Rashmi's Space

Note: This is Part 2 of a love story, the first part of which, you can read here ! The rain was coming down hard. Most shops had closed and people had disappeared indoors. The library, just a few blocks away, would’ve been a haven, if only she hadn’t left it! The few auto rickshaws standing near the pavement had already refused to take her home. And Simi stood shivering under a tree, clutching her backpack tightly.  There has to be a way out of this! “Hi!” Simi turned as a young man came rushing in from the rain to stand next to her under the tree. “Are you alone?” he asked, taking off the hood of his jacket. “Vivaan!” Simi was surprised, and pleased. “Yes!” he said, with that lopsided smile; “What are you doing here all alone? Come on over?” he asked, pointing to the direction of his home, Varsha’s home; that was just around the corner. Simi looked up nervously. That would be the best thing to do. Wait out the rain at Varsha’s home. She could...

The alarm rings. I snooze it and go back to bed. The alarm rings again in ten minutes. This time, I stumble to the bathroom and splash water on my face mercilessly. It is a working day and no matter that the sky is still dark outside, we will all get late unless I start building up a storm in the kitchen soon! In the kitchen, I measure out coffee and sugar as I put the milk and water to boil. Then I bring my phone to the kitchen and start Sri Venkatesa Suprabhatam on my music app. As the notes of Kausalya Supraja … fill the silence of the morning in M S Subbalakshmi’s melodious voice, I pour out coffee in two mugs – regular coffee, less sugar, for myself; and a black coffee, normal sugar, for the husband. Taking the coffee back to the bedroom (well, the husband needs the whiff of coffee to rouse him out of bed), I cannot help but think how lovely it must be for Lord Venkatesa to wake up to the melodious hymns sung in his praise, telling him it is time for him to wake up and s...

Lata Mangeshkar…or was that Asha Bhonsle...? In a lot of these old songs they sounded so similar! Simi woke up, as usual, to melodious songs of the black and white era being played on the radio. With groggy eyes, she walked up to the kitchen and hugged Mai from behind. “Good morning,” she mumbled, nuzzling the side of her mother’s neck. “Woke up? Go brush your teeth quick, I’ll warm up the tea,” her mother said, caressing her cheek with a loving hand, while the other, cloaked in dough, rested in the wide plate in which she was mixing the atta for parathas. When Simi came back to the kitchen to pick her tea-cup, she saw her mother had kept another cup next to hers. “Who’s is that?” Simi asked. “Baba’s” her mother said, turning to her, smiling. “At home today?” Simi asked, her eyebrows raised. Her mother nodded soberly, while Simi gave a wide grin. “Dada’s going to freak out!” she said. And the mother and daughter giggled like the best friends they wer...