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?””