We used to own a teak wood dining table. It was strong. I remember us using it to clean ceiling fans, roofs, just dance around when mom was at work 😊. This dining table was with us for a good 25+ years. My dad had bought it before he got married and it was with us until I was 18 years. We had to sell it when we moved to a house that was small. I remember my mom fussing over how we need to buy a lot of furniture and discard the old ones, because there was just no space to keep the humongous furniture that they’d had for years. These fit well in government head quarters well, fit well in housing board houses, but not privately built ones.
I remember, in early 2000s, houses became smaller. The reason I remember this is because every housewarming we went to people talked about getting smaller furniture. “We got this dining table in Vasant and co.” Prerna aunty boasted. It was very small compared to the 8-seater they had owned. I remember thinking, if her kid climbed on this, it will break. It looked fragile. Since everyone was buying it, so did my mom. We got a redwood lookalike tiny table that came with fragile chairs. I was afraid to sit on the chairs for one whole year. What can I say? I considered myself strong. One of the chairs broke in one year (not because I sat on it!!). The other one started to wiggle and shake, making the person sitting on it hold on to the table just in case it breaks. Soon, people realised these were not of good quality. My mom still remembers our old, teak dining table fondly. And we’ve changed 4 dining tables after the rosewood lookalike, all petite, in 12 years.
I wondered if other people generated this much garbage too. I started to observe. They did. Some even more than us. I observed that people were renovating a lot now. The houses got smaller, remember? So, now they wanted big houses. So, they bought 2 houses, broke the walls, and merged these two houses. I used to cringe at the thought of breaking down walls because that will weaken the construction of the whole building (I am talking about apartment complexes). I sometimes voice this concern and the only people who agree with me are my maid, the plumber and building mason. Everyone else is just too pre-occupied to care. “So, you’ve broken the beams and taken space from the common vent. Is it ok? Won’t this hamper the overall strength of the building?” I asked my friend during a housewarming, recently. She stared blankly at me and said, “You know they are going to build a connecting road from here to the railway station. Work will start next month.” I gave a knowing smile and nodded, “Good for you!” I said and received a bright smile from her. She was in her space now. I’d deviated from the script and asked about “things that don’t matter”. So, I just went back to talking about what was in the script. How wonderful the house is, how beautiful the decorations are, how amazing the kitchen looked, etc. The huge pile of garbage she’d accumulated in her parking spot and cracks in the lobby roof were not housewarming topics.
So, the point is (see, I do have a point!), maybe we must try to generate less garbage. Maybe find ways to keep people in their towns and villages and lessen the population in cities, by introducing “work from home” and “co-working spaces.” Maybe lessen consumerism because this might be a good economy -building space, but it increases vanity and a false sense of self. Maybe create awareness to make people think about the hole journey of some object that they buy, usage, maintenance, endurance and life. The world is already drowning in garbage. A little mindfulness can help us keep the world livable for our kids.
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Jothi woke up to the cry of her youngest at 3:00 AM. She picked her daughter up and tried to soothe her as she rocked her on her lap. She closed her eyes and willed for her headache to go away. She’d been having headaches for the past 3 weeks. She’d consulted a doctor, but to no avail.
Jothi stayed in a small house in Kopra village. She used to do household work in the apartment buildings near the village in Kharghar, Sector 10. That was 5 years ago. Every time she returned to work, her family pressed her to have a boy. “You should focus on conceiving a boy, woman,” her mother-in-law would say. “Produce a boy, before your husband leaves you,” her mother would remind her. Jothi had 3 beautiful daughters and she did not want to get pregnant again. She wished she could detect the child’s sex in the womb, so that she does not have to go through the whole term in hope for a boy.
The youngest daughter had stopped crying and was smiling at Jothi now. Jothi smiled back at the 9-month-old baby. She turned to look at her husband who was fast asleep with no worries. She did not feel anger; she was just disappointed. He was a good husband according to the standards set for husbands. He did not drink, did not have affairs with other women, worked and was religious. Then, why did she feel disappointed, she wondered. She put the baby down on the mattress and headed to the washroom. Her house got water only for 2 hours in the morning. She had to fill up a huge bucket for later use. The washroom was already small, and the bucket occupied half the space. She filled a small bucket with water using a plastic mug. She looked at the big bucket and remembered the madam she used to work for. Jothi smiled. “Another kid?” her madam had gotten angry when she’d told her in the year 2020. The madam sent money to her through GPay during COVID crisis in the year 2020. She was the one who bought her the big bucket that could hold more water.
It was 6 AM and Jothi was busy cleaning her small kitchen to make breakfast and lunch. Her eldest daughter would wake up at 7:00. She needed to keep milk ready for her child. She opened a small fridge and took out a milk packet. She turned the knob on the small LPG gas cylinder and lighted the stove. She needed to take the cylinder to a certain place to fill gas every 20 days. She did not like doing this. She wanted to buy an LPG gas stove. She had to pay 2500 Rs for the LPG account. “Ask you madam,” her husband had nonchalantly said. She’ll be meeting her madam after 2 years. Jothi smiled slightly at the thought. ‘Should I take my kids?’ she thought. She wanted to show off her brainy daughters to someone who appreciated brains. “You would have become a successful person if you’d studied, Jothi,” her madam would say. She’d give her compliments like, “ah.. that was smart,” and “Your thinking is out of the box.” Jothi liked to be complimented for her brains. All the compliments she got in her home was that she made delicious bakris and puranpoli. Jothi was going to meet her madam today to ask for loan money for LPG gas booking.
