Acquainting Experiences

By Fedora Lobo

Acquainting Experiences talks about a middle aged woman who is struggling with unknown emotions and seeks refuge in a stranger she meets on a trip to Italy. The stranger's perceptions enable her to look at life differently.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Astitva Prakashan
• Release date: Apr 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9789358383096

Book preview

ASTITVA PRAKASHAN

Parijat Heights, Bilaspur, Chhatisgarh 495001

India

First published by Astitva Prakashan 2024

Copyright © Fedora Lobo

P-ISBN: 978-93-5838-732-2

MRP: Rs. 399/-

The views and opinions expressed in this book are the author’s own. The facts contained herein were reported to be true as of the date of publication by the author to the publishers of the book, and the publishers are not in any way liable for their accuracy or veracity.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only

Printed in India

ContentS

Chapter 1...................1

Chapter 2...................7

Chapter 3...................13

Chapter 4...................21

Chapter 5...................27

Chapter 6...................35

Chapter 7...................42

Chapter 8...................50

Chapter 9...................56

Chapter 10..................63

Chapter 11..................70

Chapter 12..................79

Chapter 13..................86

Chapter 14..................95

Chapter 15..................101

Chapter 16..................107

Chapter 17..................114

Chapter 18..................119

Chapter 19..................126

Chapter 20..................130

Chapter 21..................137

Chapter 22..................143

Chapter 23..................149

Chapter 24..................157

Chapter 25..................163

Chapter 26..................171

Chapter 27..................177

Chapter 28..................186

Chapter 29..................193

Chapter 30..................200

Chapter 31..................207

Chapter 32..................213

Chapter 33..................222

Chapter 34..................227

Chapter 35..................235

Chapter 36..................239

Chapter 37..................242

Chapter 38..................249

Chapter 39..................256

Chapter 40..................266

Chapter

1

How do you undo life? I wish there was a rewind button. If the Book of Life were a picture, it should have been a pencil sketch. Where we could go back to every scribble and retouch every situation part by part making the sketch a beautiful piece of art. Then, life would be no less than a masterpiece. An art of your own perception that keeps changing with time because the view in hindsight is ever-changing. What appears as pitch dark at first starts looking like a shade of grey later on. And with time, you discern the white blend that was always present but obstructed by your own perception. I guess that is what they call the brighter side of life. A cribber like me was far from that understanding. Now, as I find myself on the land of the dead, with people chanting prayers around me, I only wish I could go back in time and rewrite my life with the understanding and perception that I have today. Can I? Nope. I am just playing myself again. Finding another excuse to crib as I mentally rewind to the best and worst days of my life.

The reel in my mind was reverberating every memory that I had lived up until now, giving me an elaborate glimpse of my life at a glance.

It first took me to the day of my success party. The day my life began its jaunty rollercoaster ride.

With my latest invention, I had seen the best of my success there ever had been. Yet there I was, lying flat on the floor of my bedroom, staring straight into Sugar's eyes, perplexed about this whirl of emotions having a joyride inside my mind. Sugar is my talking parrot. She was having a gala time swinging herself inside her oversized cage, pecking on the little nibbles I'd dropped in this morning when I walked in to cry the misery of my life to her. I do that quite often. I was at the peak of my success in my career. Yet, I was brooding over bygones, over the defunct past of my childhood and teenage years that had not turned out how I had envisioned them to be.

I always found birds/animals to be trust worthier than people. They hear you out. They love you unconditionally. They don't judge you. Sugar was that companion for me. She had been a part of my life for thirty years. I got her as a birthday gift when I was five. Dad's best ever birthday gift to me, and ever since, she has been my best friend, my confidant. She only spoke to say, 'I Understand, Save Me, and I am Tired.'

I am not happy, Sugar. Amigo is a big success, but I can't feel it. I thought I would be on cloud nine. But every cell in my body is weeping; I can feel it. And my eyes are a desolate desert. I can't even cry. I am feeling empty.

I had to detail my feelings out loud because... how else would a bird understand? Maybe because I have nobody to share my success with? Is it because Mum and Dad aren't pleased about it, or that they aren’t even bothered about, Amigo? No husband or boyfriend to support my success. Is it?

