Project 365: Day 352 — Talcum powder

She smelled of Pond’s talcum powder. Her back was caked with a lot of it. Too much. She would ask her husband or daughter to dust it off with the end of her saree. She would then straighten her blouse and saree and go off to work.

Her husband would happily stare out of the balcony window every time she stepped out. It was a family joke that he would fall out of the balcony window some day out of enthusiasm. He never liked to see her go. His first question when she told him she was leaving was, “When will you be back?” Yet, he would be smiling happily at her retreating figure as she walked all the way to the gate. He would turn around and go back to his bedroom when she walked out of the gate. Occasionally, he’d grin sheepishly at their daughter as she rolled her eyes at him, knowing his routine in the balcony.

Thankfully, he died before her mother. Her mother missed him. He was a handful when around but she missed him sorely after he was gone. She died not long after.

Her daughter gave away most of their possessions. They were big hoarders, her parents. She found old 100 rupee notes tucked in the folds of some of her dry cleaned sarees. She had learned that from her sister. She was never fond of her except for this one weird trait she had picked up from her. When all their stuff was gone, she slept on their bed — her mother’s side.

She lay on her stomach, breathing deeply, taking in the notion that both her parents were now gone. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed the bedsheet. It smelled of Pond’s talcum powder.