life in the public eye

Beside me as I write this, a local Gujarat newspaper sits on my desk, bearing a picture of Kathryn and I on the front page, dancing Garba, in mid clap and turn, our faces contorting unattractively. The memory of the persistent photographer, insistent on snapping us dancing haunts my memory...

Is this what television stars feel like, the day after a picture of them, drunk or fighting with a partner, appears on Page Six or OK Weekly? I'm starting to sympathize.

Today as Kathryn and I sat outside the auditorium, the middle school principal drove by on his motorcycle. "Today is a special program," he said. "You should come and be the judge."

Unfortunately- or fortunately- we both had class, so we could not be the judges of the competition. However, we promised to come at some point and watch.

I arrived late, two hours into the program. Entering the auditorium I saw a mass of students, separated by gender, sitting on the floor. I looked around for a chair in the back, noticing the teachers and parents sitting there. Then I raised my eyes. Sitting on stage, next to the principal, past the mass of students, past the parents in chairs, standing out like a soar thumb, was Kathryn.

She looked amused. We made eye contact and she grinned. I tried to sneak into the corner and sit but the principal saw me and beckoned me to the stage. I waded through the sea of students and climbed the stairs to the stage, taking a seat besides Kathryn.

"Welcome," she said dryly. This was my view from the stage:




What commenced, or continued, can only be called a Program of Cuteness. The program was a costume and singing competition. Each kid was dressed in some beautiful or silly or cute outfit, and came up on stage to sing a very short song. One kid was a strawberry, one a cow, and one was dressed like Gandhi, with a shaved head, glasses, and dhoti!



Here is an excerpt from the program. Many students forgot their lines, and had to look to teachers for encouragement!






The program ended and I sighed. My duty of sitting on a stage being watched by 500 people was over! People began talking excitedly and all the kids got on stage. Next to me, someone unwrapped a packet of pencils and put it on a chair. I stared at the pencils, thinking, "I'm going to have to hand out these pencils to the winner, aren't I."

Sure enough, the principal turned to me. "Now hand out a pencil to each child."

One by one, the students approached me, and touched my feet (!). I handed them a pencil and smiled. If they didn't touch my feet, a nearby menacing teacher would yell at them them in Gujarati.

When the program let out, I went back to my house, relishing being alone. I grabbed my purse and went into town to buy some chocolate. Ten minutes later, standing in front of a drug store counter, the friendly clerk eyed me and said, in Hindi, "I hear you were at the program!"

So much for anonymity.