Involuntary Reaction ( Part 7, The Conclusion)

Mrs Sharma gave Deepa a hug that was warmer than any they had ever exchanged.

" I thought about what you said and I think we have all been rather dismissive of you. You are a sort of a..I don't know a visionary., I suppose ? You bring people into this temple that would not normally dream of volunteering. You charm even the most hardened ones so they stay and work like dogs." I was looking on the temple web-site and I didn't realize how many programs you have started. The monthly inter-faith book club, the vegetable garden, the seniors' poetry contest.

Deepa scanned Mrs Sideshwar's face to see if she was being genuine or feeding her lines that she thought she would want to hear. In either case, she was not about to stop her.

She waited for the "But..." and it came.
"But....I think I might be able to help you communicate better. I found a list of common things that many women do when communicating with men in a business-type arena. The gal in H.R gave it to me. Temple work is non-profit. It's very much like the business world"

The doctor's wife had actually printed off a list of communication errors. Deepa's wide eyes scanned the page.

During a meeting, don't meander, get straight to the point in the first few seconds of your talk.
Try not to speak in a high pitched voice.

Deepa had worked in many different environments but had never heard of any of this.
She wondered if this was a "sis" code and what would happen if men got a hold of this. But that was kind of the point. They wouldn't care because it wouldn't interest them. That's what made it it a 'sis' code.

Deepa was humbled.

"I do want to be taken seriously" She finally uttered the words out loud and even modulated the pitch of her voice a little.

Mrs Sharma actually softened her voice and almost whispered:

"The other thing is, maybe this will help you in your, you know, personal life."

Deepa was willing to discuss many things that day but her impending old maid status was not one of them. They both looked around for the waiter.

Mrs Sharma snatched the check when it came. They parted with a mutual and insincere:

"We must do this again sometime"

Later that evening, Deepa's IPO friends wanted a blow by blow account of the entire incident. Deepa had been looking forward to seeing them. Jyoti had perfected the art of making excellent pasta sauce and had promised to show Deepa. It was just what she needed. A relaxing evening with the girls. Karaoke. A predictable chick flick. Nothing too cerebral.

Jyoti had showed Deepa how to slice the tomatoes in thin strips so they melt into the sauce evenly. Deepa watched the pasta sauce bubble and spit.

"Now you can leave it to simmer for about twenty minutes" said Jyoti as though they were in a cooking class. "And turn on that karaoke machine."

Deepa adjusted the purple gas flame and began to go over the day's events again. Sure, she could learn a lot from the tips Mrs Sharma had given her. But who said the corporate world was some kind of utopia? It was cut-throat and dirty and self-serving, according to her MBA-clad friends.These tips could help her communicate with men in general. But all women knew men were the WORST communicators. Who wanted to shut themselves down and be uneffusive like them? Weren't THEY the ones who needed help bringing THEIR feelings out? And Deepa was an animated, gesticulating ball of fire. Was she supposed to become cold and clinical to get a point across?

She stared at the shiny new pasta pot bubbling comfortably on the stove. True communication was about compromise. There would be times when it was appropriate to turn into a volcano. But these would be rare.

Deepa smiled as Jyoti belt out a Motown classic. She noticed the pasta pot was boiling over and removed the lid. She knew life was bigger than Jamna temple or communication skills. But for now, she would learn to simmer steadily.