Jothi carried her youngest and the first two children walked. She walked towards the huge apartment complex near her village in Sector 10, Kharghar. Balaji apartment was a high-rise building in a posh locality. The security person stopped her at the gate and asked her name. He checked his system for her credentials and let her in. Jothi smiled. She still had access. She turned to look at her daughters. “It’s big, right?” she asked them. Both the children smiled brightly at her. She walked through the gate passage and reached the A block. The lobby of the high-rise was decorated with paintings and lights. Her eldest’s gaze was caught by a sparrow nest behind a painting. The mother bird was busy feeling her nestlings. She could hear the nestlings’ cry.
Jothi almost pushed the lift buttons but stopped. “Want to press this? It makes the lifts come down,” she asked her daughters. The middle child jumped with excitement and pushed the buttons. Jothi smiled. Her eldest daughter, who was the curious one, asked, “How? How does this button make the lifts come down?”
“Don’t know,” said Jothi, “Ask madam once we reach the house.”
The lifts came to a halt on the ground floor. Jothi made sure her children got in and pressed the 15 button to reach her madam’s house. The lifts had mirrors as walls and the kids were ecstatic. “Mom.. Mom.. look,” said her middle child and made funny faces. Her eldest was busy adjusting her necklace and earrings. She had dressed her children well to meet madam. She partially expected madam to deny her request for money when she had called her on the phone. She’d already given her a lot of money. She wanted to apologise for asking again when madam had asked her to visit her at her home. Jothi felt happy and nostalgic being in this apartment building. She’d had many friends and foes here. She’d get ready in the morning and head to work. She had been an earning member and respected herself. Jothi’s smile waned. Those were in the past. She was busy taking care of three girls now.
The lift reached the 15th floor, and she urged her children to get out of the lift. Her middle child was reluctant but obeyed her mother. Jothi rang the bell at house number 1501. She looked at the door decorations with admiration. Her baby tried to pull a shubh-Labh door-hanging, and Jothi scolded her. The door opened and a boy yelled, “Amma! Jothi” and went about his way inside the house. It took a good few seconds for Jothi to realise that this was little Lokesh. He’d become taller than Jothi. “Jothi!” She heard her madam first and then saw her come out of the kitchen as she wiped her hands. “Come! Come!” her madam said and took the baby from Jothi. “What is her name?” she asked.
“Krithika,” said Jothi and pointed to her middle child, “This is Bhuvana.”
“OMG! That small baby is all grown up,” said madam and pinched the middle child’s cheek. She blushed and hid behind Jothi. “How are you, Jothi?” asked madam.
“Good madam. How are you? Loku has grown a lot,” said Jothi.
“Yes! He’s taller than me. Children grow fast. Sit!” she pointed to the plush sofa in the middle of the living room and walked inside the kitchen. Jothi urged her daughters to sit on the sofa. Her middle child tried to climb the sofa and failed. Jothi picked her up and placed her on the soft cushion. The child smiled gleefully and found that the soft cushion bounced. She immediately stood up and jumped on the sofa. “No.. No.. Sit! Sit down. Madam will scold,” said Jothi and sat down beside her daughters. Madam came back with a tray of snacks and placed it on the teapoy. The youngest seemed at ease with the madam. “She is such a sweet child, Jothi,” said madam and planted a kiss on the baby’s cheek. The baby saw her two sisters seated on the sofa and dived towards them to be seated beside them. “Va.. Ma…” she cooed. Jothi got the baby from madam and placed her near her sister.
“Take!” said madam to the children pointing at the snacks. They jumped down the sofa and picked up the chakli and peda on the plates.
“So, Jothi! When are you going to return to work?” asked madam.
Jothi looked down with embarrassment. “Mostly, never. How can I? With these three at home?” her eldest turned to look at her mother. She could sense that her mother was upset. She walked near her and offered her a chakli.
“Why not? When they are older, you can take some time out. Why don’t you ask your mother-in-law to look after them?” asked madam. Jothi did not want to say the truth to madam. She will have to plan another child when her youngest turns one.
“No madam. I won’t be able to adjust. I am not that healthy now,” said Jothi and realised this was the truth. She really was not that healthy now. She hardly slept and drank a lot of chai. She’d been having consistent headaches. Madam always had home remedies for many things. So, Jothi asked her about the headaches. “I have non-stop headaches, madam. It just dulls and becomes more severe. Never completely gone. What should I do?” asked Jothi.
Madam looked at Jothi with pity. Jothi had been a young 21-year-old when she’d come to work for her. She’d recently shifted from Pune and Jothi was the first bai she hired. “Give me 2000 Rs. I’ll do cleaning and dishes,” Jothi had negotiated. Madam knew she was asking more than the standardised payment but liked the wit of this young girl. “Sure! Come at 10:00 am tomorrow,” she’d replied.
