Rashmi's Space

Clay figurines. Colourful. Vibrant. Bucolic. That is their trade. Dealing in snazzy, bright clay figurines, bowls, masks, wall-hangings. They sit by the side of the road. Their wares displayed along the pavement. So people can see when passing – on foot, in their cars. Every once in a while, someone passes in their car and then parks the car further along the road and comes walking back to inspect something that has caught their eye. They ask the price. Which is usually not too much. They still bargain. And eventually, at a much lesser price than the artifact is worth, they buy the piece. It will look amazing on their feature wall, they think. It will dazzle their boring passageway. It will welcome their guests warmly... But more often than not, no one buys much. Especially on working days. Busy days. When the adults are rushing to and back from work and the children are tired, being taken to school and back. But they still sit there. Their wares spread. Eve...

“Don’t run on the lawn!” Meera looked up from her laptop. It was Sunday morning and while Meera caught up on her mails and other news, Pari, her niece, and Ayah, Pari’s caretaker-cum-nanny-cum-companion-cum-governess were in the garden. Ayah was pruning the roses, while Pari was jumping around the garden and playing in the shade of the orange trees lining the compound wall. All the time, trampling over the lawn that Ayah had freshly watered – hence, the reprimand. Meera smiled. Ayah was good for Pari. She ensured that the girl kept her head on her shoulders despite being a ‘gifted’ child of above average intelligence, who was ‘pampered’ and ‘spoilt silly’ (according to Ayah) by Meera. It felt just like yesterday – although it was almost close to nine years now – that Pari and Ayah had walked into Meera’s home, and her life. Meera’s sister had died giving birth to Pari. Pari’s father had never been around. And thus, Meera had become the sole legal guardian to her...

"ओळख पाहू ही  कोण?" मी आईच्या हातातल्या फोन मध्ये डोकावलो. फोटोत एक तरुणी, सायकल वर स्वार, ट्रॅक पॅन्ट आणि टी-शर्ट  घातलेली, कॅमेऱ्याकडे पाहून स्मितहास्य करीत होती. "अरे पाहतोयस काय नुसता, ओळख ना कोण आहे ही." पुन्हा आईने विचारले. मी मक्खपणे मान हलवली. "मला नाही माहीत."  "अरे, हि नमिता! छत्र्यांची!" "बरं..." "अरे बरं काय? तुझ्या शाळेत होती ही! नर्सरीत तुझा डबा खायची बघ? आणि तू उपाशी, रडत रडत घरी यायचास..." नर्सरीत ही मुलगी माझ्या वर्गात होती, इथपर्यंत ठीक आहे. पण ती मला रडवीत असे, हे कशाला महत्त्वाचा होतं, कुणास ठाऊक. "आता हिला ओळख..." "अगं  आई काय तू..."  "हे बघ, प्रिया, अनघा, अगदी तुझ्या पक्या चे सुद्धा फोटो आहेत माझ्या फोन वर!" आई अभिमानाने म्हणाली. "पक्या?" "पंकज पाध्ये रे, नववीत तुझ्या वर्गात होता तो? तो थायलंड ला असतो, बरीच वर्ष झाली आता. एक दोन वर्षात कॅनडा ला शिफ्ट व्हायच म्हणतोय." मी आ वाचून आई कडे पहातच राहिलो! माझा हा नववीतला मित्र, माझ्य...

“Would you be paying cash or card, Ma’am?” he asked. “Cash.” He nodded and rang up the bill. He gave her the room key and pointed towards the left. “Third room.” He said. She took the key, picked up the one bag that she was carrying in addition to her handbag, and went on her way. The bag was clearly heavy. She could barely lift it, he saw. She was almost dragging it. He offered to help, but she refused politely. The hour was late. What was she doing here, so late in the night with a bag so huge? He wondered. But then the very next moment, he shrugged the thought away. It was none of his business. She could be anyone. She was no one to him. She was in for the night. She had paid in advance. Cash. She would be gone tomorrow. Early in the morning, she had said. Maybe even before he awoke, he thought now with a tinge of disappointment. He made a mental note of waking up early tomorrow so he would at least see her leave. Not many people walked in these doors who ...

Sameer : Hey Mithi : Hey yourself! Where have you been? Do you know how many messages I left for you?! Sameer : Yes. Sorry. I was a little tied up. Mithi : For fifteen days? It took you fifteen days to answer me! This, when you know I am in the middle of a baby-related crisis here? Which is all because of you, by the way – you and your suggestion to ‘not quit working  just because I have a baby! ’ Sameer : Yes. I was… Mithi : Tied up, I know. So, are you going to tell me what you were busy with? Sameer : ….. Mithi : What is that you are typing for so long? Mithi : Hello? Two days later Mithi : Oh my god, Sameer! I am so, sorry! I just found out! Why didn’t you say anything? I can’t believe it. An accident?! I feel so bad. Please accept my deepest condolences. I am really sorry … Next Day Sameer : Hey Mithi : Hey! I am so sorry for your loss. How are you? How is Riya? Sameer : Thanks. Riya is too young to understand a...

A hundred and forty kilometres. A little above three hours. Three and a half, tops, with any unscheduled breaks. Before noon, she would be at her destination. Myra took a deep breath. Found a local radio station she could live with, and cranked up the engine. The automatic sprang to life with a slow purr.     The traffic was light at this time of the morning, and she was on the highway within a half hour of starting out. She had now found a station playing classics, with hourly news thrown in, in the local language. The sun was shining behind her. The cloud cover increasing ahead of her. Shades on her eyes, she put the car on cruise control, and stared straight ahead.   At first she wasn’t sure she had heard it right. But she reduced the volume on the radio anyway. And tried to hear more carefully. She was right! There it was – the muffled, but unmistakable thumping noise coming from the car! Myra groaned. Oh, please! Not a flat! Not now! It wasn’t the ...