Not Always The Blonds Do It
Was turning through the pages of my bygone years. I use my zoom lens to pin point and get a close up of the prettiest face that I had seen in all my forty three years. Pretty, beautiful and then add on a few more adjectives to it, stunning, glowing but all of them together cannot describe her beauty. She was my Miss Universe at first glance.
August 1994, Jakarta was at its opulent best. It was our first stint abroad. Every first is something that we seldom forget. That day we were going to the Bank to open our first non-resident account. I normally wear flat sole shoes but that day I could feel a spring under my feet. After all our first Dollar account! My husband was his usual self, calm, composed, dignified.
Our shimmering silver Gallant came to a halt in front of the portico in the Bank. The door was opened for me with a smiling "silakan datang ibu", welcome madam. The short walk on the red carpet and we were at the main glass door. I looked inside and time stood still for me.
Right in front sat a young Indian girl in her early twenties. Face of an angel. Big eyes that can drown the world. Lips that hold the sweetness and colour of perhaps a thousand orchards. She was writing so had her head slightly tilted. Dark short hair nicely brought together by a black bow clip at the back. Her skin honey toned with just perhaps a drop of strawberry at the cheeks. My husband had to gently nudge me, to shake me out of the spell. We moved forward and straight onto her desk!
She stood up and her face broke into a warm smile as she extended her hand to us. She was tall and had a figure of an hour glass. She was dressed in Business attire I noticed. I knew I was not looking but gaping. Such beauty! Prinncess, no Empress, how about queen, no fairy... this is what I was doing while my husband got busy filling the forms. She was talking to someone on the phone, her laughter sounded like sunshine rippling through the waters.
In crisp business language she took us through the entire process of opening an account and other details. I knew my husband was listening but my mind was hoping if only my 6 year son would be transformed into a man of 25, I would be at her home this very moment talking to her parents. "Your signature Ma'm", I was studying her face. God really must have crafted her as a designer piece and must be proud of His creation. If I had my way, I would have like to spend the day at the Bank but you know how all good things come to an end and so must this trip. I don't know what happened to the spring below my sole, I was dragging my feet out of the glass door. Her last words to my husband were "Done Sir". It echoed in my ears. It happened to Wordsworth hearing the solitary reaper.
A week later I get a frantic call from my parents from India, some cheque book and other related material had landed in their house. My otherwise calm husband was livid. Why did the Bank send it all there was his question and my prompt reply was let’s go to the Bank to find out!
Next morning I was dressed when the sun showed up. Children and husband gave me curious looks but it was my time to show what a cool dude was I. Again the glass door and yes I saw her. A red top was peeping through her business coat. She looked fresh as lime today. Her skin had this golden glow. Greetings over. My husband began in his curt voice, why can't he be a little soft; after all she is so beautiful!
She smiled and said that while logging in our details she had interchanged the addresses. Oh poor thing, I thought. But my husband mercilessly went on ..."but how could you do this, we need the cheque books urgently". Come on we can do without it for some more time I replied in my mind. She said it would take another two weeks. Okay by all means, from me. My husband just gave her a cold stare and asked if we had any choice. Men! Her parting words again were "Done Sir" as my husband demanded that this time there should not be any goof ups.
No cheque book meant very little to me until that day. The next day I spent standing in queues in front of the school, electricity office, bank tellers making payments by cash. By afternoon I was tired and I knew the meaning of a cheque book! The pretty face came floating by in front of my eyes, let down, I let her go. Did I catch a glint in my husband's eyes seeing me sit with my feet in a tub of warm water? "Just a few more payments tomorrow" he said as he went in to change. "WHAT?" screamed I. Children came running out of their study stared a little and went away. Wait till I catch Ms. Beautiful!
The cheque books arrive and I stared at it in disbelief, spelling error. I reach for the phone and this time her melting wax voice was not enough to curb my outburst. "How did you land at this Bank" I thundered. "By bus" she replied.
It took two months and eleven days to get our cheque book.
Our Uncle's daughter was getting married back home. We decided to transfer some money into our uncle’s account - our wedding gift. So there I was walking through the glass door. Ms Beautiful, I noticed had a different hairstyle. Black cascading locks all around her face. I explained the reason of my visit to her. She replied, "Done Madam". Somehow this phrase rang a warning bell inside. I walked out through the glass door with awry steps.
