My First Kiss

My First Kiss.

First kisses are always very special , those foot popping ones you see in movies, and a girl always knows if she would be seeing that guy again after their very 1st kiss. The 1st kiss defines it all.

Well my case was different. I don’t  remember anything about this guy, be it his face, the taste of his lips, the scent of his aftershave…. Those of you who thought this was going to be some really raunchy tongue game, you are grossly mistaken.

This happened some15 years back, way before I knew anything about the ones with the Y chromosome. I was a little less than 6 years then when my dad took pity on my grandma who was looking after me, and brought me to the US of A for the summer.

Amongst us 5 year olds, it was believed that America is the end of the world, literally.

There is no place, one can go farther than America and to be there was like the divine most deed a person can do, as holy as going to mecca or Jerusalem or kashi. So bragging to my friends ,about the American trip, I was counting down days to that D day. Well to be frank, I would have been a totally different person, if not for those holidays in the in the land of capitalist butchers.

Finally the long wait which seemed never ending, came to an end as I boarded the flight to Bahrain clad in my new maroon frock ,wearing those  golden anklets (something I was really proud of then). The flight went off well, with me the youngest person on board and the stewards simply pampering me with endless glasses of bitter orange juice and chocolate chip cookies. The 15 hour flight came to a stop at the JFK air port from where we were supposed to catch another flight to Cal. Having to kill 5 hours till the next flight, mum and I engaged ourselves in window shopping and feasting on ice cream. That was when I was I saw a very tormenting sight, something I hadn’t have seen in my short span of 5 years. A guy was eating up a girls face, especially her lips. I was more than shocked to sea a cannibal attack in front of my eyes, and that too the first thing I see after breathing the American air. I took the pains to keep my mouth away from the ice cream cone to tell my mom in a voice only loud enough for the cannibal, the victim and my mum to her “ Amma, look that man is eating up her face, lets go save her”

Catching the attention of my squeal the cannibal stopped attacking the girl and I was party happy that my loud squeal could save that hapless girl. To my surprise all of those  5  foot and above lot of them burst into a fit of  laughter, and to hide the embarrassment my mum dragged me away from the crime scene.

I was perplexed and sad that my heroic act was not appreciated with another cone of ice cream, instead they were laughing off such live brutality. That was when I confronted my mum , and asked her to reason out why I wasn’t taken seriously.

My mum in a very elegant voice told me “ Ninu, they were just greeting each other, in America people have strange ways of showing love. Just like we shake hands and give namste, they kiss each other”

Explaining this to me, and by giving me a peck on my cheek my mum continued window shopping and I drowned in the sweetness of strawberry ice cream, thinking of the perfect angle to tilt my head so as to greet Americans in the best possible way..

We reached California by midnight and my dad was there at the airport to receive us with a a bunch of balloons in his hand which read “welcome” . he then tied one of those helium filled balloons on to my wrist and went off to get the car, while mum and I waited with our  pile of luggage ( we had a hand full of them)  in the trolley.

Days in California were enigmatic with each day dawning for more malls, fly overs, escalators, ice creams, flashy cars, chilly breeze, pizzas, cola and what not. We toured Hollywood, san diego, san Francisco and few other places. I still treasure the horrendous drawing picture of mine sketched by the street artist in fisherman’s warf.

Weeks passed and I was getting sick of the croissant and scrambled eggs and was for once craving hot ghee dosais which I refused to eat back in India.

The month of April breezed in and Easter was in the air, and as any other Indian born wannabe American I also got excited about the Easter bunnies and most of all the Easter eggs.

 Easter in India comprised of neighbors serving us mutton biriyani and we finishing it off as soon as they were served watching some flick my mohanlal or mammootty( sadly Prithviraj was just in school and had no plans of acting then).

The much awaited Easter day started off with our German neighbors giving us a basket of chocolate eggs at the break of dawn and I remember fighting with mum for tasting them with out me, while I was sleeping.  I was having my regular meal of croissant and scrambled eggs with eyes,  glued to the tube, when the door bell rang. With mom busy in the kitchen I was asked to get the door and so grumbling for making me move my ass off our couch, I went to open the door. At the door was our other neighbors’ son standing there with a chocolate bunny in his hand. He held out the bunny and wished me Easter. Overjoyed in seeing more chocolates I couldn’t thank him enough in words so I thought of thanking him in deeds. I moved forward to his face and pressed my lips against his. As though stung by a sting ray he stood, motionless. I withdrew sensing his shocked impulse. Well, it wasn’t long before he reciprocated my peck with another on my lips. Soon it turned out to be a kissing game, where both of us took turns to kiss the other. That was when my mum came from to kitchen ,  only to find  her little daughter kissing and getting kissed right blow her nose. She could imagine what mayhem it would have caused if any Indian aunty came by. Seeing my mum , our exciting game came to a sudden halt, and Kevin ran away, for his life, I guess ( such a sissy, I thought). My mum looked at in a way she had never looked before all these 5 years, and all I could do was offer her the chocolate bunny, if that could help. Seeing the innocence in my eyes she asked in a stern but pious voice what was happening there, to which I replied in my most sweetest voice I could put up then “ Amma, I was greeting and thanking Kevin for the chocolates, and moreover it was Easter so again I wished him by kissing him. He seemed to like it, amma..”

I said those last few words as though it was my trump card. She fell silent, unable to express what was going through her mind. She then, broke of a piece off the chocolate bunny and told me, “ see ninu, we are Indians, we don’t have to kiss in order to show gratitude. We always have our shake hands and namastes at our disposal. Only Americans are allowed to kiss, not Indians. And that’s rule.”

The pea brained me went on to believe that for quite a long time, till I broke the law one hot October afternoon..well lets not get into that.

So that was the story of, my 1st kiss. I wonder what has become of Kevin these days, must have turned into some hot bloke by now and getting chicks laid. ..