Stephano

I made a new friend this week. Stephano was selling hats on the waterfront on Friday afternoon. He stopped to try to sell one to me. Once he was convinced I wasn’t buying, he joined me on the stone bench under an old gnarly tree in the park. We stayed there together for over an hour sharing initial introductions.

Stephano is from a small town in Karnataka just outside of Bangalore. His family lives modestly, each of them working hard to have enough to prepare meals and subsist. Though he didn’t say any of this, I would guess there is no running water and certainly no electrical appliances. His two older sisters and their families live near by and all of them work at odd jobs to survive. We talked about his family, his small modest home, his relationships with his mother and father, and the challenges and joys with his siblings. In a short time, we became friends.

Three years ago Stephano lost his leg after being hit by a car while walking down the road. He lost his girlfriend in that same accident, and his job shortly after. He is 26 years old. After the accident, he left his home and came to Fort Cochin where he walks with the help of a short stick, which came directly from a local tree. Today Stephano is selling hats to tourists on the makeshift banks of the Arabian Sea.

When I finally convinced him that I really was 56 years old, he insisted on calling me ‘Auntie’. Auntie is the name of respect for older women. I suppose that’s what I am.

And when we parted, he probably never figured we’d see each other again. Neither did I.

Today I thought about Stephano again. It was late morning and I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I decided to ride in to town, do some chores and meander my way down to the water just to see what might happen. If I saw Stephano, I would ask him to join me for a meal.

Riding through the now familiar streets of Fort cochin I parked my bike at a local shop where the proprietors don’t mind watching it while I’m away. I dealt with my chores and started my stroll down to the waterfront. The quiet was only amplified by the activity. The fish being hoisted from the sea in enormous nets by the busy fishermen seemed aware that they were going to end up on someone’s dinner plate. I could almost hear their mercy cries.

Families, strolling together after their Sunday morning prayers are holding hands, laughing and enjoying their Sunday holiday. Many people make direct eye contact with me. They smile and often stop to talk. Their interest in me is obvious and deliberate. Their laughter and attention towards a white woman from' somewhere' far away comes honestly. Often a person simply extends a hand, shares a smile, and simply says, “Welcome”. In a place where I am so strange, I do not at all feel like a stranger!

After walking for a while and I eventually sit on a rock overlooking the water, feeling completely content and at peace! I marvel at the beauty of the water, the flow of the boats that glide their way through the waters, the colourful array of merchandise lining the grounds of the waterfront. How lucky am I to have this time in such a beautiful place!

As I sit, several people come to sit with me to talk. Babu was one such man. We talk about many things including Yoga. When he starts to talk about Tantra Yoga I warn him that many women might find that a little weird and that he perhaps, might reconsider how easily the word sex flows from his mouth. I trust in his harmlessness, but I’m not sure others would. When he senses I am eager to get back to my writing, he picked himself up and extended his hand as he says good-bye. No harm done! Ahimsa.

I did finally find Stephano sitting with a group of his friends. As I approach, his joy in seeing me is apparent. We reconnect quickly and before long we are walking off to the nearest local kiosk for lunch. “You pay for lunch, Auntie?” he asks, seemingly worried about not having money to pay for it himself. “Of course I will, Stephano. It’s my pleasure.”

We sit at a local restaurant, the kind my mother warns me never to eat in. Stephano knows just what he wants…grilled fish, rice powder and curry which he ate vigorously. “Thank you, I’m not hungry.” I say.

The cook insists that I eat the freshly fried bananas and sip some sweet hot tea. We sit together with other men eating their meals, many of them wanting to find out about me. People pass inquisitively with the same curiosity. My friend responds to their queries with pride. He is happy. So am I.

As we walk back to the water I find it challenging to keep up with Stephano’s fast paced hopping. Never a complaint. No more requests. No expectations. Only gratitude and appreciation.

The meal (with ice cream for dessert) came to 53 rupees. ($1.03) But my new friendship is genuinely priceless.

I know I’ll see Stephano again. I think he knows it too.