Fugga Mary Causes a Stir

I was a painfully shy child who barely spoke or smiled outside of the house. It's not that I  was grumpy; I was just utterly non - reactive. This trait inspired one of my then neighbours (after a particularly harrowing 10 minutes spent trying to get me to smile), to coin the nickname Fugga Mary (grumpy Mary); the blessed thing stuck for longer than I care to admit.

I was friendly enough with close family. I would smile a lot, talk as well. But I was certainly never one of those kids you could count on to sing a song, or recite a poem in front of a gathering, no matter how small. My 'trick' was smiling. With my brother and cousins it was, ''baba, sing a song'', or ''baby, show aunty what you drew in school today". With me it was, "Sheetu.. smile. please. Smile baby. See! see that funny man on TV? smile baby". I'd crack a hesitant little smile. "Good girl!!!.. did you see that? She smiled!". Applause.

Life continued in a blur of normal, mad behaviour at home, and silent to the point of asocial behaviour everywhere else. During my second grade Open Day, my class teacher, Tr. Marilyn asked ma if I was happy, or whether I was being deprived in some way. Poor Ma was sooo upset that someone would think that! It makes me laugh to this day! :)

My favourite of my non reaction stories though (and ma's least favourite), takes us back to when I was about four years old. As ma tells it, I was chattering away to her about my day when she returned from work one evening. She sat down and lifted me onto her lap while I continued with my important stories. Then, she noticed a small patch of light skin on my forearm. She looked a little closer and saw another couple of patches on the same arm. She asked me a few questions about whether I'd hurt myself or gotten a scratch or something of the sort. Nope, I said, none too pleased with my arm taking the attention away from my story.  Here she announced that we were taking a little trip to the doctor. She told Shel and Chinamma (our then domestic help) that we'd be back in a bit. Off we went, to the doctor.

After a short wait it was my turn at the dispensary. The doctor took my arm and peered at the patches. Now remember people, outside home = Fugga Mary mode. He took a needle and gently poked me with it in each of the patches. Ma was sitting alongside me. I didn't flinch. I didn't move my arm even slightly.
Having no sensation on that patch of skin could have been an early sigh of leprosy or some skin related disease. Ma knew this, and ma being ma, totally panicked. She got incredibly upset and was instantly close to tears. She asked the doctor what exactly this could mean. The doctor looked at me for a few seconds more and said to ma, "No cause for worry, Mrs. Menezes. She has sensation on the patch". Mom looked confused and said, "but it didn't hurt her, she didn't even flinch". To which the doctor said, "No, she didn't, did she. But she did blink in slight surprise. And..she also gave me a rather dirty look".

And just like that, all was well again in Fugga Mary's world.
Mrs. Menezes' nerves were just collateral damage.