There was a bunch of letters in our mail box. I went for the one from the Bank; I ripped the envelope, something egging me on. My eyes nearly popped out reading the letter. Even your wildest imagination will not lead you to this. I call up my husband as a reflex action and read out the content. He heard me out and said "Done Sir at it again"! The letter was indeed signed by my black hair Goldilocks.
It read that the amount we wanted to transfer into our uncle's account has been credited into ours from our uncle's account! I know you need a second reading to get the meaning clear. Trust me this is true. We have protected this letter as a piece of relic. Again we walked through the glass door, Ms Doe eyed beauty was sitting pretty behind the desk. My husband thrust the letter in front of her. She looked up with large eyes, accented with mascara, then looked down at the letter and up again. She could not spot the reason of our visit. My husband in his ice cold voice told all that is to be told. End of it she said "Done Sir". I was gaping not at the beauty but at our luck!
Our string of unique experiences with Ms Beautiful got longer with passing time. I had just received a call that the amount we had asked the Bank to transfer for a relative's treatment had not reached. Obviously there was a tinge of ginger in the caller's voice but it singed my skin. I call up Ms Beautiful. "When is your transfer due" I ask rudely. "The Bank has placed me at this desk specially created for Expatriate Indians, so no transfer for me" she ended softly. Bang, I thumped my fist on the table. Oouch!
Now my parents were coming over to spend a month with us and they were supposed to pick up the required amount from the Bank at their city. All formalities completed by us and now it were over to my parents. I was keeping my fingers crossed. The phone was ringing and my hands trembling, premonition you can say. Ms Beauty cannot let this occasion pass off peacefully. It was my mother; she said that "Mr." has been prefixed to her name so the local Bank was refusing to accept her identity!!! Ms Horror here I come!
But this one day I gifted her not only the cake but the baker, the basket and the oven as well! We had just twenty four hours to make payment for registration of our dream apartment. We rush to the Bank, pass through the glass door and straight to her desk. We need to withdraw our funds, we explained in plain terms. She efficiently punched on the keyboard with her manicured fingers. She looked up with those eyes and a look that could launch a thousand ships and said "all your accounts have been closed and balance is nil". I am happy that I survived that day to tell the tale!
It is another story that the manager of the Bank personally came home to apologize.
I was relieved that my son was just eleven when we left Jakarta.
August 1994, Jakarta was at its opulent best. It was our first stint abroad. Every first is something that we seldom forget. That day we were going to the Bank to open our first non-resident account. I normally wear flat sole shoes but that day I could feel a spring under my feet. After all our first Dollar account! My husband was his usual self, calm, composed, dignified.
Our shimmering silver Gallant came to a halt in front of the portico in the Bank. The door was opened for me with a smiling "silakan datang ibu", welcome madam. The short walk on the red carpet and we were at the main glass door. I looked inside and time stood still for me.
Right in front sat a young Indian girl in her early twenties. Face of an angel. Big eyes that can drown the world. Lips that hold the sweetness and colour of perhaps a thousand orchards. She was writing so had her head slightly tilted. Dark short hair nicely brought together by a black bow clip at the back. Her skin honey toned with just perhaps a drop of strawberry at the cheeks. My husband had to gently nudge me, to shake me out of the spell. We moved forward and straight onto her desk!
She stood up and her face broke into a warm smile as she extended her hand to us. She was tall and had a figure of an hour glass. She was dressed in Business attire I noticed. I knew I was not looking but gaping. Such beauty! Prinncess, no Empress, how about queen, no fairy... this is what I was doing while my husband got busy filling the forms. She was talking to someone on the phone, her laughter sounded like sunshine rippling through the waters.
In crisp business language she took us through the entire process of opening an account and other details. I knew my husband was listening but my mind was hoping if only my 6 year son would be transformed into a man of 25, I would be at her home this very moment talking to her parents. "Your signature Ma'm", I was studying her face. God really must have crafted her as a designer piece and must be proud of His creation. If I had my way, I would have like to spend the day at the Bank but you know how all good things come to an end and so must this trip. I don't know what happened to the spring below my sole, I was dragging my feet out of the glass door. Her last words to my husband were "Done Sir". It echoed in my ears. It happened to Wordsworth hearing the solitary reaper.
A week later I get a frantic call from my parents from India, some cheque book and other related material had landed in their house. My otherwise calm husband was livid. Why did the Bank send it all there was his question and my prompt reply was let’s go to the Bank to find out!
