Want to take a walk with me?

This post is about me. A very vain post indeed. About how clumsy I am. And my name. Yes. They both go together really well. So, here is the story. I cannot stand straight, hold things, stand for more than 10 minutes because I'm sure I will fall. I stand in a bus full of people, and there is commotion. I swear. I cannot walk straight, I cannot drink chai without spilling it. There was a time when I was a kid and my mom decided my clothes. It was always a maroon or a red dress if we were going out to eat. Never a white, even by mistake. She made me follow that rule until I left for Hyderabad seeking freedom and some white clothes. Every time I ate, people just knew what I'd eaten. All those fake diets and holier-than-thou exercise stories failed. Because there'd be that chocolate ice cream on T-shirt or that oil from the oily, unhealthy, but tasty noodles from the neighbouring Indo-Chinese place or there'd be evidence of chocolate milk from Sagar stores, another local adda for CIEFL students. Sigh. I always look unkempt. Even now. In fact, I spilled oil on my nine-yard Madisaar sari during my wedding. My mom and my clothes-crazy sis just stared at the oil falling on my sari. With tears, almost. I've become better though. I've given up on my ego and use the napkin when I go out to eat. It looks like a bib. But, well, atleast, I do not ruin that Rs 500 creamy silky peach top.

I have been known to beat Suppandi of Tinkle fame in one of the cartoons. Yes, the same one where he tilts his left hand with a glass of milk to check the time on his watch. Of course, nowadays, I've moved on from rice - cooked/uncooked to spilling gourmet food ;) - cheese - especially mozzarella, or that cake batter which makes the kitchen floor seem like a super-adhesive, or even worse, that olive oil, all those veggies and greens especially, the onions flying out of my hand as I drop them into the pan. Squished garlic pods, water (how can I forget water?), coffee, tea, lemonade (when you don't realize it has fallen, its worse), pizza! Yes, so far, everything I've cooked, and eaten (what if you think I cooked all this!) has fallen down. I think I have great immunity, really. Nothing affects me. All the germs on the floor must have gotten an overdose, and probably do not come to attach themselves to the food I drop. Of course, they wouldn't come to the ones I cook and drop. AB says we won't get our $300 deposit on this apartment when we leave since the carpet is ruined forever. There are pickle stains, oil, chai, cream, butter, salsa, guacamole and what not on the carpet.

Did I mention I cannot stand for more than 10 mins? Because I lose balance and fall. Whoever said walking and exercising is great exercise should probably jump. Because I fall. I've fallen on my face, on my other parts of the body that I should not be talking about. I'm used to this, you know? Constant falling, having a sprain here, there, and everywhere, wounds, bruises, catches in the neck, that weird pain in the back. But I feel sorry for people who walk with me. Like AB, or those numerous friends that simply stopped 'walking' with me. You want to know why? Or would you like to walk and find out?

I walk crooked. So, when I walk, I do not walk straight. So, naturally, the person walking next to me is pushed to the side. Yes, I'm pushy. I've been known to push people off the streets, one friend fell into the ditch, one almost lost his life when he could not but walk on the busy road thanks to her highness stepping foot on the pavement. I've pushed my mom off the sidewalk. So, you will never see mother and daughter or sister-sister-sister(this is impossible no?) or sister-sister walking in fultoo bonding. Because, they are tired. They hate it that not only do I dominate them with my chatter, and absolutely no listening, but that I dominate them physically too. Sigh. So, that means no romantic hand-holding walks into the sunset with AB. Either we go the African way of him walking in front of me and I walk meekly, but loudly behind him, in his shadow, or he walks behind me. So, actually, he walks behind me. So, he can pick after me? That includes me, yes.

Haan, so coming back to my name. It is Nandini (named after that all-giving cow in Indian mythology. My dad, as an afterthought said that maybe that cow was all-mooing) People generally call me Nandu. Blah. Ya. However, my grand-dad called me Nand(i). Note that it is not Nandu or Nandi, but a sound in between. Tams will understand. Others, please to adjust or ask nearby South Indian. They will surely be there and they will know. So, Nand in Tamil is crab. Yes. I discovered this very, very late in my life, inspite of being a Tam and all that. I found this word in a South Indian - almost Mallu restaurant called Malgudi at Hyderabad. So, this Tam friend of mine, Shiraz and my Naga roomie and I went out for dinner and we saw Crab soup. Imagine my Naga roomie's delight and actually mine too(!) when we saw the soup described as 'Nandu soup.' I exclaimed only to hear Shiraz saying it suited my 'personality.' All the love and fond memories of being called Nand by my grand-dad was replaced by utter shock that my grand-dad possibly named me thanks to the way I walked. He probably saw how I walked ever since I set foot the first time, and named and called me Nand for 25 whole years. No one, I repeat, no one ever thought of this though. I checked with my mom who gave me very positive vibes by looking appropriately confused for a minute before she frowned and said: "how observant of him!"

If ours was a love marriage, I'd have surely asked AB with full emotion, this before marriage: Do you want to walk with me all my life?