Jothi looked pale now. She’d lost a lot of hair. She was still breast feeding and madam was not sure she got the right nutrition for it. Madam smiled slightly and asked, “Are you planning to have another child? I mean, are you still trying to have a boy?”
Jothi did not want to answer her. She was embarrassed by the answer. Jothi sometimes wished she had a simple mind like the people in her family. She wanted to believe boys were better than girls. She just could not. She looked at her eldest. The child was feeding the baby some peda. Jothi’s eyes welled up. “I have to, madam.”
“Why? Why do you have to? Is your husband Mysore’s maharaja? Why does he need an heir? What is he leaving behind?” asked madam, angrily.
Jothi was silent. She knew she had to try again. Her mom’s words rang in her ears, “Your husband will leave you if you don’t produce a boy.”
“Do you want a boy?” asked madam.
“No!” replied Jothi, “If I don’t give birth to a boy, my husband will leave me.”
“No, he will not, you silly girl. This is something people say to make you scared and obedient,” said madam and Jothi finally looked at madam. “Sigh… Where will he go? Will he start a new family? Did he not get chikungunya last year? Who will give their daughter to a guy who has three children? Stop being scared, girl,” said madam and passed a plate of snacks to Jothi. “Do you want another child?”
“No! I don’t” said Jothi.
“Then, don’t have more children,” said madam.
“How? My family will pressure me. They will make me have another child,” said Jothi defeatedly.
“Use contraception,” said madam, and sat down on the sofa.
“How? I don’t have any money,” said Jothi.
“You will get these services for free in Govt. hospitals, Jothi,”
“For free?”
“Yes! Free. All you have to do is ask the gynaecologist,” said madam. Jothi looked confused. “There are many types of contraception a woman can use. Not just tablets. Do not worry. Ask the doctor and get the right one. Let your husband keep trying. Don’t stop him,” said madam and both the women laughed.
“Madam! About the money I asked…” said Jothi.
“Oh! Yes.. One minute,” said madam and went to fetch her purse.
Jothi sat back on the plush sofa and slightly closed her eyes. For some reason, she felt peaceful and relieved. She closed her eyes further. Madam was busy fetching the money from her purse when Loku said, “Amma! Jothi slept. The small child is jumping on the sofa.” Madam laughed slightly and went to check on the kids. Jothi was indeed asleep. Madam picked the baby up who was trying to climb down the sofa.
“Do you both want to sleep here with amma?” madam asked the two children. The middle child promptly got up on the sofa with ease, rested her head on her mother’s lap and closed her eyes. “Can I watch TV?” asked the eldest.
“Laptop?” asked Loku, “You tube?” The eldest nodded and followed Loku to the dining table. Madam took the baby to the kitchen and started to make dinner. The baby sat comfortably on madam’s hips and blabbered away.
“Did you ask your madam?” asked Jothi’s husband as he soaked clothes in a bucket. Jothi was busy bathing her baby. She sat on the water-stopper at the washroom entrance which gave a bit of elevation to her hips and placed the baby on her stretched out legs. She was busy washing the baby who tried to wiggle away from her grasp. “Jothi!” called her husband, “Did she give you the money?” Jothi nodded. “She wants me to return all the money she’d paid me. It was all a loan, apparently,” said Jothi.
“WHAT?” shouted her husband, “She never mentioned this before! All 8 months salary? She wants us to replay?” He looked furious. He started to push the clothes into the bucket using a cane. Jothi smiled slightly.
“Don’t worry. I convinced her to cut the money gradually from my salary. We will also earn this way,” said Jothi and placed the baby down. She tried to cover the wiggling child in a towel, but she ran away to join her sister who was studying on the bed.
“Salary? You are going to work?” asked her husband in an audibly relieved voice.
“Yes!” replied Jothi, “What else can we do? I do not want you to suffer for this!” Jothi declared and got up with a towel in her hand. She picked her baby up and started to dry her. Her husband continued to soak the clothes. He was relieved. ‘I have a clever wife,’ he thought.
“So, when do you start working?” he asked.
“From next month. I have asked your mother to help me out. Don’t know if she will,” said Jothi.
“I’ll talk to her,” said Jothi’s husband, “You don’t worry.”
Jothi made silly faces to the restless baby and continued to dry her. She had just managed to make the baby wear a jetti, and the baby wiggled away. Jothi sat down defeated on the bed. She turned to look at her eldest daughter who was writing numbers on a notebook. Her daughter looked up at Jothi. “You want something to eat?” asked Jothi. “Yes! Chakli,” replied her eldest. Jothi went to the kitchen, placed two chaklis on a small plate and gave it to her daughter.
Jothi pulled the big steel box out of the kitchen shelf and took some wheat flour in a wide vessel. She started to kneed atta to make some rotis. Jothi realised her headache had reduced.