Next morning I was dressed when the sun showed up. Children and husband gave me curious looks but it was my time to show what a cool dude was I. Again the glass door and yes I saw her. A red top was peeping through her business coat. She looked fresh as lime today. Her skin had this golden glow. Greetings over. My husband began in his curt voice, why can't he be a little soft; after all she is so beautiful!
She smiled and said that while logging in our details she had interchanged the addresses. Oh poor thing, I thought. But my husband mercilessly went on ..."but how could you do this, we need the cheque books urgently". Come on we can do without it for some more time I replied in my mind. She said it would take another two weeks. Okay by all means, from me. My husband just gave her a cold stare and asked if we had any choice. Men! Her parting words again were "Done Sir" as my husband demanded that this time there should not be any goof ups.
No cheque book meant very little to me until that day. The next day I spent standing in queues in front of the school, electricity office, bank tellers making payments by cash. By afternoon I was tired and I knew the meaning of a cheque book! The pretty face came floating by in front of my eyes, let down, I let her go. Did I catch a glint in my husband's eyes seeing me sit with my feet in a tub of warm water? "Just a few more payments tomorrow" he said as he went in to change. "WHAT?" screamed I. Children came running out of their study stared a little and went away. Wait till I catch Ms. Beautiful!
The cheque books arrive and I stared at it in disbelief, spelling error. I reach for the phone and this time her melting wax voice was not enough to curb my outburst. "How did you land at this Bank" I thundered. "By bus" she replied.
It took two months and eleven days to get our cheque book.
Our Uncle's daughter was getting married back home. We decided to transfer some money into our uncle’s account - our wedding gift. So there I was walking through the glass door. Ms Beautiful, I noticed had a different hairstyle. Black cascading locks all around her face. I explained the reason of my visit to her. She replied, "Done Madam". Somehow this phrase rang a warning bell inside. I walked out through the glass door with awry steps.
There was a bunch of letters in our mail box. I went for the one from the Bank; I ripped the envelope, something egging me on. My eyes nearly popped out reading the letter. Even your wildest imagination will not lead you to this. I call up my husband as a reflex action and read out the content. He heard me out and said "Done Sir at it again"! The letter was indeed signed by my black hair Goldilocks.
It read that the amount we wanted to transfer into our uncle's account has been credited into ours from our uncle's account! I know you need a second reading to get the meaning clear. Trust me this is true. We have protected this letter as a piece of relic. Again we walked through the glass door, Ms Doe eyed beauty was sitting pretty behind the desk. My husband thrust the letter in front of her. She looked up with large eyes, accented with mascara, then looked down at the letter and up again. She could not spot the reason of our visit. My husband in his ice cold voice told all that is to be told. End of it she said "Done Sir". I was gaping not at the beauty but at our luck!
Our string of unique experiences with Ms Beautiful got longer with passing time. I had just received a call that the amount we had asked the Bank to transfer for a relative's treatment had not reached. Obviously there was a tinge of ginger in the caller's voice but it singed my skin. I call up Ms Beautiful. "When is your transfer due" I ask rudely. "The Bank has placed me at this desk specially created for Expatriate Indians, so no transfer for me" she ended softly. Bang, I thumped my fist on the table. Oouch!
Now my parents were coming over to spend a month with us and they were supposed to pick up the required amount from the Bank at their city. All formalities completed by us and now it were over to my parents. I was keeping my fingers crossed. The phone was ringing and my hands trembling, premonition you can say. Ms Beauty cannot let this occasion pass off peacefully. It was my mother; she said that "Mr." has been prefixed to her name so the local Bank was refusing to accept her identity!!! Ms Horror here I come!
But this one day I gifted her not only the cake but the baker, the basket and the oven as well! We had just twenty four hours to make payment for registration of our dream apartment. We rush to the Bank, pass through the glass door and straight to her desk. We need to withdraw our funds, we explained in plain terms. She efficiently punched on the keyboard with her manicured fingers. She looked up with those eyes and a look that could launch a thousand ships and said "all your accounts have been closed and balance is nil". I am happy that I survived that day to tell the tale!
It is another story that the manager of the Bank personally came home to apologize.
I was relieved that my son was just eleven when we left Jakarta.
posted by Autumn Leaf | 12:36 AM
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