A Potpourri of Wonderful Memories Part-II, An Ode to Friendship!

Ideally the previous post, Part I, should be read to get the complete backdrop against which these events are being described. What follows is a pictorial journey of a lifelong friendship in the context of a beloved high school where I was a teacher in my past life and my friend still is.

Against this backdrop of my baptism by fire entered into the scene my lifelong friend Malini, the new English high school teacher, also straight out of graduate school! I can still vividly recall that humid and already hot morning in Delhi in late July in 1981-the monsoon season. I was standing with a group of teachers chatting after the morning assembly when our conversation came to an abrupt standstill. Walking rather sashaying, I should say, was this vision of color immaculately dressed in a pink and green still fresh and crisp cotton sari with many matching bracelets on her wrists and braided long hair flowing well past her waist, and batting her twinkling kohl-lined eyes with a great big smile- she was a fashion diva for sure. Needless to say, she made us feel quite bedraggled, sweaty and sloppy which we were.

Malini (red scarf) and I (light pink attire) enjoying Teacher's Day, the only time, the school really didn't mind teachers wearing other Indian attire rather than a sari. Sari is supposed to be the most dignified attire especially in the case of young teachers as that made us look more grown up instead of blending with the older teenage students.
This was also the only day students were allowed to not wear their school uniforms which are a must in all schools in India. Note the brat behind me!

But, from that point on, it was deja vu. She came up to me and greeted me by name with an easy familiarity and I responded likewise. Having attended the same University of Delhi, we must have seen each other at some point, but had never been formally introduced. Yet it was like we had known each other forever. Like soul connections in love, I firmly believe that there are soul connections between friends when somehow there is instinctive and inexplicable bonding immediately. From that point we were inseparable.

The strength of our friendship lay in the fact that there were absolutely no pretences between us. No illusions at all. We understood and accepted each other completely. While the rest of the world, mainly the men were taken in by her wide-eyed helpless look and feminine wiles that she blatantly used to the utmost, I was not and affectionately told her so in no uncertain terms. Very often. However,I didn't mind watching her humorously in action. In my case, she saw my cream-puff heart under my facade of strength and manipulated me shamelessly. Fully aware, I did not mind because she has a great big loving heart. We were truly two soul-sisters with a connection that went beyond outward superficialities. She is the sister, I never had.


Here Malini and I are with our other colleagues during the school assembly where most of the students squatted cross-legged on covered floors to listen to the principal in the true Indian fashion daily. Remember the school was a wonderful medley of the best in Indian values and Western education!

Here of course, these kids have clambered on to a truck that came to deliver supplies. I met these kids as youngmen and women over the years and my heart swelled with pride to see how successful they were in ALL aspects of their lives-many of them settling here after coming to US for further studies...
Yes, we were also a complete study in contrasts and quite a sight to behold! I with my short "Lady Di" haircut (see above in pink sari with another colleague almost buried uner the eager kids)restlessly pushing my hair out of eyes especially when stressed which was almost all the time, briskly walking nay almost running with long impatient strides learned over the years of trying to keep pace with my much taller brothers, sari tied to accommodate that fact, and a bag carelessly slung over my shoulders, overflowing with student papers, makeup gone by mid-morning often replaced by streaks of chalk powder. You get the picture.

And then there was Malini, daintly dressed, sauntering leisurely, color coordinated completely with matching accessories and jewelry with not a hair out of place in her long braid, setting the new fashion rules for not just her envious colleagues but the growing teenage girls. Yet, beyond this superficial veneer, we both were hard-working dedicated teachers who shared a deep friendship which went beyond the classrooms. Here Malini and I are with another colleague and a student who is wearing a sari on Teacher's Day when the kids role-played as teachers and we teachers secretly prayed that they understood our pain. That is what is meant by eternal optimism!

Almost every afternoon, Malini, I and a couple of other young colleagues would walk over to Malini's place, have lunch, hang out and end up often spending the nights at her place. She lived near the school so her home became our usual haunt with her kid brother forcing his company on us till he was unceremoniously thrown out of her room. How he loved our gossip! Remember in India, unmarried children continue living with their parents so we came to know Malini's family very well. Rather, I became a part of her family and she of mine.


