Did her dreams stop? - The (not so) short story

Taking of from where we left

It was a little beyond 6 of the morning hour. A warm start to the day in March though things were about to heat up. For Vidya…was rummaging through her things - It was time for her to leave for school but she could not find her pen. Anger was building up inside her - she knew it had to be someone. It was too important a thing for her to have misplaced carelessly. The pen was a gift from her father when she entered class 5 – the threshold to higher secondary and today was the day of her exam. How could she have lost it when she had even preserved the slim cardboard box that came along with it? It lay ensconced wrapped in the cellophane. She had touched it only once careful not to leave any finger prints on its shinny gold exterior.

Amma stood behind her holding the warm brass tumbler of milk with the edge of her duppatta. Common drink your milk and go to school…you will be late for your exam…I will find it and keep it for you when you are away

But amma…I want to write my paper with it. When dada gave it to me he blessed me and told me I would come first in class. Now how will I write my exam and come first. You don’t understand anything amma

She went from corner to corner in that little room which was no more than 10 steps whichever direction you walked. Moving frantically between the almirah… the side of the cot…and her school bag…her trail replicated the movements of an angry buzzing bee who has been disturbed on her hive…waiting to strike back. Sonia her twin watched her silently. Sonia was unusually quiet this morning. If this had been any other day, they would have by now left home bickering and pulling at each other’s plaits. Then as though in a flash of brilliance it struck Vidya.

Soni…bring down your bag from your shoulders…I know it’s in there
No didi… (Sonia called her didi since Vidya had come to the world 3 mins before she could arrive)…I promise I don’t have it

Then bring down your bag…by now Vidya hands were tugging at the shoulder strap testing its resolve to stay in place. Amma helplessly watched the two jostle…careful beta…you will spill the milk…it’s a bad omen…Vidya aren’t you my sensible one...aren't you

Vidya and Sonia would see amma speak in the background…her words filled the air surrounding them though none could permeate their consciousness. If not for the ink blot on Sonia’s bag, this fight would have continued unendingly.

Vidya gulped down her glass of milk…Sonia almost pulling her out of the door. Amma stood there watching the girls run…she stood until all she could see were a pair of plaits swinging in the distance.

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Mama…what are you thinking about…I have been asking you for the past 10 minute…have you seen my pen anywhere....i’m going to miss my bus again today…

Vidya had been standing there still…once again words filled the air….only this time they were her daughters words. Beta…where is the pen I had given you…

Mama…what are you saying…I am asking you about my pen…and you are talking about something else…

Beta… I hope you have not lost it…that pen is special… dada had …

Suhani interrupting…Oh God mama...you and your ancient thoughts and your ancient things…I am getting late…I have taken 20 rupees from your purse; I will buy a new one from jeevat chacha…

Vidya stood by the little window in the kitchen, stroking the money plant that grew out of the kissan jam bottle. 3 stories below, the sweeper created clouds of dust with his vigorous movements. Summer was at its peak, dry dust filled the air and even as early as 7 a.m. the sunlight was stinging! Vidya wondered…the summer was not so harsh two decades back. White sun lit rays raced through empty spaces in the wooden door that formed a shadow of criss cross patterns on the courtyard. Vidya and her sisters hopped on the shadows as Amma dressed the floor with a new coat of cow dung. Those shadows…and the shadows of the past were a cool…safe haven from the stinging sunlight of the day.

The clock played a familiar tune and Shyam yelled in the background….neither were music to her ears. It was 8 and Vidya was not her usual efficient self this morning. Shyam cursed her and left home without his packed lunch. Vidya already knew what to expect of the day ahead. The 8.09 local was definitely out of question. That meant she had to take the 8.19 fast instead….that is only if she was allowed to enter at Dadar…she had some chance of making it to work on time. Else, a late mark on the roster. She had already reached late last Monday since Suhani had to be dropped to school when she had woken up late and missed her school bus. Shyam had refused to drop though the school was a 5 minute walk from the bus stop where Shyam took the 332. Suhani, her brother, Shyam’s parents, the maid - chanda, the kitchen and the running of the house – were all Vidya’s responsibility. If Vidya wanted to work, she was to make sure that she would not fall short of any of his primary duties first.

Memories have a way of forcing themselves into the present. Memories did not realize that Vidya was already late. Like a stubborn child, they trudged along with her through the morning. Suhani losing her pen had resulted in Vidya losing herself and her morning to her past. I think somehow Vidya was allowing herself to get lost. These were the only comforts she could allow herself. Her home where she had spent most of her growing years was in the vicinity. She would pass by that plot of land which was now home to plaza theatre. It was prime property in the heart of dadar, one of the busiest suburbs in Bombay. Had the 17 families who once lived there owned that property, they would have been sitting on a pot of gold. But the houses had been leased to them for 20 years as part of the rehabilitation exercise for a paltry sum of 25 rupaiyahs. Though Vidya’s life had started 10 years before she arrived with her family at railway colony, Dadar, her years spent there were the most precious memories from her past. Life before that was a hazy vision of Larkana – her place of birth. Her 10 years there had been reduced to just two images in her mind – one of the thick iron chain bolting the door to their ancestral house and the second and the most vivid memory of the time when there was a black out on the train to Karachi.

But more about that another time…Vidya needs to try and make it to the 8.19 and she has just 3 mins to go…

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