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Her husband liked filter coffee. He liked it with thick decoction and some milk. The lesser the sugar the better. “Coffee should be a little bitter, Hema,” he would say. Hema had hated the taste when she was young. She would add copious amounts of sugar in her brew to make it drinkable. With time, she acquired a taste for coffee; the bitterness, it was soothing. It was 5:30 in the morning and Hema woke up to make coffee. Brewing coffee had become a ritual. It made her hopeful.
She could hear the parrots in her balcony. They were wild parrots. They loved the ripe chillies in her garden. They would peel the chilli’s skin and eat the seeds. Hema’s husband hated the parrots. “Why are they so loud? A man can’t sleep in even on Saturdays,” he would complain. Hema loved them. They were not her pets; they were her guests. They were beautiful and loud. They lived in a neem tree and flew around the neighbourhood. She has seen them eating figs from the fig tree and custard apple from the tree near Mrs. Gautham’s house. They were free to do what they wanted to do.
Hema never slept in. She woke up with the parrots. They loved fruits. She would place sapota fruits in a bowl and sip cinnamon tea as she watched the parrots eat the fruit. It had been 4 years since her husband passed away. He had had heart problems all his life. He had peacefully passed away in his sleep. He slept that day despite the sounds of the parrots. That’s how Hema knew something was wrong. She had made two tumblers of coffee that day, as usual. She fed the parrots and cleaned the balcony so her husband can have his morning coffee as he read the newspaper. She had tried to wake him but in vain.
Hema poured hot water on the decoction maker. She had placed 2 tablespoons of ground coffee bean powder in the coffee maker. She took in the aroma and got three sapota fruits from the refrigerator for the parrots. She placed them in a bowl on the kitchen balcony and watched them eat for a few seconds. She took the broom and a mugful of water to clean the doorway. She had to draw a Kolam[1].
Muniyamma woke up before the alarm clock. She took a bath, swept the house, drew a beautiful lotus Kolam outside her house and cooked. The clock sounded as she boiled milk. She ignored the sound and cut vegetables. It was 5:30 in the morning. Her son angrily got up, turned the alarm off and promptly went back to sleep. Muniyamma smiled. She cut the vegetables and added them to the tamarind gravy. She was making sambar[2]. She had placed a rice cooker on another stove. The cooker whistled loudly, thrice. “Amma!!” yelled her son and she smiled at him. He reluctantly woke up and walked out the small asbestos-walled house.
“Kaaa… Kaaa…” called the crow that came in daily to her house. Muniyamma placed some fermented rice and snake guard fry in a bowl. She kept in near the crow. It ate with relish. She watched the crow eat. “Amma! Coffee!” said her son, took a towel, and went out the house to take a bath. Her house became very hot during summers, which inevitably pushed them to bathe multiple times to keep cool. Muniyamma poured milk into a ceramic cup and scooped a teaspoonful of instant coffee powder. She mixed both, added some sugar, mixed once and kept it beside the hot rice-cooker.
She checked the sambar on the stove and turned the gas off. “Mom! Coffee!” said her son as he dried himself with a towel and sat on the coir cot outside her house. Muniyamma brought her son his coffee.
“You are leaving?” he asked. Muniyamma nodded. She took her cloth purse, adjusted her saree and walked to her workplace. It has been 5 years since Muniyamma’s husband travelled abroad to make a living. He worked in building construction in UAE. It was good money. It helped pay her daughter’s dowry. It helped pay for her son’s college tuition. She even saved up for buying a house; one with brick walls and one that had separate rooms for cooking, washing and sleeping. That money was not enough, though. So, Muniyamma worked as a maid servant.
Hema showered, plucked jasmine and marigold flowers from her garden for morning prayers and prepared idlis[3]. Her husband had conducted prayers every day. He never allowed Hema to attend the prayers. She had to prepare food offerings and pluck flowers. Nowadays, she lit the oil lamp and offered flowers to her God. Her prayers were simple and less time consuming. She had a lot of time in her hands in the mornings.
She filled two idli moulds with fermented rice and skinned black gram batter. She took out a coconut and broke it in half with practised perfection. She looked at the small kitchen clock. It was 6:45 AM. She checked the coffee decoction maker. It was done. There was enough thick decoction to make two filter coffees.
Hema took a coconut scraper and started to work it on one half of the coconut. She could still hear the parrots. They were perched on the neem tree beside her apartment building. As she transferred the coconut into a mixer grinder jar, she heard the call, “Amma… milk!” Hema continued to transfer the coconut into the jar. She walked to the balcony, took the water tube and turned the tap on. Hema watered the plants. She had many chilli plants, one curry leaves plant, one aloe vera, a small lemon plant, a bitter guard creeper, and a small spinach tub. She harvested two chillies and some curry leaves. As she walked to her kitchen, she heard the steam from the idli cooker.
Hema placed the freshly collected chillies and curry leaves inside the jar. As she cleaned the kitchen counter, the doorbell rang. She smiled. It was Muniyamma. Hema opened the door and went back to adding ingredients for coconut chutney.
Muniyamma picked up the milk packets from the small bag on the door shelf. She carefully kept the packets on the kitchen counter and went to wash her hands.