Here we are the youngest high school teachers (I am in the center and Malini is on the right in gold color sari) who hung out together and ended our school day by going over to Malini's place or all over town enjoying our singledom. Each of lived with our parents even as working adults and still followed the family rules. In short, we were very sheltered even as working women so any life's knocks hit us harder because in reality we were still big kids living at home under our parents' protection, right till we married.

I will never forget one trick that her evil brother and his friend played on me. Malini and her folks lived in a big bungalow (a large single-storied house)from the British days in India. It had many rooms along with the customary nooks and crannies which took on a life of their own in the evening hours. It really could be quite scary at night. I recall one evening, these two horrendous college freshmen, probably to pay me back for throwing my weight since of course Malini let me do all the dirty work, convinced me that there was a ghost in that house and they rapidly kept pointing out where they were seeing this strange apparition. Each time I turned around, they said it had moved elsewhere till I almost started believing that I saw the tail-end of the spirit. Of course, it did not exist but by the time, dusk fell, I of course started seeing things and was literally on the verge of a heart attack out of sheer terror, till her father stepped in and put an end to that nonsense. I never forgave the rascals who when I turned around were doubled with laughter along with my soul-sister wiping tears of sheer mirth from her eyes... She had joined them. I realized that day that I can come up with some inventive profanities and being bilingual surely expanded my repertoire!
Malini and I are having outdoor Sunday lunch at a very upscale country club in Delhi to which her family belongs. That is her father in the background-he continues to have a special soft corner for me from the days when he was truly my saviour around her rascal brother and his friends!

Here we are both at a colleague's wedding with another young teacher who was also single and actually a CPA who just came to spend a year as a teacher. Needless to say, he loved hanging out with us single girls as we were much more fun than the older more low key and conservative crowd who had been teaching for donkey years in the school. I am in deep red and Malini is an gold colored sari

Another incident that I recall very clearly is a trek (my one and only and you will soon see why) we took with the school kids to the town of Mussoorie situated in the foothills of the Himalayas. Without prior hiking experience and having just recovered from a severe bout of malaria, in a foolhardy manner much against my parents' sound judgment, I decided to join Malini who again convinced me I was just fine (did I tell you - her brother used to call me her "stooge" because she somehow convinced me to give in in all her crazy schemes) to chaperone the school kids on an almost 34 kms uphill hike in the treacherous hills. Of course, as expected, I collapsed part of the way and just couldn't move an inch. Squatting and wailing that they should all leave me to die in the hills and move on without me, it could not have been a more dramatic sight. I was a mess uncaring that my students were watching in malicious fascination their strong teacher in this crumpled state. Cutting my histrionics short in a matter of fact manner that she certainly can certainly dredge up in an instant (you wonder if the batting of eyes was a figment of your imagination), my friend scolded me and told me to get a grip. Miraculously, she made me get up till literally bolstered by two strapping male students, I dragged myself to the top into town which by the way is at an average altitude of 6,600 ft . How I hated her then!

Here we both are with our students after the pretty steep uphill climb in the hills where I seriously thought, I was going to die.

Once in Mussoorie, I conveniently developed amnesia about my previous embarrassment and once again vigorously took on the role of a senior teacher and started lecturing the kids to watch out for leeches, the blood sucking parasites, that are abundant in these hills. Sitting in a restaurant I pontificated at length about how the kids should be careful and dress appropriately till someone pointed out something dark red on the side of my neck. I am not kidding when I tell you that my blood-curling scream could be heard over the mountainside! Shrieking like a banshee, I dragged Malini to the god-forsaken dingy bathroom of that small eatery in the hills. Stripped and shivering uncontrollably from disgust and cold, I gritted my teeth, till my friend who had doubled up with laughter could follow the instructions of the eatery owner who also with a barely suppressed grin had shown her how to remove the damn parasite with salt and matchsticks. Clearly these hill folks took such creatures in their stride! Well fed, the sucker fell off easily. With my now hugely wounded pride, I refused to subject myself to more good -humored ridicule and rode back next day to the base like a Diva in a cab eagerly volunteering to chaperone a girl student who had developed a raging fever, leaving Malini to handle all the rambunctious students. That was my revenge and Malini was not fooled. It was only under dire threats of very tough history tests that I was able to suppress the hysterical giggles of the kids. That was an amazing adventure! Needless to say, trekking shall never be on my resume as a curricular activity!




