To Smile or Not to Smile

‘What does a smile cost you?’ asked my mother-in-law when I told her about running into a neighbour from our hometown, outside the supermarket. My brother had been with me and we were coming out of the Complex compound when this middle aged thin man started walking towards us, looking as though he wanted to speak to me.

‘Looks like one of those well dressed tramps who come with sob stories and end up asking for money”, I told my brother under my breath. I had remembered a similar story told to me by one of my colleagues just two days before.

The man, walking quickly towards us, reached us. I noticed that my brother was about to say something to him. But the man was already asking me with a smile if I were so & so's daughter-in-law and so & so’s wife.
Yes, I told him. He then identified himself. He was our neighbour back home ( obscenely rich, i remebered the name) and when I didn’t return his smile, he thought he should come up and identify himself.

“How stupid you are”, protested my brother, totally annoyed. “I was about to ask him for some money. That’s the best way to drive off decent looking mendicants”.

My mother-in-law had a good laugh when i my narrated this incident. She tried to imagine the situation where my brother beat him to it and asked him for money, and the explanations I would have had to concoct to be seen in the company of a man who asks for money from total strangers. “Surely, you cant tell him you mistook him for a beggar; also, you can’t also introduce M as your brother too”. Wiping tears of laughter, she advised me not to be so miserly with my smile.
“Nobody will smile at you if they don’t know you; You have such a terrible memory for faces. So just smile back. It costs you nothing. Otherwise you’ll offend people”, she said.

Yes, after all, what does a smile cost me I thought. And I practised her advice, smiled at everybody who smiled at me, whether I knew her/him or not.

And then, one day, at the railway station of the small town where I worked, I was waiting for the Madras Mail. My friends from the other colleges and offices hadn’t yet arrived. So I sat on the bench, and looked around.

Then I saw him.

A tall square faced man with light eyes. I knew I had seen him somewhere. He looked very very familiar. I must have been staring at him for I saw him look straight at me. Then I saw a hint of a smile on his face.

I gave him a broad, charming smile.

I usually look away after smiling at a person whom I didn’t recognize. But before I could do it, I saw a startled expression on his face. Then he too smiled. And started walking towards me.

I was desperately trying to remember who he was, where I had seen him but couldn’t. He sat on the other end of the bench. I looked at him, hoping to place him from the conversation. He turned his head and smiled hesitantly. Suddenly, like a bolt of thunder lighting up the sky, the truth was revealed to me. Yes, yes, with that same abruptness that the law of buoyancy exploded on Archemedes, and which made him rush down through the streets of Greece in a state of undress!

In flash, I knew why he looked familiar.

He looked exactly like Kapil Dev who was a much fêted celebrity then, and so was among the most visible faces in India.

That’s why he looked familiar!

Disaster! I didn’t know the man, and I had smiled at him!

I jumped up from the bench and walked quickly towards the book shop, and searched and bought a magazine I did not want. As I turned to leave the shop, I saw the man standing behind me. Then I rushed to the soft drink counter of the railway canteen and asked for a Fanta, stood there and drank it. Turning around, I saw him standing there, too.

I panicked. As usual I started knocking at heaven’s gate to pull me out of the mess I had got myself into. “Please, pleeeease, God. Deliver me from this stalker!”, I pleaded.

Tanta daang! At the entrance of the platform, my friends appeared – six or seven of them! And they stepped on to the platform laughing and talking.

I bolted towards them.

I must have looked flustered, ‘cos they asked what the matter was. Without looking at the man, I told them that the man standing near the refreshment counter was stalking me.

There were a few very bold ladies among them and they decided to handle him. I pleaded with them not to.

“That’s why these rascals behave like this. They get away with everything ‘cos women don’t react.
“No. no. Listen to me first and then decide whether to give him a dressing down’.

I told him about the blunder I made. They had a good laugh.

“Never smile at a man unless you are 200% sure you know him”, they advised.

Times must have changed a lot since my mother-in-law’s days, I thought ruefully.

Ever since, I don’t smile, even at my husband, if I see him outside the house unless I’m sure it’s him and not someone who resembles him.