A weekday morning in my life dated anywhere between 5 to 10 years of age.its a weekday and I am home because i finally managed to get sick and bunk school,or somehow or the other, school got cancelled...
i wake up rejoicing my one morning at home. I do not know why exactly, but I love spending my morning hours home. and I know that today no teacher is going to bore me, neither are any of my pesky classmates going to irritate me. Its a morning at home...my home. My morning...and everything else that follows.
Someone makes me tea. I sip it with an indescribable relish. Then, I play or watch t.v. and try not to compromise any moment of that morning as I know I will have to tomorrow.
I watch as everyone leaves and I see Her preparing to. She is in the kitchen making lunch and other such things. She then comes to the bedroom and makes herself a paan. I watch as she piles one ingredient after another with utmost precision. i decide I will steal one after lunch today and beg for one on Sunday.
She is washing utensils now. I go away, knowing it will be a while till She can get them to shine and keep at it till She does.
She tells me to get her things in the bathroom. I sit on the bed and watch Her browse through Her sarees wondering which She will wear. I hope She takes one out with red in it. I have always associated itwith Her. I do not know why though...
I look at the one She has laid out on the bed as water splashes inside the bath. I search for a crease...none. I look at this which will become Her. I wonder whether she is also that creaseless. I wonder whether that saree would have been so, smelt so if it had been anyone else's.
She is about to come out so i prop myself up on the bed and prepare to do what i have done so many times before and still have not understood why...
She stands in front of the dresser and wears her saree with intimidating care. I watch as she makes the folds which sometimes look like they have been measured for accuratness. She lets loose Her hair. Her long black hair...that which i will always associate with womanliness,beauty and grace.
But I know She is going to tie it. I wish She wouldn't. For once I want to see Her like that. I say "why must you tie it?" She says "it's too much of a bother. it gets in the way." I wonder if letting yourself loose and free gets in the way too. And if so, then in the way of what?
She then puts cream on her face. There She is rough. I say "softly. you'll rub your face off." She makes an expression that says "Eh?"
I do not always say such things for fear of a scolding. I just do when i feel safe for it.
She applies lipstick. I had been waiting to see whether it would match her saree today...that same colour. But somehow, it always does!
Then She does what i am most eager to see. with an end of Her comb, she applies that red coloured powder on her forehead. a bit and absolutely neat. Later i would come to know it is called vermillion. But i never felt it does the colour justice.
She smells of cream and something else...something completly Her own...sorry, i mean completely Her. And i will not forget that fragrance for a very long time.
At last She applies petroleum jelly on her hands. I look at them...they speak for themselves. The right one...the cooking, cleaning one...a little buised and tired looking. the homely one. the left...the proper, elegant,slender one...soft and graceful...the one that lives outside the kitchen. and She is unaware that Her life can be told by those hands...
I wonder how She never notices me staring at Her. Then i think She does but does not understand it...its ok I decide. I don't either myself.
before leaving She gives me a list of dos for the maids. She tells me to eat on time and that she will call. As She leaves i want to say "have a nice day", "take care" or "bye" even. but I cant. and She cant either. I hate it. I always will.
But i know She will be back. In the evening..a little tired and hungry but still perfectly...mmm...Perfectly Her.
I know it will take longer this time around and that I will be the one coming back this time. But still I will find Her as She has always been...perfectly perfect and perfectly Red...as in beautiful and with a spark that is Her own and complete.
I dont know how many eighth of Septembers i will have to endure. But be sure I will think of You...that day and all days.
I know all you readers will get tired. but its just my way of horouring her memory...so zip it.