After that disastrous hiking incident, I made sure I always went on safer and saner trips with the kids. Here we are at a couple of picnics! While I labored hard over teaching the kids about the Rise and Fall of the British Empire and India's freedom struggle, I also played hard with them and that is what made life so wonderful as a young teacher in Modern!

When I announced suddenly one day in Jan. 1987 that I would be quitting my job to join my new husband in the US, she and the rest of the school could not believe it because once you joined Modern School, you continued till you couldn't. I would not be arrogant if I ventured to say, based on the reactions of my kids and their subsequent feedback and continuous attempts over the decades to remain in touch with me till today, that I was their "favorite teacher" and left teaching in a blaze of glory and at the height of my career. It was poignant all-around for a number of reasons... My years were so wonderful and enriching at Modern that I could not imagine teaching ever again in a different environment. It was season for a reason and time to move on as I could never give my heart like this again!



Here I am being given an amazing sendoff after I announced that I was leaving for the US to start a new life. This was a very emotional time undoubtedly!

Coming back to Malini-leaving my best friend was really really rough. I still remember getting a hysterical call in the middle of the night in my first few weeks in DC. It was my friend, very emotional at my absence. I don't remember a word of that conversation, other than we both were in tears. There are too many memories to share but suffice it is to say that we grew up together in those years. Coming from similar over-protective and sheltered backgrounds including the good ole nuns, we went through many youthful trials and tribulations sharing many laughs and tears. It has been more than two decades since I left India, yet despite our different life experiences, our bond is still strong as ever. It is one of those friendships that even if one does not connect for years, when we do, we pick up immediately as if there was no gap... Our saga continues.

Cheers to our Karmic bond my friend!

And long live Modern School!!!

Now let us move on to Candid Carrie's Friday Foto Fiesta and see what's going on!

A Potpourri of Wonderful Memories Part-I - A Former Teacher Looks Back Fondly...

It is a quiet winter evening during the Holidays- perfect to indulge in fond memories with a friend who is visiting the US on a high school teacher exchange program as a Fulbright Fellow. Every evening she and I chat face to face via Skype -Every evening! Late into the night-from Washington DC to a small town in Washington state where she is getting a hearty dose of different world reality. Yes, this is truly the electronic age!

Is this a global age or what!!! This is a picture of Malini chatting to me, taken from Skype across the coast. We plan to continue like this across the oceans when she returns back home in January.

Malini and I met more than two decades ago when we were both high school teachers in New Delhi's top private school with unimaginable amenities and opportunities for developing the full potential of the children who were indeed blessed to study there... A co-educational school, it was founded in 1920 under the British rule "to combine the traditions of Indian education with modern educational techniques." Those were the happiest and most carefree years of my life where I also made many lifelong connections...

I preceded Malini a year earlier as a Senior High School teacher hired to teach Indian and European history at Modern High School straight out of college.

Situated right in the heart of New Delhi on a sprawling 25 acre campus, with its beautiful red brick main building, the school is considered not only the finest in the country but easily ranks among the premier high schools in the world. Needless to say, it caters to the topmost echelons in Indian society and admission in this much sought after school is next to impossible due to high demand. With its high fees needed to sustain the top quality education provided by highly qualified teachers and myriad sports and extra-curricular activities ranging from swimming, horse-back-riding, tennis, cricket, soccer, water-polo, dramatics and various cultural activities, it is certainly beyond the reach of the common man.

Modern High School- You must click on this link to see the slide show on this legendary school. This picture is only a tip of the iceberg in terms of the majestic beauty of this institution located in the heart of India's capital

Obtaining a teaching position in this school is considered the pinnacle of a school teaching career and normally the school management would only hire seasoned and experienced teachers. So when I landed a high school teaching position straight after completing my Masters and teaching degree, I was quick to pat myself on my back, little realizing what awaited me.

Idealistic and naive, a product of an all-girl Catholic school, an entirely different world, I had no clue what I was getting into when I took on the position of teaching History at high school level. I was barely a few years older than these teenagers because in our time, if you continued with your college education without interruption, you could complete your Masters by your early twenties.

Ok now here I was totally being teased by this student who was pretending to kneel before me -he was known to be a handful.