Hema closed the mixer grinder jar and boiled the milk in a steel vessel. She took out two tumblers and two davaras[4]. Hema made coffee. The same warm feeling embraced her. She has been making coffee for more than 40 years. She got married to her husband at the age of 15 years. The fresh aroma lifted her senses. She placed just enough sugar on the davaras and poured milk on the decoction in the tumblers. Muniyamma swept the big, sit-out balcony and placed 2 chairs and patio table under the sunshade.
Hema brought the coffees and both the women sat down to drink coffee. Muniyamma took in the aroma and drank the expertly made brew. Hema smiled as she saw her friend enjoy the coffee she made. “Sooper!” said Muniyamma and took another sip.
Muniyamma has been working for Hema for last 17 years. She was married when she was 18 years old. She spent her childhood in a farming village, Krishnapuram, near Tirunelveli district in the state of Tamil Nadu. She was the third daughter in a household with 7 children. She was excited to move to Madras. She did not have to live with her in-laws. Her friends had told her that she was lucky. She had studied up to 5th std. in the local school. She stopped going to school after she got her first period. She moved into a small house; a hut. Her house in her village was vast. They even had a well and a cow shed. They fed their cows hay, cotton seeds and rice bran. Cows in Madras ate wall posters. Her husband was nice to her, but he drank liquor. He was abusive when he drank liquor.
When Hema’s husband was alive, Hema gave Muniyamma coffee in a small ceramic cup. Muniyamma was not allowed to enter the poojai room. There were many restrictions. Hema was never allowed self-thinking in her life, so she followed the rules that were laid out. Hema liked Muniyamma. She was a self-employed, dignified, self-thinking woman.
Hema was a good woman. Muniyamma got to know that the day her son was admitted in the hospital for an appendix operation. She had no money. Her husband spent all his money on liquor, and she hardly got to save any money. Hema had given Muniyamma her gold bangle. “I do not have any money with me. I must ask my husband,” she had said, “He will not give me, so take this bangle.” Muniyamma liked her boss. Hema has a tender heart and a non-judgemental disposition.
Muniyamma could see the parrots on the neem tree. “They ate the sapota fruits?” she asked. Hema nodded. Muniyamma smiled. Hema took another sip of the fresh coffee.
Hema moved from Kumbakonam district, in the state of Tamil Nadu, to Madras. Her father had fixed her wedding date 3 weeks after she turned 15. She was the eldest daughter. She had 2 younger brothers. Her brothers stayed with her Chithappa (father’s younger brother) in Madras. Schooling was good in Madras. She was never allowed to go to school. She spent her days learning to cook, clean, tailor and to do religious rituals. Her cousin brother accompanied her whenever she visited the temple. She was never allowed to go anywhere alone.
She was ecstatic when she got to know she will be going to Madras, the big city. Her brothers told her about Madras whenever they visited. “I have never seen so many cars, akka[5],” her youngest brother would say, “And there are beaches. Wow! The beaches.”
She did not get to see the Marina beach for a long time. Her husband took her to Marina beach on their 10th wedding anniversary. She thought it was okay. She was not allowed to enjoy the water. Her saree would have gotten wet. She saw the sea as she guarded her husband’s and children’s footwear.
Hema continued to make two sets of coffees even after her husband died. This continued for a month after his passing. Muniyamma was worried. She wanted to help her friend. Hema’s kids asked her to come and stay with them. Her daughter lived in London and her son in Gurugram. Hema denied the invitation. She stayed in her home of 30 years. Muniyamma knew Hema drank coffee with her husband on the sit-out balcony everyday in the mornings. She started to come early to work and offered to drink the extra tumbler of coffee, and this became a ritual. She also loved the coffee taste. It was much better than the instant coffee that she knew to make. When Muniyamma had started work in Hema’s house, she declined every time she was asked whether she wanted a tumbler of coffee. After a week, she tried it out of curiosity. The taste hit her taste buds and she had been flabbergasted. “No one can make coffee like Hema akka,” she would tell her children.
Muniyamma knocked on Hema’s door everyday between 6:45 to 7:00, and they had coffee. The coffee ritual slowly evolved to breakfast and prayer. She loved Hema’s conviction to rituals. Every day, both women drank coffee, ate breakfast, and prayed for half hour. Hema would then make lunch, and Muniyamma will clean the house and do the dishes. Hema liked the routine because it reassured her of life. Muniyamma liked the routine because it was soothing in her otherwise eventful life.
“I’ll get the idlis,” said Hema and got up from her chair. Muniyamma nodded and continued to sip her coffee. A man practised Surya namaskar in the adjacent building. A woman hung the clothes to dry in her terrace in another building. A mother tried make a child eat breakfast in the same terrace. The security guard was stretching after a good night’s work near the apartments’ gate. Muniyamma could hear the mixer grinder from the sit-out balcony. Hema was making chutney. She saw a small squirrel climb down the chimney pipe. It was carrying something in its mouth. She could not see what it was. “Here!” said Hema and handed a plate to Muniyamma. Hema cooked well. Muniyamma took a morsel of idli and scooped some chutney. She ate tastefully.
