The pink teddy bear settled comfortably in its plastic abode stared at her with its brown eyes. Meera gently ran her fingers over all the toys stacked neatly in the big pail, picked up her teddy and headed for the living room window. Placing her chin on one of the horizontal window rods, so that her face fit perfectly between the two parallel vertical rods, she settled her teddy next to her. Together, they would scrutinize the evening’s scape. Her little feet twitched as she lifted her heels and balanced herself to get a clearer view through the window. A solitary crow restlessly perched on a tree branch that extended aimlessly towards the sky; the sky was overcast, but the air was humid. Meera wondered if she should switch the fan on, but chose not to. Down below, the narrow lane bustled with humans, animals and vehicles alike. Honking cars succumbed to their failed attempts to accelerate amass the horde of humans and cows. Little children dressed in blue and white and dusty black shoes, carried their colorful backpacks and stuck to the sidewalk. A food vendor pushed his cart meandering through the crowd searching for a secure spot beside the lane, while some others had already settled and were distributing spicy chick peas and phuskas to the children in exchange for silver coloured coins. Meera took a deep breath; she tightened her grip around the teddy and swallowed hard. She cherished these moments of solitude, when she and the teddy were the silent spectators of a world that was so alive, a world that was so fascinating, a world that came to life every evening between 3 PM to 4 PM.The doorbell rang. It must be Rohit, she thought. Meera took her teddy back to its pail, ensured that it was rested properly and rushed to answer the door. The house would soon be filled with its inhabitants and she would have to get the customary tea and hot drinks ready.
Rohit walked in, dropped his backpack on the floor and rushed to his computer. A frown practically took up his entire face, the reason being an argument with his father the night before. The agenda of his confrontation included hard hitting facts and figures. As though making a PowerPoint presentation before a client, Rohit presented the number of times his parents fought, the number of times his father didn’t show up at his cricket practice, the number of times his mother skipped dinner or breakfast and the number of times he was humiliated in front of his friends for carrying a discarded laptop bag instead of a backpack to tuitions. The bottom-line was he had terrible parents, but they could still make it up to him, if they bought him a pair of roller skates, the ones that were available in the Landmark showroom in the next block. “It works, emotional blackmail works everytime”, his best friend Nirmal affirmed that afternoon.
The result however turned out to be far from what he had expected. To counter his argument his father presented his own set of facts and figures. That included the number of times Rohit scored below 80 in math, the number of times he was found with the Need For Speed instead of his assignments, the number of times he humiliated his father by picking up fights with the neighbour’s daughter and the number of times he bunked school making his parents sit through torturous lectures delivered by the school principal about parenting.
Clearly there was enough reason to brood and frown, atleast until his mother’s affection comes into play and he would get his way, in this case a pair of roller skates. In the end, his father would just shrug and say “”whatever, spoil that child, don’t come ranting to me afterwards”. That would be the end of the story and everyone would go back to living their lives.
The door bell rang again. Rohit instantly minimized the NFS window on the computer screen and opened a Word Document. Meera rushed to the door, but it had creaked open beating her by a few minutes. Ankur Dutta noisily dragged his feet in, each footstep louder than the previous one, his head held high over his stooping shoulders. His Peter England Shirt slightly ruffled by the long drive from his office and his tie was dragged down to the middle of his chest. He handed his laptop bag and Tupperware set in Meera’s hand and walked towards the couch in front of the Television set. From the centre table lying just a foot away from the couch he lifted the two remote controls. He pressed a button on the long black one, to switch on the TV and then a stout white one, to tune in to TLC. “God Bless TLC”, he quietly muttered as he settled down on the couch to remove his shoes. His favorite show “Lonely Planet” was on, the travelogue on Discovery Travel and Living Channel took him to different corners of the world, a dream he had cherished as a boy. He wanted to be a photojournalist and see the world through his lens. “What kind of a job is that? Trust me, you’ll end up being a wedding photographer or videographer”, said his father.
His mother sympathetically said, “What is wrong with being an engineer, look at all the perks your father gets being at BRPL? Even my Masters Degree didn’t go to waste, I am a fourth grade teacher. Isn’t that good enough for you? And who knows you may even get foreign trips, Mr Bhuyan went to France last month.”
So in that brutal jiffy his dream was sabotaged and packed off to an Engineering College somewhere in the outskirts of Bangalore, to a college where many of the kids of the refinery officials went. His parents announced with great pride that their son goes to one of the most expensive colleges in Bangalore. The donation itself was ten lakhs. Five years later he was an alcoholic engineer, eight years later he was a refined MBA, 9 years later he was a husband and a year later a father. At forty he realized that he had sleepwalked through the prime of his life, he was now a pot bellied Project Manager with a resilient but enigmatic wife and a son who was taking his first few steps towards adolescence. Life had treated him quite well, and he didn’t have much to complain except for the fact that his DSLR camera was inside the closet most of his time, and the foreign trips that he had planned never really took off.
Placing his shoes right below the lamp-stand next to the couch, he called out for Meera.
“Is Rohit home yet?”
“Yes dada”, Meera dutifully replied.
“Has he eaten anything yet?"
“No dada. He is working on his computer, doesn’t want to speak”.
There’s a packet of pastries in my laptop bag, give some to him and get me a cup of tea.
Meera carried a glass of hot chocolate and pastries for Rohit and a cup of tea and some pastries for dada. “Why aren’t you eating too? Get some for yourself”. Like a duty bound cadre, Meera helped herself to a portion of the pastries and went back to the spot near the window. The three creatures in the house munched in silence.
The gray sky growled and frowned upon earthlings. Archana struggled to keep her balance on her black Scooty pept. A heavy downpour was inevident and that meant clogged drainage, streets flooded with deep liquid filth and the crazy traffic. She didn’t expect her husband to pick her up from office, not anymore, not eversince she had learnt to be content with a two wheeler over an affectionate companion. The couple had retreated from their confrontations and succumbed to the strange tranquility of their relationship. They were so polite to each other that sometimes it felt like the eerie quiet before the climax of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. She mildly chuckled at her own thought.
The sky continued to grouse at her. She looked at her watch and her heart skipped a beat, she’d have to race against time now. The familiar feeling had become an after office ritual now. Every evening, she would sneak out of the gym’s back office and climbed down the stairs, filled with a bitter sense of euphoria, after her hormones had been drained out, her eyes avoiding anyone else’s, until she managed to reach her Scooty and breathe. She had informed her husband that she had joined the aerobics center because she wanted to learn how to dance. Seasoned by the years of his own aloofness, her husband failed to notice the trepidation or guilt on her face, just the way he always remained oblivious to the mild blush on her cheeks when she dressed up for him or when their fingers gently touched while fetching for the TV remote.
Making her way through the belligerent traffic, combating against the other vehicles, Archana accelerated her two wheeler to avoid the traffic signal. She sneaked a peak at her watch again; it was too late. She brooded for a moment and made a swift U Turn. Turning her Scooty in the opposite direction, she headed towards the Landmark showroom in the next block; it had the pair of roller skates that Rohit had asked for. She would also buy a toy or dress for Meera, the girl had been playing with Rohit’s leftovers for long.
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