Daily for months, skinny and youthful, hiding my inner-quavering, I bravely stood my ground in classes of fifty or more students each, blatantly staring at me, suspiciously well-behaved, before all mayhem would break loose in the form of loud talking, non-stop coughing to drown my lecture, giggling, lanky and tall youth towering over me asking to be excused one after the other in rapid succession to go to the bathroom, distracting me while even more slipped out, never to return and on and on. It was definitely on the lines of "To Sir with Love" except these were NOT inner-city kids rather super-rich and self-willed kids used to having their own way.

Ok note the students - the picture tells you all. One is wondering if he should enter and the other is waiting to be excused, and another is turning around probably to start some mischief. Needless to say this picture was taken unknowing to me till it was produced months later. Eventually, it became a relationship of great affection and respect but it was certainly a battle of wills.

But, the students had met their match in me because I made up for my inexperience with a defiant determination to hold my ground. Gradually with persistence, tremendous sense of humor coupled with the inability to control my chuckles at the most inopportune times which unknowingly endeared me to them and with solid hardwork when I spent more time preparing my lesson plans than they did listening to me, I gradually won the respect and affection of these youngsters. Of course, I had to arrange a few parent-teacher conferences to convince these irrepressible kids, that I meant business. The incredulous expressions on these high-powered parents who left their busy schedules to meet me on an urgent need basis in the middle of the day was another story! Their looks of amused tolerance at this chit of a girl expounding on the misguided ingenuity of their offspring soon gave away to concern when they realized I was serious about holding them back if they didn't deliver academically. All this was not lost on my young friends...

Thank God for gentle souls like this girl. Note the school uniform of the children made of hand-woven khadi- a kind of cotton that was popularised by Gandhi during India's freedom struggle. All school children in India wear school uniforms.

The students soon realized Miss Bhandari (my maiden name) was not a quitter and that they were stuck with me. Apparently these kids had developed quite a reputation for scaring away veteran teachers, my short-lived predecessors (which explains to me why the school was perhaps now hiring younger teachers try different means of controlling the mayhem. What optimism!!!).


Finally after months of paying my dues, we all settled - somewhat.

I had obviously made a place in their hearts as over the years, they have made the effort to locate and establish contact in the US when they came here either as students or on business. This year, more than two decades later, we all had a reunion in DC and it is heartwarming to see that these kids in skirts and shorts were now extremely successful young men and women all over the world.

To be continued...

The Internet Celebration – Bridging the Distance - A Guest Post

This is a guest post written by, as they say here, my BFF or best friend forever, Malini (she has commented in many of my posts recently), who I have known when we both met as high school teachers in New Delhi in 1982. Since then our bond has been unbreakable even though we have been thousands of miles apart since early 1987 when I left India for the US. I will write a separate post on that later, but in the interim, I want to share her candid impressions about her current stay here in US. Read on...

I am an indian teacher on a Fulbright Exchange Fellowship program, teaching English in an American high school nestling in the woods in Washington state. This is my first international teaching assignment and also my first visit to the US. Like all Indians, I too came with a stereotypical perception of this wonderful land of opportunity. However it would not be out of place to state that during the first few weeks, I felt as though the rug had been pulled from under my feet.

My initial trauma at the study in contrasts between the two cultures and my spontaneous outbursts gave way to refined reflection and appreciation of the American people ..and it was not before long that my high school kids in the school won me over.

RBK has been and remains a true friend over the years. She has literally babysat me every evening over the webcam for hours giving me the much needed emotional support. I will always remain indebted to her as she reached out to hold my hand. Thank you Raksha I love you.





Malini being given a very warm sendoff by her family, friends and colleagues in Delhi for her six-month trip to the US. She like many Indian immigrants was quite unprepared for the differences in the socio-cultural fabric

This celebration was special and bookmarked with many firsts.... in this journey. Friday 10th October marked my parents 55th wedding anniversary (bless them) and this was the first time I was not physically present with them on the occasion. Sitting so far away in a strange land, how do you celebrate a joyous moment? Celebrations mean familial familiarity, friends, dine outs, tikkas, butter chicken and tandoori lachcha parathas washed down by a toast to a forever ever after. But here I was, alone and among strangers in a distant land... it was a strange mix of emotions. Was I the NRI (non-resident Indian)daughter making the customary call because it is a date marked on my calendar? I felt for all those sons and daughters in distant lands... how many birthdays and anniversaries...had been reduced to Skype calls and egreetings. It’s painful to lose the human touch and get on with life...as the threads of emotional bonds become weaker... miss my children on these occasions but I wonder if the yearning is reciprocal...maybe it is a generational in my times kind of feeling.
I felt restless as a caged bird yearning to be free.