Hema smiled and sat down beside Muniyamma. “Want to go to Kabalishwarar temple this Saturday?” Hema asked.
“Why Saturday? We can go today too,” said Muniyamma.
“Your son?” asked Hema with a gasp.
Muniyamma smiled, “He is a man. He can take care of himself. What say? Today?”
“Yes!” said Hema laughingly. Muniyamma laughed too.
The two women talked as they ate. They talked about children, politics, people and themself.
“OK! Eat fast, Hema. Let us finish morning prayers. I must get to work. If we are going today, I need to finish work in all the other houses before 4:00 PM,” said Muniyamma and got up with her plate in hand.
Few parrots flew and sat on the small papaya tree in Hema’s terrace garden. They were loud. Hema watched them snack on a papaya fruit. For the first time since her husband’s death, it stuck her that she was free now. She could do anything she wants. She smiled and closed her eyes.
“Muniyamma!” she called.
“Ohhooo…” answered, Muniyamma from the kitchen.
“Let us go to the beach too from the temple,” said Hema.
[1]Kolam: a drawing of symbols or things using rice flour.
[2] Vegetable, tamarind, pulses gravy that is eaten with rice.
“Hey!” called Bright Eyes. Tivini, the snake, lifted his head up and looked around. ‘Hmmm’ he thought and started to move again. “Hey! You.. Tivini.. stop!” said Bright Eyes. Tivini took a defence stance and got ready to attack the owner of the intruding voice. “Who is there?” asked Tivini with anger.
Bright Eyes jumped down from the neem tree. Tivini looked at Bright Eyes with shock. ‘Did she just jump down a tree?’ thought Tivini. He looked at Bright Eyes’ blue dress and long, red bindi. ‘OK! She is not a monkey. How did she jump?’ thought Tivini.
“Look! Did you see a person with three eyes?” asked Bright Eyes as she hugged her knees and sat down on the ground. Tivini got back to the defence stance.
Bright Eyes sighed. “Look Tivini! I am not here to scare or hurt you. I just want to know. And Please tell me exactly what happed that day,” said Bright Eyes. Tivini could not take his eyes off Bright Eyes. Her eyes were too bright. “She was glowing,” said Tivini, as the urge to talk overwhelmed him. “She had three eyes. One eye on her forehead. She was glowing,” he said.
“And?” asked Bright Eyes.
“She did not hurt me. She as not afraid of me. She…. She was different,” said Tivini.
“Hmmmm!” said Bright Eyes and disappeared.
Tivini searched all around him to find Bright Eyes. She was no where to be found. He lied down and tasted the air for possible danger. He found none. ‘Maybe I am becoming old,” thought Tivini and slithered way as fast as he can.
Bright Eyes walked Near Marina beach on the sea water. She could see fishes and other creatures swimming in sea water. She sat on the water and sighed. Waves splashed on her and she absently tried to beat water off. Her mind wandered off. She will be called up. Janani will be initiated. She always knew this day will come. She never thought it will be this tough. Janani was still a child. She had a big heart and was clueless of her powers. Bright Eyes has to find a way to make Janani and Rishi friends. Her kid, Janani, needs a person like Rishi to carry out the tasks. Without Rishi, Janani will invest more than what was required.
Bright Eyes sighed again. She could see a school of seer Fishes and pellonas swim the waters. A huge ray fish was gliding just beneath where Bright Eyes sat on the water. Bright Eyes smiled. The ray was curious. It could see her. She petted the big ray and promptly disappeared. The ray fish looked around and swiftly swam away startled by the experience.
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Rishi stood near the kitchen where his mom was angrily cooking. She suddenly stopped cutting brinjal and turned towards Rishi. He steeped back a little, startled. She opened her mouth to speak, sighed and went back to cutting brinjals. The police had come to their house and applauded Rishi. Simran brought a huge fruit basket and Punjabi sweets to thank Rishi. These had not sat well with Rishi’s mom, Pournami. Rishi’s father and sister were pretending to be doing their normal chores around the house. His father, Dilip, was dusting the TV unit vigorously. His Sister, Rishitha, was cleaning the sofas with a used toothbrush; she had spilled grape juice on one of the cushions last week. She was terrified that her mother would anger-clean the house and find out.
“Mom!” called Rishi. Pournami continued to cut brinjal and mix the boiling drumstick sambar on the stove. “Mom! Please… look… mom…” called Rishi.
Rishitha and Dilip looked at each other as they continued to clean the already clean surfaces.
“Mo…” started Rishi and Pournami placed a metal plate on the granite kitchen counter with a big thud. She tuned to face Rishi. “Do you have a death wish boy?” she asked with seething anger, “You climbed onto the terrace? Jumped inside the kitchen window? What the hell were you thinking? For the love of god, why would you put yourself in danger?”
Rishi clenched his fist in dormant anger. He had told Sanjay, Baasi uncle and Simran to keep mum. He never expected the police sub-inspector to come to his house. Simran had said, ‘Hey! She already knows. Why can’t I show my gratitude too?’
