There once was a lady
Who thought she was the Queen Bee
She gathered friends around her
Collecting their secrets like nectar
So that they surrendered to her will only
Fleeting, lasting, deep, light, amusing, thought-provoking... All that I encounter.
There once was a lady
Who thought she was the Queen Bee
She gathered friends around her
Collecting their secrets like nectar
So that they surrendered to her will only
It arrived just morning, after being moulded, the gems set and it burnished to be shiny and attractive.
It was a bracelet. Not precious. Just an ordinary 'junk jewellery', one among the millions that fill the shops and find their ways into homes, sometimes being cherished, sometimes forgotten. What would the fate of this one be? Did even its maker wonder? He just pocketed his wages and headed out to the nearby shop selling drinks.
Mishri placed all the dishes on the table and called her family to lunch. She went to her 80-year-old mother-in-law's Shantha's room and told her that lunch was served. Shantha was reclining, half asleep, listening to music.
Since turning 80, Shantha's reflexes had slowed down but not her mind. She was still sharp and still made Mishri, who was herself on the verge of becoming a mother-in-law to a beautiful bride, nervous. Having lived in the village all her life, Shantha had only recently moved in with her son and the occasional anxiety of meeting her mother-in-law became a little more permanent now.
Mohita opened her balcony door and, as always, her eyes darted to the house across the lane. The curtains were drawn but Mohita could picturise the wall with the framed picture.
She had just recently moved in from another locality. There, her house had overlooked the road, a boring, lethargic road with little traffic or view. She had loved this house because of its vibrant atmosphere. There were houses around and children played in the common areas. After a week of moving in, one evening she stood in the balcony looking down at the children when the light came on in the house across the narrow lane that separated them. A lady placed some bags on the sofa and sat down beside it, evidently tired.
"Mamma, can we go by train?" Rupa's elder one, Advika, asked. "We never travel by train," the 13-year-old pleaded.
"You will get bored," Rupa responded mechanically as she checked the flight cost and availability to Chennai from Delhi in December.
Rupa's younger son Vivek looked up from his book and said, "Mamma will get bored, she means."
It was the first thing she reached out for in the morning. No, that's not accurate. She did reach out for the health faucet, the toothbrush, the tap etc. first thing before she entered the kitchen. But on entering the kitchen... ok, that was the third thing. But it was part of the kitchen routine and the first set of things. The milk cooker, the milk packet and the scissors. It was such a silly thing to think about, but those scissors were always associated with the milk packet. Though she cut coriander with that and other grocery items that came packed in plastic covers, still, its primary and daily duty was to cut the milk packet.