I had never had a boyfriend. I never got married. I did not believe in relationships. They were only disappointing. Relationships are always a mess, aren't they? I turned and looked at Sugar again while she stared back at me cluelessly. That look somehow assuages my pain. I continue to crib.

"It is what I have seen all my life. But I am going to suck it up, Sugar. I am going to be just fine. I will be happy for myself. Maybe the success has not sunk in yet. But it will eventually, won't it? And if I set you free, I know you would flap your wings in pride across the world, ranting about my invention to everyone with a face happier than my bosses. I don't need anyone else. I always knew that I did not need anyone. ANYONE. Except for you, of course.

I am Susanne Merchant. The one with a titanium frame. The one who dealt with a terrible childhood, with forever quarrelling folks. The same loner child that survived all of that chaos single-handedly and emerged from the ashes of her childhood like a phoenix with grown wings soaring heights on her own merit. I built myself. I grew my own wings. Did I not Sugar? You've watched me through it all.

I overwrote the belief systems I was made to adhere to and built one that I perused through my own experiences. A belief system that is more truthful, although bitter. I could not live on the foundation of lies. Nor could I live on the imagination of how I liked people to demeanour in relationships or otherwise. I like to see behind the curtains. That's the right way."

I was brooding while Sugar kept repeating, 'I understand' after every two lines that I blurted.

And so, in a world of people so full of themselves, I had managed to create an independent life comprising only my decisions and choices. I was raised to learn how I only fumbled with everything I did. Repeated mistakes, wrong decisions, wrong wants, wrong thinking. For absolutely everything I had ever wanted for myself, there was a better option. The better, according to my parents' mindset. My parents, Norene and Darius Merchant.

Nothing was perfectly right unless it fit their belief system, their life experiences and everything they had garnered from what life had taught them. It took me a whole childhood and a chunk of my adulthood to comprehend that I was not here to live as per their whims and fancies. That I could use my own mind and think from my own experiences. It also took for them to fumble and falter in front of me and for me to recognise their blunders even after they had concealed them to an almost perfect appearance, to conclude that maybe, just maybe, they have got it wrong too. After all, they are human. As the saying goes, 'It is only human to err.'

When you have overcontrolling parents, you learn the importance of being financially independent at the earliest. That is your front-row ticket in the movie of your own life. In most Indian households, money is the driving force. The breadwinner is usually the head of the family and the brain behind how everyone should function in their respective lives. In my family, it was my mother and my father. More often than not, I was torn between their north-south thinking and ideologies. No, they weren't from the north and south of India; they were an apple and an orange painfully stitched together in the bond of marriage. And they would bleed the pain of the wounds; marriage lashed at them all over my life. Did I hate my parents? No. I did not. I totally understood, even today, that they were broken children embedded in the flesh and bones of adults cluelessly scampering through their journey of life. But did I want to be a parent? Oh, NEVER! My life's going to get over fixing the damages I had borne as a helpless child, wondering what went wrong in so many situations that had paved the path to my terrible mindset, which worked on spontaneity in most situations.

Chapter

2

Now, my memory displays a flash of one of my favourite people as it puts the spotlight on the transitions in my life.

Sussie, open up. It's me. 

That was Amanda at the door. Amanda Nigli, an Anglo-Indian beauty. My best friend and the only friend I had had for the past 17 years. In those 17 years, she had been married and divorced. No kids, and still open to love and new relationships. Did I tell her everything? Yes, all the good things. But was I going to reveal my broken condition to her now? No, I was not. I never showed broken Susanne to anyone. My mayhem of thoughts was only for me to figure out and fix. My parents always taught me to keep it closed. The world liked pretty. They were not interested in the broken, ugly parts of your life. People would stick around only till you are a 'goody two shoes.' They liked it easy, and if you barf your problems out in front of them, you would be nothing more than an embarrassment. Everyone had their own set of problems. They had their own difficulties, and they could not care less about your difficulties, is what I was taught to believe.

To the world, I was Susanne Merchant. A successful robotic engineer at the age of thirty-five, a rich and independent woman who was very well-organised and had her life in place. I did not rely on anyone because I was always ENOUGH. I understood myself best, and I was all I was ever going to need. Oh! And Amigo. Who is Amigo? Just wait. Let me get the door.

Hi Mandy, how are you? I said with the brightest smile ever.