“I have one boy!!” screamed his mother, “Is asking you to stay alive a crime? Can’t a mother even expect that?”
Rishi’s father could no longer keep mum, “Pournami!” he called from the kitchen’s entrance and got a seething stare form his wife. He mustered his courage and continued to talk. His son needed him. “Nami… Come on! The boy saved a life. He was brave. The police came personally to our house and wished him well. He is a local hero!” he said. Paurnami continued to mix the brinjal sabji and cleaned the kitchen counter.
“He saved Mr. Saxena. Please do not be angry! You should be proud of our boy,” said Dilip and rested his case. Rishitha smirked. Both Dilip and Rishi turned to look at her. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head.
“Dilip!” called Pournami, “Stop encouraging these acts. What will you do if he is put in danger? He is already so small..” Rishitha giggled, “…. He may get hurt. Rishi….” she said. “Yes ma?” said Rishi. “Come here!” said Pournami. Rishi went. Pournami took few chillies and salt in her palm. She rotated her hands in both clockwise and anti-clockwise directions in front of Rishi’s face. She asked him to spit on the chillies. She then proceeded to throw the chillies and salt mixture on a heated iron kadai. They cracked loudly. She took the kadai out back and dropped it near the coconut tree.
“Don’t you have tuitions? Go!” said Pournami, washed her hands and continued to cook. Rishi hugged his mom, gave her a kiss and hopped away to get ready for tutions. Dilip walked near Pournami and back hugged her. Pournami sighed, “What are we going to do with him, Dilip?” she asked.
“Nothing! We just wish him well and be there to catch him when he falls,” said Dilp. Pournami smiled and rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.
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Rishi played with a yoyo ball as he walked towards the grocery store. His mom had given him a big list. The chore was worth it though. He will get to buy 2 Bar One chocolates. Rishi walked past Mr. Saxena’s house. The front door was closed. Simran, Mr. Saxena’s granddaughter, always opens all doors and windows. They were even nicknamed the ‘open house’ in the neighbourhood. ‘Odd,’ he thought to himself as he walked away. “Hi!” he heard Angel’s distinct voice. He involuntarily smiled and creased his forehead with sudden realization. He turned to face Angel. As usual, she was wearing a blue dress. She smiled brightly.
“If you’re here, who is it this time?” Rishi stooped his shoulders and said, “Angel!! I have work. Come on! Mom will kill me. She thinks I am slacking away. Last time that girl did not even thank me.”
Angel smiled. “Come on!” she said and walked towards Mr. Saxena’s house. Saxena uncle was in his 80s. had been in the military. He stayed with his daughter and granddaughter. “Uncle!” called Rishi, “Aunty! Simran…..” he called. Angel was already inside. She gestured, ‘come inside.’ Rishi sighed and walked inside the compound.
He called again, “Uncle! Uncle, you there?” Rishi saw that the newspaper was near the shoe-flower plant. It was today’s newspaper. He turned to look at Angel. She was not there. He walked near the window and looked inside. The house was dark. No lights were on. Rishi pursed his lips. He looked at the big list in his hands. His mom will kill him if he goes empty handed. She has made carrot halwa. He was sure his share will go to his sister. He wet his lips and thought for a second. He walked around the house and reached the backyard. The house had a huge well in the backyard. He kept the bags near the mango tree and climbed on the well. He held a branch of the mango tree with one hand and swayed his way onto the sunshade. Once he was on the sunshade, he pushed himself up the terrace wall and jumped on the terrace floor.
Angel watched him with delight as she sat on top of the coconut tree. Rishi was resourceful. She knew that. He did not empathise with people, but he could be persuaded to care. “Whatcha doing?” Angel heard a voice. Without looking, she knew it was Bright eyes. “Shhhhh….” said Angel as she watched Rishi remove all the ropes that were used for drying clothes. He tied the ends and connected the ropes. He then tied one end to the huge pillar in the middle of the terrace. He proceeded to climb down to the first floor. Bright eyes nodded and said, “I am impressed.”
Rishi looked though the first-floor window that was Saxena uncle’s bedroom. He was not there. Simran was his tuition teacher, and he was well versed with the house. He went to the kitchen window and kicked the grill door. The screw came off a little. He swayed back and kicked it again with more force. He was lucky. Aunty had not yet fixed the door. It fell with a thud on the kitchen floor. Taking some utensils and the water cooler along with it. ‘I am dead if I don’t find anything wrong,’ he thought.
He jumped on the kitchen counter and walked on top of it to reach the door. He proceeded to search in the living room. Mr. Saxena was not there. He thought for a second and went inside the bathroom. He found Mr. Saxena on the floor. He immediately tried to lift him up in vain. He opened the main door and ran to the Nairs’ house. “Uncle!” he called. “Uncle!” he shouted with increased volume. “What?” asked Sanjay, Mr. Nair’s son, as he came out of the door. “Saxena uncle’s fell down. Help me!” said Rishi. Sanjay ran, along with Rishi, inside the Saxena house to help him.
