Rashmi's Space

“ T ai , your tea is getting cold,” says Latabai, putting away her own cup of tea back on the tray. Krishna smiles and puts her almost full tea-cup to her lip. It is stone cold now. And tasteless. Although, the coldness of it has less to do with the tastelessness of it, than what Latabai sits talking about. The housekeeper came to see her late in the evening when Krishna was sitting on her porch wondering about the sudden change in the weather. The wind had picked up, leading her to think it may rain again, or at the very least, there would be a storm coming soon... making it difficult for Ananta and her to go for their walk tomorrow morning.  Now, she has made fresh tea, so the two women could sit and chat.    They have done this a few times when the housekeeper has had a few hours off from work. And while they aren’t exactly friends, Krishna likes the frankness and honesty of the housekeeper; and admires the fact that the woman doesn’t use her circu...

K rishna looks in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognise herself. A beautiful lady in her fifties in a plain grey silk saree stares back at her. She wears a string of pearls and matching pearl earrings. A radiant smile completes the picture; her favourite frozen ittar , dabbed just so on the underside of her wrists, leaving a beautiful fragrance around her. As she goes around the house switching off lights in the rooms and dimming the lights in the living room, she remembers the last time she got all dressed up – her daughter’s wedding day. Like that day, today too, her saree is new – a gift that arrived from her daughter this week as an apology for not being able to come down to visit her as promised. And while that hurts really badly, she cannot help but enjoy the rustle of the silk as it swishes around her when she walks.    Krishna has never been conventionally beautiful. And yet, she has always been attractive in a quiet, unpretentious way. And t...

After three days of near continuous rain, today has dawned bright and glorious. The sun shines gently on the rain-washed, still dewy trees, and the birds sing a beautiful melody to welcome a brand new day. She sits on a rocker on the porch with a cup of coffee. In her lap is a book she has borrowed from the local library. But her mind is on the phone call she had with her daughter last night. Her confident, independent daughter, who is far, far away in another country. Her daughter, a doctor, who, at almost seven months pregnant, worries all the time about her mother. Which is why the girl has arranged to have a landline connection and a Wi-Fi connection installed here and sent her a smartphone. ‘I want to be able to talk to you anytime I want,’ her daughter says; ‘face to face’ .   Krishna is not much used to technology. But their calls make her daughter worry less; and in her present state, she wants her daughter to worry as less as possible. For what it’s worth, h...

“This is how you make it, isn’t it?” She smiles. Yes. She watches as the chutney, made exactly the way she makes it, is being taken out to the table where the men are having their breakfast. “What’s with the new chutney?” says Appa “Try it, it is a new recipe,” says Amma “I tried, it’s nice; very tasty, that is why I asked.” “Hmmm. Good, you like it then.” It has been over a decade. Her’s was a match made in heaven (and college). But her in-laws took time to realise that (the heaven part). And till they did, they kept reminding her about her ‘outsider’ status and her ‘other’ness and how she was ‘different’ from them. For the first six months, she wasn’t even allowed to touch any cooking. Only cleaning the kitchen and the vessels afterwards had been her job. She wasn’t supposed to touch any food preparation, especially the food that was prepared for her husband. By the end of the year, she was promoted to helping with the cutting and peeling of vegetables...

मिस्टर सानेंनी हळू डोळे उघडले. खिडकीतून उन्हं येत होती. खाडकन जागे झाले. दुपार झाली कि काय! घड्याळ बघितल, हुश्श, आठच वाजतायेत! पण पुढच्याच क्षणी लक्षात आलं, आठ वाजले तरी किचन मधून काही आवाज येत नाहीयेत. आज तर गुरुवार, वर्किंग डे, एव्हाना किचन मधून आवाजच नव्हे तर तर-तर्हेचे वासही यायला हवेत. डबा तयार झाला असला पाहिजे, चहा तयार झाला आला पाहिजे. पण आज कसलीच हालचाल दिसत नाही! शेजारी पहिल तर मिसेस सानेही शेजारी नाहीत. काय भानगड आहे बुआ आज?   चष्मा चढवून मिस्टर साने बेडरूम मधून बाहेर आले. मिसेस सानेंचा घरात कुठेच पत्ता नव्हता! गेली कुठे  ही? मिस्टर सानेंनी सुनबाईंना विचारायच ठरवलं. पण श्वेता त्यांना कुठे दिसेना. इतक्यात, "गुडमॉर्निंग  बाबा!" म्हणत श्वेता जांभई देत बाहेर आली आणि त्यांच्या उत्तराची वाट न पाहता, तडक  "गुडमॉर्निंग आई" म्हणत किचन मध्ये गेली. मिस्टर साने तिला काही सांगणार इतक्यात,  "अहो बाबा, आई कुठेयत?" म्हणत पुन्हा बाहेर आली. एव्हाना तिची झोप पूर्णपणे उडाली होती. "माहित नाही बुआ, मला वाटलं तुला काही बोलली असेल..."   त्यांन...

Every once in a while, I make it a point to go to my daughter’s school and have a chat with her teacher. On these occasions, I also have an added advantage of getting to talk to a few of her friends; and that is something that I look forward to. It is through these conversations that I get an idea as to how my daughter is faring among her peers. These conversations are a good yardstick to measure the emotional ability of my five-year old to be around and deal with other children who are from different backgrounds and of different temperaments. After all, just like a glass filled with water from the ocean is a representative of the entire ocean, so is a class of twenty children a representative of the world at large. So, on one such occasion, after I had met with her teacher, we were getting out of the school, when we saw  two children sitting on a bench near the supervisor’s office.