The day started off with the usual 45 minutes ride to school, with Betsy sipping her tea as she drove, Rene complaining about her loser designer and me fighting hard to keep my tumult of emotions in check. I just wanted to hug mummy and daddy...and my arms ached. My unusual silence went unnoticed as we wished each other a good day and walked down our separate ways to another challenging day.

End of school day, a weekend to look forward to yet a feeling of emptiness enveloped me. It was then that I marched up to Betsy’s room and asked for some candy. As we sat in the car I burst out it’s my parent’s anniversary and I fished out the Tootsies and the fruit chews. Congratulations were in order followed by a volley of questions. Coming from a background which believed in the loyalty, commitment, love and tenacity of this relationship I was at the moment sitting amidst what I narrowly perceive as a disintegrated social fabric in this context. With pride, I went on to speak about the institution of marriage in India (in complete denial of the increasing intolerance, growing infidelities, divorces, interpersonal seesaws and the Mr. Walias and Banis of the Indian soap opera).

Expectedly, the conversation ended up with each pouring out her personal experiences. René spoke of her mother as one who hung on to her marriage to bring up the children, but had finally found her peace with her new husband. Her father too was a happier person in his second domesticity. She spoke of her own marriage to a divorced man with grown up sons, in reverential terms. My very being revolted at this absence of commitment and lack of permanence but the wordsworthian spontaneous overflow tempered by reflection got the better of me. I recollect the silent mutterings of my parents and the complaints even at this age which inevitably ended with “all his/her life he/she has suppressed me”. But they were never to be taken seriously and considered a healthy difference of opinion. Thank God I am a product of a generation that has taught me the value of togetherness through life’s trials and tribulations, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. (Ashok, this one is a tribute to you).





Malini getting acclimated to her life in US on the West coast during her six-month stay.


Here she is my son on her brief stopover in DC area. We both were quite upset that she was on a different coast but we more than made by by daily chatting face to face on the webcam through skype each evening- it was like we were next to each other.

Surrounded by people who walked in and out of relationships with pre nuptial agreements, i questioned the Indian loyalty, in the privacy of my thoughts. Greedily eating French fries, sipping chilled soda with a classic crispy chicken burger in waiting, I sat in MacDonald’s celebrating the anniversary..cheers!!The dark side surfaced (mine was not a yardstick to measure the great Indian marriage; they say it is an exception to the rule). Yes, there are unhappy people all around, oppressed by a male dominated society living out the farce. Domestic violence and marital abuse is an integral part of the Indian society as well and the Indian adaptation of the bold and beautiful has brought it out in the open. Does art imitate life or is it vice versa? I always wonder. Who is right or what is appropriate, the questions remains unanswered and always will. But yes the right to happiness is fundamental and decisions taken in this direction cannot be contested..so each to his own definition of love, life, marriage and happiness.

Without getting into the private lives of my new found friends, i would like to share a conversation with a high school junior student. “My parents were never married and my mother walked out with her boyfriend when I was 13 while my father’s girlfriend moved in. Yes it was confusing in the beginning, trying to adjust to visiting on separate weekends and deciding whom to stay with but nothing more than that. I have been impacted in the sense that I know nothing is permanent and it is so much easier to get over heart break and move on in life. It happens, I guess because people get bored with each other.” Kudos! to this young generation that talks about abortion and marriage in the same breath as a subway sandwich or a waterfront pizza. In a world of reality and game shows, the high school senior who is planning her wedding to her fiancé currently in Iraq, says, “Well, we Americans love to take risks and accept our responsibility. We always have a backup plan,” and another in her journal prompt wrote about how her greatest challenge has been getting over her parents divorce.I wonder what 2 year old Tyler thinks when every Sunday his dad drives down from Seattle as a clause of the ongoing divorce between his parents. The rest of the week there is Bill his mother’s current boyfriend comfortably settled.

The evening ended with a Skype call to my parents sharing with them my celebration..as a family it is very important to celebrate the happiness of the moment..these are the great occasions in their ordinariness as I raised a toast with my can of pepsi and treated myself to a triple chocolate chunk muffin. I love you mummy and daddy. Don’t forget to put in my bank account my back present to pay the dollar bill of the celebration. I hope all daughters and sons make the special effort even when they are far away..take time out and CELEBRATE.

