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The little red dot

THE family sitting at the next table in the restaurant had all taken turns to look at me, including the lady who had her back towards me. No! I had not dyed my hair green, nor had suddenly grown horns on my head.



Usha Wadhwa

THE family sitting at the next table in the restaurant had all taken turns to look at me, including the lady who had her back towards me. No! I had not dyed my hair green, nor had suddenly grown horns on my head. It was not my dress either. I was wearing a long, loose coat over my dress. And a scarf to cover my hair, not because of choice. It was mandatory to do so in Tehran where we had arrived recently. 

On the streets, people turned to have a better look at me, though, no doubt, the second look was accompanied by a friendly and welcoming smile. Still, wondering why? Actually it was the small round red dot on my forehead that was getting all the attention.

Once, I was sitting in a park all by myself when a group of college students — recognising me by my bindi — came towards me. With hands folded, they awkwardly said “Namaste” — picked up from Hindi movies I am sure.                                    

From the anonymity of my own city, suddenly I had become someone important, someone special. I can now imagine how guys from the showbiz feel when they step out of their houses.

Iranians are crazy about Indian movies. They may not understand a word, but I know of many who have seen “Sholay” more than 10 times. Their love and knowledge of our movies, though, put me in a hot soup once.

It so happened that we had to go to Isfahan (an important town of Iran) for a month, and were staying in the official guesthouse. Often during lunch time, when the men were away to work, I would be the lone customer in the dining hall. The staff also was in a relaxed mood at that time. So, we sat chatting and exchanging notes about each other’s country and culture. The Iranians are very friendly people and are fond of poetry and good music. 

The waiter boy, Hamid, insisted that I sing a song for them. He would not believe that my knowledge of music was as good as a crow’s. He thought I was being snobbish. “I know every Indian can sing and dance. I have seen hundreds of Hindi movies and everybody in it — right from the king to a beggar — sings!” He concluded, very sure of himself.

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