Guest guest Posted September 24, 2004 Report Share Posted September 24, 2004 JAMES BOND AND I By Meenakshi Devi Bhavanani “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, the bard told us. “What’s in a name”? Quite a bit, as I discovered recently on a train ride from Chennai to Delhi. The occupant of the upper berth in our second-class AC boogie soon made himself an unsolicited travelling companion, despite my best efforts to slink away into the pages of the latest copy of TIME magazine. He was a clone of a wildly popular Tamil cinema star, complete with garish shirt unbuttoned to the waist, long, wavy hair, faded blue jeans and white sneakers and socks, He grinned when he saw my arched eyebrows as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips. “Not to worry,” said he, in a soft, seductive whisper. “I don’t smoke. I only chew”. There was no escape. We recited the usual litany of banalities. He was intrigued by my attire. Dressed in a neat nylex saree, a fashionable blouse with puffed sleeves, gold jimikis on the ears, gold necklace about the neck, I looked the typical demure South Indian housewife. Except for one glaring difference. My intensely white skin. He just could not get over that! “What’s your good name?” said he. “My name is Meenakshi,” I replied. His eyes flashed, and a sly grin perched on his upper lip. “Come on, don’t kid me now. What’s your name? Your real name!” I also can be very determined when I wish to be. “Meenakshi,” I said firmly, opening my TIME magazine again. “My husband gave me an Indian name when we got married. I changed it legally. It’s my real name”. A door slammed shut in his eyes. But a small window opened a few moments later. “All right, Meenakshi,” said he. “What was your real name, I mean, before?” He apparently was as stubborn as I. “What was your name in your last life?” I retorted. “Can you remember it? Well, I can’t remember mine either”. Suddenly, he looked sad. I couldn’t stand it. “What’s your good name,” asked I, in my sweetest voice. He brightened. “Bond,” said he. “James Bond”. Now it was my turn. I laughed. “Don’t kid me. What’s your real name?” No, he insisted, it was his real name. I pressed him. He said, “When I got married, I adopted my wife’s religion; so I had to change my name. I like that name. So I chose it. Anything wrong with that?” I shook my head. He pulled out his passport. “See. It’s my real name”. I looked at a sanitized, clean-shaven version of my live-life-hero clone staring sullenly out from his passport. Name: James Bond. “Now, you prove the same to me,” he challenged. I produced my own passport. There I sat, demurely facing the camera, a nice big red Bindu in the middle of my forehead. Name: “Meenakshi Devi Bhavanani”. Something dawned on both of us at the same time, and we laughed uproariously. “You win, Meenakshi,” he said, now good naturedly showing his teeth. “Lend me your TIME MAGAZINE will you? I’ll return it in the morning!” Softened by newfound camaraderie, I handed over my treasure and he snuggled up in his top berth. When I woke the next morning, I looked for my new found friend. But, both Mr. James Bond and my TIME MAGAZINE were gone. Yogacharya Dr.Ananda Balayogi Bhavanani Chairman : Yoganjali Natyalayam and ICYER 25,2nd Cross,Iyyanar Nagar, Pondicherry-605 013 Tel: 0413 - 2622902 / 0413 -2241561 Website: www.icyer.com www.geocities.com/yognat2001/i_am_here vote. - Register online to vote today! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted September 25, 2004 Report Share Posted September 25, 2004 Namaste Dearest of Yoga Family This is an absolute killer - I was roaring with laughter. Bharat and its inhabitants are absolutely precious! Bharat Jai! Yours in Yoga and mirth Devidasan. - Yogacharya Dr.Ananda Bhavanani Friday, September 24, 2004 7:58 PM A great short story by Amma JAMES BOND AND I By Meenakshi Devi Bhavanani “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, the bard told us. “What’s in a name”? Quite a bit, as I discovered recently on a train ride from Chennai to Delhi. The occupant of the upper berth in our second-class AC boogie soon made himself an unsolicited travelling companion, despite my best efforts to slink away into the pages of the latest copy of TIME magazine. He was a clone of a wildly popular Tamil cinema star, complete with garish shirt unbuttoned to the waist, long, wavy hair, faded blue jeans and white sneakers and socks, He grinned when he saw my arched eyebrows as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips. “Not to worry,” said he, in a soft, seductive whisper. “I don’t smoke. I only chew”. There was no escape. We recited the usual litany of banalities. He was intrigued by my attire. Dressed in a neat nylex saree, a fashionable blouse with puffed sleeves, gold jimikis on the ears, gold necklace about the neck, I looked the typical demure South Indian housewife. Except for one glaring difference. My intensely white skin. He just could not get over that! “What’s your good name?” said he. “My name is Meenakshi,” I replied. His eyes flashed, and a sly grin perched on his upper lip. “Come on, don’t kid me now. What’s your name? Your real name!” I also can be very determined when I wish to be. “Meenakshi,” I said firmly, opening my TIME magazine again. “My husband gave me an Indian name when we got married. I changed it legally. It’s my real name”. A door slammed shut in his eyes. But a small window opened a few moments later. “All right, Meenakshi,” said he. “What was your real name, I mean, before?” He apparently was as stubborn as I. “What was your name in your last life?” I retorted. “Can you remember it? Well, I can’t remember mine either”. Suddenly, he looked sad. I couldn’t stand it. “What’s your good name,” asked I, in my sweetest voice. He brightened. “Bond,” said he. “James Bond”. Now it was my turn. I laughed. “Don’t kid me. What’s your real name?” No, he insisted, it was his real name. I pressed him. He said, “When I got married, I adopted my wife’s religion; so I had to change my name. I like that name. So I chose it. Anything wrong with that?” I shook my head. He pulled out his passport. “See. It’s my real name”. I looked at a sanitized, clean-shaven version of my live-life-hero clone staring sullenly out from his passport. Name: James Bond. “Now, you prove the same to me,” he challenged. I produced my own passport. There I sat, demurely facing the camera, a nice big red Bindu in the middle of my forehead. Name: “Meenakshi Devi Bhavanani”. Something dawned on both of us at the same time, and we laughed uproariously. “You win, Meenakshi,” he said, now good naturedly showing his teeth. “Lend me your TIME MAGAZINE will you? I’ll return it in the morning!” Softened by newfound camaraderie, I handed over my treasure and he snuggled up in his top berth. When I woke the next morning, I looked for my new found friend. But, both Mr. James Bond and my TIME MAGAZINE were gone. Yogacharya Dr.Ananda Balayogi Bhavanani Chairman : Yoganjali Natyalayam and ICYER 25,2nd Cross,Iyyanar Nagar, Pondicherry-605 013 Tel: 0413 - 2622902 / 0413 -2241561 Website: www.icyer.com www.geocities.com/yognat2001/i_am_here vote. - Register online to vote today! "Health and Happiness are your birthright, claim them through Rishiculture Ashtanga Yoga" -Yogamaharishi Dr Swami Gitananda Giri Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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