What happens when your face talks too much? Have you
reflected on this question like me, anytime?
Well, this is the question I am brooding on. I have been
fairly good at articulating my thoughts but lately, my face is surpassing my
articulation skills. Before even I start to sort and adjust the words within me
and garnish them with flowery vocabulary, I find someone shining an adequate
response to my unasked question. Did my face take the creative writing class
lesson too seriously? Show, not tell. And it shows err broadcasts it loudly, abrasively
leaving the words tongue-tied.
It happened to me a lot many times. The other day, I was
sitting in a restaurant looking squarely at a menu leaflet. I was waiting for
my order and it had been 15 minutes since I placed it, but could hardly see
anyone inch closer to my table carrying the tray laden with my finger food and
espresso. I tried taking in the surroundings and the ambience of the restaurant
helped quieten my increasing pangs of hunger and also kept my nerves in check.
Just when, I locked my gaze with the staff who was standing behind the counter.
No sooner my lips quivered, to ask about my order than I heard him say, “Ma, am,
your order will reach you in 2 mins”. He returned a smile and I sat there
dumbfounded. No twitch, no pout, no arch, yet my emotions were writ large on my
face. I mouthed thank you and withdrew my gaze to stare at the menu again.
As much as I thought my face could be a little mysterious, well
it drew a totally different picture. I was sitting, cooped up on a sofa with Wodehouse’s
The Code of the Woosters, when my daughter came running to show me her
sketch. As soon as she handed me her sketch book, she snatched it, her big eyes
shining and unmistakably satisfied, and without stopping went bounding to the
other room while all the way screaming, “thank you for liking it. I love you so
much”. For a second, I could not fathom the pleasant yet strange thing that unfolded
in front of me. My face did it again. It spoke the unspoken.
So, here I am, after days of tending and nursing my wounded
words which did not get to see the daylight and no one to share their plight, I
divined something out of myself, a knowledge that I might be using to my
advantage. When face is doing a required amount of talk, in fact it is being a
real humdinger, why should I bother opening my mouth. I can just stand there holding my chin up,
face high and people will do the math. So much energy saved, isn’t it? And for
the introverted souls like me, it is a bliss incarnate. To tweak Wodehouse’s
words “There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, “Does talking
matter?””
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