Heart upon my sleeve

20 years later, the memory is still vivid. He sat on a Neelkamal chair, rocking gently on the wobbly hind legs while I worried of what would happen if he tripped and fell. I wouldn’t be able to control my laughter then, would I? His right leg was rooted firmly in a Bata slipper while his left leg was folded in a lap resting on the other. He massaged the resting left foot, plucking the cuticles around his big toe with his fingernails. I could see him peeling some off, playing with the barked skin turning it into a tiny ball, until he got bored and flicked it to the ground. I hid my disgust and tried to distract myself. The pedicure continued. He spoke with authority like he was a Vijay Deenanath Chahuan. Question followed question, and with every passing moment I felt more uncomfortable and hid deeper into my shell, like a nervous tortoise. The next day they called to say the Kundali did not match, a common excuse when the ladke-vale were convinced the skin color didn’t match (their exp...

On 23 rd  April, we heard the news that the lockdown would be eased from the next day. This would mean we would finally be able to venture out a bit. That day would also be the 35 th  day, since we had stepped out of the building; the farthest we had gone to, being the trash chute on the same floor - and  oh boy, was I happy every time it was my turn! I enjoy my evening walks and for long time now, my daily 3 km walks covered walking from the bedroom to the living room, then to the balcony and back in repetition. I often felt like a lion pacing in his cage back and forth, the only unidirectional view of the world being what I saw from my east facing balcony. It would be so good to finally see the sunset. I imagined what it would be like when the day to step out would finally arrive. I saw myself dancing my way out of the building like the girl from the Cadbury's ad who ran onto the cricket field to meet her lover. Come D Day, the Avengers assembled in f...

It lay in a small corner in the bathroom cabinet – unwanted and forgotten. A long time back when we lived in the US, and my son was a co-operating toddler (yeah mom’s of toddlers, you heard it right. Wait till your sons become teenagers) , I would use it to avoid an unnecessary quarterly expense. And here it is again, all dusted and brushed , ready to make it’s mark again – (drum roll) The family clipper! Now as much as I looked forward to using it, I knew I would face some resistance when it came to the boy – now 12 yrs old and having a strong opinion about who would trim his long, unkempt locks. It reminded me of the sheep shearing session we witnessed on our recent trip to a farm in New Zealand.  It would be physically impossible to handle the boy this way now. I had to find another way. I tried emotional blackmail - “How can I kiss your forehead every night with all the shabby hair in the way?” Didn’t work. Pure blackmail – “You want me to make the brownie...