Cameos in an ensemble drama

William Shakespeare and lyricist Vaali were absolutely right!  The former wrote, “All the world’s a stage…” while the latter observed, “We are puppets in the hands of the Almighty and he manipulates the strings in the puppetry of our life.” (Pardon me, but that’s my best attempt at translating the “Naayagan melirundhu…” lines from “Ellorum Sollum Paatu.”)  I think of my own life as an ensemble drama.  My microcosm of this world is comprised of a small set of people.  I place a lot of premium on the longevity of relationships.  Like the key characters in a well-made ensemble drama, the core set of people in my life may not be a part of every scene.  But they are an integral, indispensable part of the plot, showing up at key junctures, either by themselves or with others, to add meaning to the drama.  Upon deeper reflection, I also realize that my ‘theater’ has had its share of memorable cameo appearances.  Like Sarojini ma’am from PS Senior Secondary School.  Like the ticket collector on a train in France.  Like Dr. Jim Jamison’s daughter in Memphis.  Like…yes, the list goes on.  But out of respect for your time, I will shed light on just these three cameos. 

It was towards the end of the school year.  I was in fifth standard.  I had a summer vacation that I was really looking forward to.  On that muggy afternoon in April, I was in school, running around with a couple of friends during our PT class when I slipped and fell.  And fell how!  The pudgy kid I was, I gave the phrase, “bend under its own weight” a new meaning in the way I landed on my side, my ear getting smashed against the floor, exacerbated by the fact that my glasses that rested on my ear, broke into pieces.  I don’t quite remember why I was running so fast.  What I remember more vividly was that after hitting the floor with a thud, I could barely limp.  Since there was significant bleeding behind my ear, I was taken by Sarojini ma’am, our PT teacher, to the tiny room towards the front of the school that had first-aid supplies.  While I was given some basic assistance, she also obtained my home number, spoke to my grandma and asked her to pick me up from school to go to the doctor’s office.  She kindly reassured me that I would recover swiftly.  I sobbingly asked her, “Ma’am, I hope I can still go for my summer vacation.”  She laughed out loud, exclaiming, “The annual exams are a week away!  Look what you are worried about!”  She waited until my grandma came.  And upon her arrival, calmly spoke to her, handing over my school bag and walking with me to the car.  The unflappable, unfussy way she handled the whole situation is something I still remember 31 years after it happened.  Thank you, Sarojini ma’am. 

“Merci” and “au revoir” are the only French I know.  That I had to either learn French or play dumb charades better was evident during a summer trip to France.  I was on an overnight train, traveling between two cities.  The air conditioning system in the train must have been designed to simulate life in Antarctica.  When the ticket collector stopped by, I could barely get the ticket out of my pocket to hand over to him.  I quickly realized that we did not have a common language.  I tremblingly murmured, “Cold…cold…”  He thought that I had a cold and in a quizzical tone, he asked, “Cold?” while simulating what sounded like a hybrid of a sneeze and a cough.  In response, I exaggeratedly shivered, shaking my head for good measure!  Rapidly bobbing his head up and down to gesture to me that he understood, he said, "okay, okay, okay, I come back."  He returned in a couple of minutes and handed to me an impeccably folded blanket.  He asked, “This okay?”  I grinned ear to ear, palpably feeling better.  His kindness enveloped me with as much warmth as did the blanket.  Merci, monsieur!

Long-time readers of this blog will know my mentor Dr. Jim Jamison from Memphis.  What you probably don’t know is that his family is just as thoughtful and empathetic as he was.  The news of his passing on was conveyed to me on the phone by one of his sons-in-law, also named Jim.  I was outside a grocery store when he called to share the news.  While I was enormously moved that Dr. Jamison had given my contact information to him in preparation for an inevitability, I was overwhelmed with shock and sadness.  Yes, he had been undergoing treatment for cancer.  And yes, there was a reasonable chance that he may not survive his latest course of treatment.  Nevertheless, the news meant that I had lost a significant person in my life - my mentor, my guide, my moral compass.  I subsequently traveled to Memphis for the memorial service.  While I knew that the magnitude of the family’s grief was humungous, the way they recognized my loss and felt the need to partake in my grieving, was something inexplicably touching.  Referring to Dr. Jamison’s daughter, his son-in-law wrote to me in an e-mail, “Becca wants to make sure you know that you are one of her dad’s kids – part of the family, one of her siblings via mathematics.”  All I can say is that Dr. Jamison would have been smiling from up above.

As I reflect on these people, I must, of course, reiterate that this list of walk-on appearances in ‘The Ram Murali Show’ is too long to capture in one essay.  At the same time, to pause and think of these people and their words, actions and gestures could do two things for us.  Firstly, it could remind us of the stamp of kindness that enables the transfer of positivity among human beings.  And secondly, it could urge us to think about how we could pay that kindness forward.  What Shakespeare and Vaali didn’t tell you, which I will (!), is that while we may be a key character in our own show, we could play impactful cameos in someone else’s!