Those were the days my friend!

Delving through my old pictures for Candid Carrie's Friday Foto Fiesta, I came across this college picture showing four of us, freshmen, in our undergrad days at a very-well known rather notorious college, according to the conservative Indian standards in those days. The college was Miranda House in University of Delhi. Undoubtedly the college had quite a reputation for its "wild and fast" girls. Essentially, for a woman to just have and then speak her mind in a very conservative social set up was almost sacrilegious and god forbid if she spoke or mingled freely with the opposite sex! That was enough to be considered "fast". Basically, Miranda House with its liberal hence rather revolutionary atmosphere paved the way for the new generation of Indian women- confident, smart go-getters fighting against the age-old restrictions and going on to become leaders in every field.

I along with three very hip Mirandians - the few who had their own private jeep as college transportation as opposed to most of us who commuted by University specials.

I recall when I graduated from my all-girls Catholic school, my father did the mistake of asking me if I wanted to continue studying in a sister Jesuit college. I almost hit the roof and said a vociferous "no"!!! Stifled and repressed under the strict disciplinary regime of the Irish-Catholic nuns, I at sixteen was more than ready to taste the freedom of university life in a college which was a breed apart from the other sedate girl-colleges.

Founded in 1948, Miranda House college is a premier residential college which also includes day scholars. Consisting of beautiful brick buildings and lush lawns, Miranda House is a true historic institution and among the top ten colleges in the country.

This picture does not do the college justice in terms of its architectural beauty.

Undoubtedly, Miranda House had high academic standards and produced some of the brightest women in different professions. Women who had broken out from the traditional mould and had a definite feminist approach. Founded in response to demands for institutions for higher learning for women, it encouraged women to freely express their viewpoint and ideas and be independent thinkers. Needless to say in those days, this philosophy was contrary to the general Indian society's image of a demure Indian woman who did not argue, but basically followed her man... Remember, I am talking about India in the late seventies when it was definitely a man's world.

Delhi University campus in which Miranda House College is situated is overall very beautiful with its mainly brick buildings

Of course, I wanted to go to that college and of course, I did. It was not too difficult to convince my parents as they were both very educated and mom had a serious feminist streak well-camouflaged under her serene exterior. After all, she had persuaded my grandfather to send her to an all-male college to study economics at a time when women barely finished high school.

Those were carefree days when we gals thought we were the fashion-divas blending our ethnic looks of kohl-lined eyes and Indian jewelry with western jeans and attire. "Mirandians" as we all were called were in great demand by our male counterparts who were both intimidated and in awe of these women who stoked their wild imaginations with their slightly hippy appeal, spunky spirited personalities and academic smarts.

But it was the girls in the hostels who gave the college a somewhat wild image. Coming from various parts of India, far away from their strict conservative families, these hostelers broke loose and had a time of their lives with the hostelers in the boys' colleges on the university campus. Dating and parties, generally taboo in the social setup, were the norm after the regular college hours. Boy, did we day-scholars feel deprived! On the other hand, the life of the day-scholar such as me was essentially limited to making it to the classes and the library with some time in the university cafe and then home...

We three boring day-scholars after reaching home - our campus life revolved around the University special timings and finding a seat on those buses where there were always little romances in play, normally limited to sidelong looks and loud comments etc. since it was just not okay to mingle freely with the boys!

Day-scholars' main excitement seemed to revolve around catching the public buses dedicated to the university students and appropriately termed as "University specials". If you missed those, you had to wrestle your way in jam-packed public buses where there was a good chance you could be groped and squashed. Sordid but unfortunately true.

For all its liberal thinking, like all the other women colleges, the only time guys were allowed into our college was during the inter-college festivals. That was the time when the girls really dolled up and could be seen hanging out often languidly with a cigarette in their hand- yes sadly the glamorous image of the Virginia Slims lady had also reached India. I could go on, but this is just to provide a flavor of college life so many years ago. Needless to say, it has all changed now like everything else...

Seriously, till today, if I tell someone from India, especially a man from my generation that I am a Mirandian, instantly a knowing gleam enters his eyes and I can immediately see his mind ticking away about my lurid past or so they think...