1 of 33

Write now Article Tools

The Sari

Leaving my tiny flat is increasingly more difficult, as preparation to get out the door requires more breath and effort than I can muster these days. So I try very hard to make the most of times I am able to venture forth, precariously driving with one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to my throat, allowing me to breathe and lift my head enough to see where I am going.

After wrapping myself in a brilliant vintage sari from my treasured E-Bay Sari walla, I headed for the library, where the librarian ladies vicariously enjoy my Indian garb while nibbling the home made treats I bring to them. It was a hot and sunny day when my old reliable 1990 Toyota overheated, forcing me to pull off the road and consult the user manual to see what I should do. After a struggle in raising the hood and finding the coolant chamber empty, I approached a woman working in her garden and asked if she would be so kind as to give me some water for my car. She looked surprised, then smiled radiantly and said "Oh! Your gown is beautiful!" The annoyance of my overheated engine eased as her pleasure in my sari lightened my concerns. I thanked her for the water, filled the coolant chamber and headed for the nearest garage.

I stopped at a place where I had done business in past weeks. The same man who attended me before was seated in his little enclosure. I got out of the car and once again battled with the hood, trying to quell the ever present angst at the reason for my physical limitations, hoping to get this car problem fixed with the least amount of effort possible.

I looked toward the enclosure to see if the man was heading out to assist me. He was not. He was sitting with his feet up on his little desk, hands behind his head, just watching me with a perverse smirk on his face. I waited and waited. He continued to sit and stare, until I finally walked towards his enclosure. Meanwhile, another man from the business next door must have seen me waiting and was headed toward the enclosure, perhaps thinking the garage man was unaware he had a customer. I stepped into the presence of these two men and the body language displayed by the garage man hit me like a slap in the face. He eyed me from bindi to sandals, taking in my "unconventional" (for Cape Cod) attire, with a look of pure contempt. I turned to the other man. His face was open and friendly, willing to help as he inquired about the overheating of my car. He seemed shamed by the garage man's behavior. This gracious man

• 1
• 2
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Memoirs: Becoming aware of racism?
We want to hear your view. Write now!