and ruffled my hair and uttered the word that has stuck with me ever since. Consider it the blessing from my first ever mother-in-law - which goes on to prove that this cult of women have a way of subjecting the Daughter-In-Law Cult to sweet torture. Anyway, the ultimate point being I was called - 'Cute'.

When I was 7 years old we had gone to America. It was 1990, a time when that part of the world really didn't quite grasp the concept of vegetarian food. We order a vegetarian burger and the guy simply took out the meat pieces and handed it to us. This had a direct effect on my diet. I was introduced to the wonderful world of junk food. Most importantly the great, amazing, divine sub-junk-food-world of french fries. A derivative of fried, fatty, potato based foods, this particular cuisine was what I survived on for those months in that lovely country. When I got back home, Aunty Papiya learnt of my love for french fries quickly. I, as a child, never ate food at all so she, naturally, found it hard to entertain me while her two children gobbled everything in sight. (Smiley, I know that's hard to believe now but please play along!!) When she offered me some boring dal and salad I told her that I only eat french fries. I went into the kitchen, nodding at her along the way with the heavy weight of knowledge, asked her to hand me some potato slices, a pan with oil in it. I showed her how it was supposed to be fried - I never really fried it myself, ofcourse. After all, I was the teacher. She was merely my etudiante. She looked at me in wonderment, pinched my cheek, smiled and said the cursed adjective - 'Cute!'

I've done nothing but recount two incidents that cemented the adjective that still pops up most unexpectedly in my life. I've fought it, ignored it, mocked it, sneered at people who used it..but it sticks like glue. I have heard this description of me at the oddest of times. After sex, before sex, after a shower, while swimming, during a fight, infront of a class of counselors, during my interview for my master's, while struggling with my 26 kilos of a suitcase, when I was crying - I tell you, that adjective is ubiquitous in my life. Now I have honed a practiced smile, blush, nod and feigned laugh. It humors the person and it keeps them from describing what exactly they find so cute about me. I mean, really. Can't you call me pretty? Sexy? Hot? Beautiful?? Attractive??! Why cute, dammit!?! Because I'm short, tending toward the Indian term 'healthy' meaning not-thin-but-not-fat??? Now that I have expended some of my upset allow me to show you why I am piqued.

I was struggling with my 26 kilos of a suitcase at Heathrow a couple of days ago when this young man came to my assistance. I thanked him ever so graciously, was attempting to maneuver my trolley when he caught up with me and started chatting up with me. Alright, no problems with an intrusive stranger telling me that it'll be a hassle with the heavy suitcase. We got out of the huge doors leading us to the people awaiting their loved ones. I was still suffering my trolley - it kept going in whichever direction it felt like! Nevertheless, it was the last of my concerns. I was looking bad, my hair was unkempt, I was tired and I wanted to go home and sleep. This young man turned to look at me and he was blushing when he asked me whether he could tell me something. I absent-mindedly nodded. He said he wanted to tell me this ever since he saw me board the plane, at the conveyor belt, when he helped me with the suitcase and as we were walking out to our different destinations. I gather he finally found the courage to spit it out. He said he thought I was cute. I gave him my practiced smile, blush, nod and feigned laugh. As a tiny bonus I told him, 'You're too kind. I'm actually looking like complete and utter shit now. Thanks though. See you around later. Bye bye.'

I made a dash for the central bus station cursing to myself.