chick chica chicita

it is always interesting to profile the average traveller from one destination to the other. the few times that i have been to madrid, i have found serious looking people, often in suits, carrying folders like the one i had in my hand, with the i-will-change-the-world-if-i-have-to-and if-time-permits expression on their faces. in the metro, everyone is composed, concentrating on gearing up for the day's work ahead, reading a book, or looking forward to a good night's sleep. once i saw someone in an elegant olive green suit, with matching accessories - shoes and bags included. she looked like i was watching her from behind green shades. and blue shades for the one dressed in the blue denim skirt and matching heels. even the revolutionaries protesting for (one normally protests against, but thats just the beginning of what i dont understand about the spanish revolution) democracy are organised and controlled with a balance between gathering suggestions for proposing change, logistical arrangements and recreational activities in the camps. not like the hippies in placa catalunya with a lingering stench, or the locals banging utensils in gracia balconies with no consideration for babies trying to sleep in nearby apartments. treating the criticism above as a digression, i move back to observing the differences among travellers' profiles. barcelona has an air of fun, energy and friendliness. the average number of colours you see in the travelling crowd increases significantly. the footsteps are somehow more lively, formal shoes giving way to sandals - casual, funky, pretty, folders giving way to luggage for a relaxing vacation by the beach. even the suits realise that they have to give-in and allow unbuttoned cuffs and rolled-up sleeves.

i was on my way back to barcelona from madrid. my visit had been short and efficient, i was the traveller who had gone to the us embassy in madrid and i fit the profile with my folder and formal serious looking appearance. but i clearly stood as the odd one out here, surrounded by tourists or just spaniards in a holiday mood heading to barcelona, not returning to it. as i joined the queue, she suddenly skirted past me with her friend, whispering something in her ear. the first one turned around, kind of surprised realising that she was cutting in ahead of me. apologising, she said i should go ahead. i could see the excitement in their faces, in their funky flowery tops with matching capries and cute skirts, coloured sandals and flowing accessories; and i was in no hurry anyway, so i said, "no its fine, please go ahead." i did not realise they were a group of 6 and not just 2 who had walked ahead of me earlier. i reminded myself that i was in no hurry and smiled to myself seeing their excitement about the upcoming holiday. after all i get to catalogue their colours too. they kept bustling ahead of me all along till the end of the platform. it turned out that we all had our seats in the last coach. the luggage was the only thing that could have dared to pull down their speed, and my sprained-knee-induced-limp pulled down mine. and then of course they had to put all their luggage into the shelves just by the door. i heard the 1st one whisper to her friend, the same two as the last time, as they noticed me behind them. again. guess we were thinking the same thing, them embarrassed, me amused. "deja le pasar, la chichita aqui!" then she repeated her request, thinking i was irritated rather than entertained watching them fumble with their heavy bags. and this time she called me nina. as the rest of the 4 four also buzzed around, i walked to my seat and settled in with my book. i could still hear their giggles, i was so sure they were playing cards and comparing their make-up and manicure. soon enough after the train was racing in the meadows, they were walking across the carriage. more like stumbling across, heavy random footfalls matching the rhythm of the train, their embarrassed giggles ringing out loud. they seemed to be having an infectious effect on the people around. some fun those old women were having!

yes old women. did you think abuelas? think again. they were the original chicas . more like chicks actually. chicks who were at least as much fun as when they were younger, or perhaps age had built up the fun quotient in them. i roll my eyes now, thinking back about them - they were calling me chicita, yeah right!! (allow me to explain - chica is girl and chicita is just a cute and adoring way of addressing a girl. sara becomes sarita, richa becomes richita.. a pampering suffix) of course i looked like a little girl to them, trying too hard to be all grown up and serious in my formal clothes and leather folder and fat novel. they must be thinking to themselves, don’t grow up so soon. have some fun. look at us. learn from us.

i will chicas. throw my limp away, not be scared to risk, and fly again. till then you have fun in barcelona, and inspire some more people in need of a rescue from their eventless lives. maybe I catch you on the beach sometime!