What took you so long, Sussie? I have been banging on your door for five whole minutes. Amanda spoke impatiently in her distinctly soft and polite voice. I gave her a tight hug, hiding away the misery that enveloped my expression just moments before she had arrived.

I am sorry, I was in the loo, Mandy. I lied.

I hated lies, especially when I was on the receiving end, and so I called it covering up instead of lying. When you cannot tell a person something, you cover up. It does not do them any harm. It was more like healthy lying — if that meant anything.

Here's the back story of how I met Amanda:

Amanda and I were in the same college. It was a bright sunny day when I saw almost every guy around the corner walking in with different colour roses. Yellow for friendship, red for love, white for peace and all that pipsqueak. I sat in our college circle waiting for my 7:30 am lecture by myself (I had no friends). I was 15 minutes early when a local goon (actually a student from my college) walked up to me to hand me a red rose. I bluntly refused and stared at him in surprise. Everyone told me that I had such an unapproachable appearance; I did not know whether to applaud or slap this guy for his audacity. He did not take my response well and leaned forward to forcefully hand me the rose.

A gentle voice spoke behind him, requesting, Jaane doh na bhaiya, iske ghar mein bohot problem chal raha hai. Dukhi hai bechari. (Please let her go, brother. She is facing a lot of turmoil at home, and she's already very sad.)

I tipped my head to see who was this dame trying to step up for me with a bunch of lies? And that was when I first met Amanda. My eyes were looking curiously at a five-foot-nine-inch hourglass model covered in dusky golden skin. Her hair was long and thick, with its waves swishing against the sides of her naturally sunken cheeks. Her dark curled lashes with a paint of deep green eyeshadow complimented her lemony bright top and dark skinny fit jeans. Wow! I hope he doesn't hand her the rose forcefully now, I thought to myself. Luckily, the guy walked away sheepishly.

Hi, I am Amanda Nigli. Call me Mandy, she said.

Thanks for all of that. I am Susanne Marchant, I replied.

Up until this morning, I had only had girls rolling their eyes at me in disgust when they caught their boyfriends turning their heads and ogling at me. Otherwise, I was always looked at as this nerdy geek who was not cool enough to chill with or party with. I guess everyone had the same opinion that we had nothing in common except for Amanda. When college days were all about being instantaneously cool and putting up the best show, I found my naturally scented flower.

There was nothing fake or unreal about her. I was surprised to learn how someone so beautiful could also be so kind and so raw? Over the weeks, we met almost every day.

Both of us were sophomores; she was an art student while I was in science. I could spare her far less of my time than she could, but still, we somehow managed to keep the friendship going.

One fine day, she abruptly told me, Sussie, you are lean, tall and very beautiful. Would you like to participate in the Mayfair beauty contest with me? It would just take a few hours of practice after college. They are falling short of contestants.

Modelling was way out of my syllabus. I had taken such a deep dive into science that I hardly knew what surfaced in the fancy world outside my laboratory. Nevertheless, I decided to participate. I was never shy about myself. I always knew I was a beautiful damsel in distress, but my appearance, although unapproachable, was still alluring. I drew favourable attention from guys, too. However, I maintained distance and turned everyone down as I was of the belief that relations were not meant for me. My need for a friend urged me to hang onto Amanda.

So, I wanted to participate for two reasons. For one, I had no friends, and I wanted Amanda to stay. The beauty contest would give me more time with her, and the second reason was that the contest would add a little charm to my otherwise boring life of science and solitude. For some reason, the idea of the contest felt like a rainbow arching across my gloomy life. I agreed, Let's do this modelling thing, I said.

The practices went very well, and to my surprise, I stood runner-up while Amanda won the 'Miss Pune' title. The latter part, however, did not take me by surprise at all.

I later overheard the judges discussing, 'The runner-up exhibited immense confidence, and that is why she made it to the winner's list in her first go.'

I mentally laughed. They mistook my 'don’t care’ attitude for confidence. It had served to my benefit, although I was not going to go anywhere with this title. 

That was clearly my first and last participation in a beauty contest. Amanda and I had become thick friends by then. I liked her, and as years went by, we became best friends.

Chapter

3

Now, back to the day of my success party:

Save me; I am tired, Sugar squawked.

I looked at her with widened eyes while Amanda laughed. It was not the first time she had heard that from Sugar.

"You are such good