Peacock Story

What was the reason you went on your last holiday? Was it because you wanted to get away from it all? Was it the need to relax completely? Was it combined with a work? Was it the need to experience a different life altogether for a specified period of time. People go on holiday for all sorts of reasons but I would hazard a guess that the common denominator in what makes a holiday memorable are those unexpected experiences, those chance meetings with strangers, the discovery of something new, new food and in all, a feeling that time has been well spent. It then becomes a spectacular holiday.

Last month, I was fortunate enough to accompany my parents on a visit to India where I had one such experience. The plan that fateful day was to return to a bookshop and have a look at some of the CDs we’d not had a chance to look at during our last visit. After choosing what we thought we might want, we went over to the counter to see if we could test out these CDs. After about ten minutes, I was becoming most apprehensive. I did not know if the CDs my father picked out would be the ones he would eventually choose to buy. If he chose not to buy them, then we would have made the staff of this bookshop tear open the plastic cover and play the CDs in vain. Still, I was adamant that he hear the music first before we purchased the said CDs. They were, after all, not cheap.

Whilst listening to the 2^nd CD in our list, a not-so-friendly person I assumed was the manager of the store, walked up to the counter where one of his staff was fumbling with the CDs and said, “Madam, all our CDs are checked. There are no defects in them.”

Standing on the other side of the counter, I was a little perplexed. I explained, as politely and humbly as I could, “It’s not whether the CDs are OK or not. It’s just that I don’t know if we want to buy them. I need to hear the music first.”

He was not happy and I am no mind-reader but I honestly feel that had I been in his place, I too might have thought, “Bloody foreigners!”

Anyway, on to the CD story. A moment after the man I assumed is a manager left us, the rather hapless staff behind the counter picked up the phone and called for the person who had directed us to this counter in the first place.

The young man we encountered previously came bounding down the stairs and I thought, “Here we go again.” A quick mental assessment and applying Malaysian logic to a scene in India (I know, most illogical but …) I made my conclusion – this man was someone everyone seemed to refer to and, therefore, he had to be someone in a position of authority. On top of it, he was allowed to be casually dressed. He had more freedom than others but, I digress. Back to the CDs.

If there was one quality in this man I admired was the patience with which he dealt with us. He opened each and every one of the CDs, let us listen to the music and helped us to choose.

When the decision about which CDs were going to be bought and which were not had been made, I turned to ask this extremely helpful gentleman for some extra help, the following is what transpired, at least what I remembered of it since some 3 weeks have now passed:

“What is your name, please?”

“Mayur, Madam.”

“Mayur, can you please tell me do you accept suggestions? Do you have something like a suggestion box?”

Mayur pointed to the suggestion box on the other side of the counter and proceeded to bring a form for me to fill in.

“Thank you.”

The suggestion I wanted to make was simple – like in Malaysia, the bookshop should provide one copy of each of the titles they hold so that customers can hear the music before making a choice. The space provided on the form was just way too small to write all this down so I just wrote ‘Ask Mayur for full explanation’ and handed him the form. I was even lazier still to add my own contact details and when I handed over the form to Mayur, I also gave him a copy of my name card.

Most times, people will but glance at a name card. Not with Mayur. He read the information there. He said, “How to tell a great story. I know your website.”

I was surprised.

“Actually, I’m a subscriber to your newsletter.”

My jaw dropped an inch. I did the only sensible thing I could think of. I asked for reassurance.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said, a smile appeared on his face.

“You mean, …” still unable to believe it. “You mean, Great Storytelling Network newsletter.”

“Yes,” he said, his smile became broader.

I was quiet and if you know me, it takes something huge to achieve this.

I mean, what are the chances of such a thing happening. I have thousands of subscribers to the newsletter. I told no one where I was going. And yet, in a city which not many people I know in Malaysia visit, in a bookstore we’ve never been to, in a place where we’re choosing CDs, I meet another storyteller!

I shook my head, gathered my thoughts and said, “What a coincidence.”

Without batting an eyelid, Mayur replied, “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Now, what on earth does one say to that? You tell me.

[As for the title of this post - Peacock Story - the name Mayur, I understand, means peacock]