The Funky Peacock

Nandita pranced across the stage her peacock feathers high. The 11-year old has a strong presence. This was at least the fifth Indian dance recital I’ve been to with my former neighbours and friends. Both Nandita and Chitra are involved in learning their native dances. Unlike in previous years my former Syrian neighbour Marina and my daughter Llara weren’t with us, leaving a bit of a hole.

The rest of the weekend was spent at their flat in my old apartment complex on the other side of the lake from where I currently live. Their place is like a second home, for I shared their apartment while I was transitioning between the two places. Their more than gracious welcome transformed what could have been a nightmare move into a series of pleasant memories.

Before the move we often shared meals, endless cups of teas, short and long visits and support of our various activities. Nandita often came to my flat to watch The Weakest Link. We made cookies more than once and even carved a jack o’lantern. Her friends would stop by to be shown my penguin collection or one morning she and a friend and I shot rainbows through a prism from my own childhood at each other until the sun reached a height where the sunbeams were at the wrong angle.

As I watched the Funky Peacock take her well deserved applause, I realised I have seen her grow from a stage where she couldn’t reach the buttons on the elevator to reach our floor to a height that will pass mine probably within the next two years (If I am lucky to have that much time).

This family and I am from two different continents and cultures, living in a third, yet forging bonds that I know makes my life as rich as the colours on those peacock feathers.