It was a
gloomy Thursday morning in the city of Joy, Kolkata. Washed out by the welcome
rains, after quite a few days of unbearable rise of the mercury, the city and
the citizens were having a lazy start of their daily chores.
There was
however a pair, ignorant of the whims of Nature; Urmila, now Nagma by choice
and her three year old son Alam. Their day had started normally with the call
of Azan, followed by Lakshmi puja. This Thursday ritual, Nagma was yet
to part with, even after her marriage with Zakhir. After this spiritual start
to the day, Nagma headed for her destination, across deserted galis shielding Alam with a much used
second hand umbrella.
Boudi, it seemed had woken up early too. She
was ready with the list of jobs for Nagma. Clear the garden off the weeds,
sweep the terrace, tie the newly planted plants- the kinds of which would let
her enjoy the drizzles and the downpours all the more. Alam was offered a
stool, across the door, under a shade, from where he could eye his mother
conveniently. Boudi had also given
him, a small little yellow-red colored ball to keep himself entertained.
“Good”-thought Nagma inwardly, feeling hopeful that the little thing would keep
Alam from making a fuss, and bringing the busy and the sleepy members of the
household to his attention. With the intent of wrapping up, before Alam would
demand for his mother’s companionship, Nagma attacked the weeds, uprooting them
from the ground.
Nagma loved
working for Boudi- soft spoken,
helpful and amiable. And she didn’t mind having Alam around as well, putting an
end to all of Nagma’s worry of where to leave her eye-candy for the day. The
drizzles were slowly getting onto her clothes, making them inseparable, and
drenching her more and more with every passing second. 250 bucks, for a mere
3-4 hours of work had to be hard earned. Good and filling breakfast, for
herself and her son, would be an added advantage, thanks to Boudi’s kindness again.
Little did
she know, that the dullness of the day, would weigh down her heart soon, cloud
it with grey thoughts. Optimism would be mitigated, by the outcome of a small incident.
She was
nearly wrapping up, when Boudi called
her in for breakfast. Alam, was also looking jittery by that time. The mother-son
duo sat on the floor across to door, to feast on the puri-sabzi served by Boudi.
She had also remembered to add on few spoon of sugar, given Alam’s liking for
sweets. Nagma couldn’t help but feel grateful.
Disturbing
the rhythmic sound of munching of food, a shrill voice hailed Boudi. “Oh, kakima ki korcho?”- asked
Pari, the five year old bright eyed girl from next door.”I’m cooking dear”
replied Boudi with a smile, “What’s
our Pari doing?” Ignoring, Pari reiterated,”Ota ki? That yellow red
thing”-pointing to the ball bouncing off the floor into Alam’s protective
clutch. “Ota”, replied Boudi,”belonged
to your didi, I’ve given it to the little brother here to play with”.Doing
justice to all of Alam’s fears, Pari demanded –“Will you give it to me?”
Unaware of
the little war that would ensue, Boudi replied
in affirmative. “Alam, give it to the didi out there, she’ll play and return it
soon” “NA”-protested Alam as loudly as his voice could permit. No amount of Boudi’s cajoling, or Nagma’s threatening
could convince him. There was nothing, that would make him part with his
precious.
An,
embarrassed Pari’s mother, tried to soothe her daughter, who was repeatedly
voicing her demands. Few dolls were brought to her, to make up for the
unavailability of the ball. Alas there’s no proven theory on what would catch a
child’s fancy. A beautifully dressed pretty new doll, compared to a worn out
discolored ball. The choice might be evident for us, but not that calculative predicable
for a three or a five year old. Boudi also
tried to lure Alam, with few old toy cars that were handy, but in vain. The
little thing had all of his attention. All the more because, it had a rival’s
eye on it.
Few other
members of both the household had joined the ongoing drama. All of them, trying
to reason out with either of the protagonists. Much to Nagma’s worry, it was
now already 5 minutes of the show. She sometimes had to work for Pari’s mother
too. Alam was just making things difficult.
In midst of
all these cacophony, Nagma snatched away the ball from Alam’s grip, something
which only she could do. Ignoring few of the formal protests, from Pari’s
family, she handed it to her. Alam wailed, only to be shouted quiet by his
mother. “See, you have made the little brother cry, how selfish you have
become”, reprimanded Pari’s mother. “Now go to your room and play”, she added.
“Nagma, I’m so sorry, these kids you see...”
“Are charo na
Boudi, you don’t know Alam, he would
loose the ball in a minute. Don’t worry he will forget soon”-Nagma cut her
short. Picking up the broom she went to sweep the terrace, avoiding Alam’s
eyes. The two neighbours looked at each other silently, and then at the sobbing
Alam for a few seconds, and went back to their work.
Nagma was
walking back home. She had Alam’s hand in her. How could explain what she did
to her swollen red eyed beloved son? She could not tell him, that Boudi had given her extra 10 rupees to
get Alam something. What happiness could money buy to a three year old? She
knew, Alam would have to learn the hard way. Even harder than this first lesson
on compromise. She knew Alam would see many such days.
Not allowed
the luxury of short term memories of kids, this self inflicted scar pained her.
She looked up at the sky, the sun was shinning brightly, and she thought of
Pari. Pari, who had experienced the joy of desires getting fulfilled. Nagma
felt a bit grey on the insides. Desire is not a word meant to b on Alam’s
dictionary.
She quickened
her steps in an attempt to walk past the thoughts running on her mind, dragging
Alam with her.