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“Want some?” asked Angel to bright eyes. She held out a piece of coconut. Bright eyes got it from her and started to eat. “When did he see you?” asked Bright eyes. “Some time back!” replied Angel, “The kid is different.”
“How?” asked Bright eyes.
“He has a knack for getting things done,” said Angel.
“Hmmmm…” said bright eyes, “So! He is the one for Janani?”
“I think so,” said Angel.
“He looks so small, though. He’s really 15?” asked bright eyes and Angel nodded. Both looked at the boys helping Mr. Saxena. Sanjay, who was much older than Rishi, effortlessly lifted Mr. Saxena by holding his shoulders. Rishi was talking on the phone. He kept the phone down and went to the kitchen to get some water. Sanjay lay down Mr. Saxena on the sofa and started to rub his soles. The walls were not there. Bright eyes and Angel could see what was happening inside. “And! Hey!” said Angel to bright eyes, “The snake near the lake, the one that eats rats. It saw Janani’s third eye.”
Bright eyes stopped eating and looked at Angel with a startled expression.
“She’s just 12, right?” asked Angel and bright eyes nodded. “All the best,” said Angel and turned to look at bright eyes with a smirky smile, “You’ll be called up soon.”
India, 1998
Parimala looked at the clock eagerly. She worked in a local wholesale rice shop as an accountant. The work was good and it paid well. The best part was she got discount on rice. “Annachi, I am leaving,” said Parimala and took her handbag.
“OK!” said Annachi and got back to counting money. “Wait! Parimala,” he said.
“Hmmmmmm…”
“How much was the money Dilip stores deposited this month?” asked Annachi.
Parimala thought for a few seconds, “hmmmmm…. 2000. They deposited Rs. 2000.”
“OK! OK then! We can give them rice tomorrow. OK, see you tomorrow,” said Annachi.
Parimala smiled and walked outside. “Bye Mani,” she said to the store helper. “Bye!” replied Mani.
Parimala walked to the Aavin milk centre and bought milk sweets for Janani. She loved to walk home, even though there was a bus to the locality she lived at 6:15.
She placed the sweets inside her bag and started to walk. She loved the evenings. The orange sky was beautiful, and the greens were greener. She could see people everywhere. Some were leaving work. Some were buying vegetables from the street vendor, and some were gathered in the local Ganesh temple for evening pooja. She kept walking, taking in the liveliness.
Saravanan walked silently behind Parimala. She always walked. Why can’t she take the bus? It is definitely safer. He sighed. He had to walk everyday because of her. Saravaran worked in the medical shop opposite the rice shop. He loved Parimla. He knew she was a widow and has a child. He could not help but love her. She was sincere, intelligent, and simple. Annachi could not stop praising her when she had joined as an accountant. She organised the books and eased book-keeping within a month. For some reason, whenever he praised Parimala, Saravanan felt proud. It took him a whole year to figure out that he liked her. And another year to figure out that he loved her. His assistant thought he was crazy. He understood why. He was a good 5 to 6 years younger than her and she had a child.
Parimala wore a bright maroon saree today. Her hair was always plaited. She never wore earrings. She had a dark complexion, with tiny pimple marks on her cheeks. She always wore a red, round bindi, a thin gold chain, and one bangle on each hand. She never wore synthetic material sarees and she loved cotton sarees. The way she wears her saree makes someone wonder if she ironed the cloth after wearing it. It was perfect. She was perfect.
Parimala walked in a steady pace. He sometimes felt like she was dance walking. Saravanan smiled. This was her only indulgence. She was a frugal woman, so of course her indulgence did not cost money. Everyday, Saravanan will follow her till she entered her apartment building, and he will board a bus back to his shop. His assistant knew, Annachi knew, and Mani knew. Even the lady who sold flower garlands near his shop know this. She would pester him to profess his love and give him jasmine flower garlands then and now. ‘Everyone knew, except Parimala’, he thought.
Parimala stopped to buy some fruits. As she bargained and paid the amount, she could see in her peripheral that Saravanan was following her. She was used to him by now. He did that every day. He was a good man. He never tried to talk to her or misbehave. “He just wants to make sure you go home safe, akka,” Mani would say with a mischievous glint in his eyes. She had a fondness for Saravanan. She was not sure if it was worth redesigning her life. Anyway, Saravanan has never told her that he loved her. So, no point letting her imagination go further. She distracted herself with the mother and kids trio who walked in front of her. The two kids were fighting to hold their mother’s hand. The mother was walking slowly so that the kids did not trip and fall. She was holding a heavy bag on her left hand. Parimala smiled and went near the mother. “Want me to hold the bag?” she asked with a smile.
The mother looked at her two angry kids, one of whom was at the verge of tears. “Yes, please!” she said and Parimala got the bag from her. “I can carry it till Mullai flats,” said Parimala.
“Till Apu Flats will do,” said the mother and held both the kids’ hands.
Saravanan looked at the scene proudly. ‘I wish she was younger’, he thought, ‘Maybe I can change her birth certificate.’ He then smiled at his silliness. He suddenly realised that his legs hurt. ‘God! Why can’t she take the bus?’ he thought.
Spicy Rasam 