REALITEA
Lit Up: Spring Prompt — Reality
Even after an hour, the milk packets lay exactly where they’d been left, on the doormat outside flat E-73. “An hour! Summer is setting in, what if the milk turns? Why haven’t they picked them up? Should I ring their bell?”
“Stop worrying so much,” he told her, “all this work-from-home business has made life chaotic for young people. Maybe they’re not up yet. Come along now, tea is ready.”
He carried the tray outside to the balcony. It was still cool, the rising sun in no hurry to warm the air. A black bee zoomed amongst the flowerpots, now and then hovering over the colourful zinnias, its monotonous drone contrasting pleasantly with the incessant chirp of sparrows. “This reminds me of weekends home from college,” he smiled, “lazy mornings just like this one. Ammi hanging up clothes in the yard, abbu tinkering with the radio, and me fantasizing about…,” he broke off to chuckle. His recollections of a time long past were quite mundane. Yet, they were dear to him. Reliving the smells, sounds and dreams, he briefly became heart-whole again.
He waited for her usual comment, ‘There you go again about your crush Hema Malini’ but when she didn’t, he glanced at her, at her soft face framed by silver hair and furrowed with worry. “Stop thinking about them, Ameena,” he said firmly, “you won’t gain anything by it.”
“I can’t help it,” she said on a sigh, “you know how often they ring our bell. Only two days back Anish asked me if we needed anything. He was going to the chemist. Then Ritu came for a bit of curd, and since then I haven’t seen them.” Distractedly toying with a biscuit, she asked, “Do you think they are sick, with Covid? They could be dying — “
“Uffo, don’t be so dramatic!”
“But they’re our neighbours. Besides, they know only the two of us in the entire building. Think of our children, Firoz. Imagine if they were in a similar situation, alone and friendless in a new city. I think I should buzz them on the intercom.”
“Don’t,” he said, taking her aback. Removing his spectacles, he took his time to clean the lenses with the corner of his kurta. “I…I caught sight of Anish today,” he began, not looking at her, “when I went to pick up the newspaper.”
She grabbed his arm, “Why on earth didn’t you tell me before? Is he okay?”
“He had stepped out for his paper too. I was about to say hello when he slammed his door shut.”
“Shut the door?” Ameena frowned at him, puzzled, “Didn’t he see you?”
She knew the answer to that. The flats faced each other, separated by a distance of only eight feet.
Firoz wore his glasses and got up. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Fetching the answer to your question.”
He returned soon, carrying a newspaper. It was a day old, and he handed it to her wordlessly. Her gaze skimmed the front page and she clicked her tongue, unable to understand what he wanted her to see. “Turn the page,” he said, and her glance sharpened, one headline catching her attention.
Muslim Tablighi conference in Delhi held responsible for a spurt in Covid-19 cases across the country
She tapped it, her finger trembling slightly. “The Tablighis got stranded here because of the sudden lockdown. What could they do?” She fidgeted in her chair, disturbed, uneasy. “And the political rallies?” Her voice rose. “Thousands attended them. Didn’t they spread the virus?” Expelling a sharp breath, she tried to smile. “Good god Firoz, why am I being defensive? As if this has anything to do with us.”
“Anish saw me alright,” Firoz said quietly, “he looked at me, and quite deliberately spat in my direction.”
The colour fled from her face as if she had been slapped. Firoz reached for her hand but she rose from her chair, seeking comfort in the zinnias, some flushed crimson and some as white as snow, a butter-yellow heart at the centre of each blossom. They rustled like silk when she plucked a few, twisting the stems together, the flowers, leaves intertwining into a spray of red, white and green, the colours vivid in the white porcelain vase.
She eased back into her chair. “Did I ever tell you of the time papa was posted up north, in Arunachal Pradesh? China was getting ready to attack us.”
He gave a slight nod, his crinkly eyes sad and tender. “He was in the forest service then, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. It was 1962. We had joined him there during Diwali break. Early one morning, we were informed of the Chinese army moving close to Tawang. ‘Leave sir, pack your bags and leave, it’s not safe anymore,’ papa was told, ‘your train leaves in an hour.’” Her gaze rested on the flowers. “Papa had just cut some orchids, and without missing a beat, he continued to arrange them in a vase. Then,” and she paused for a sip, savouring it, “he poured himself some tea.”
“Do you know what he said?” Ameena smiled at him, a laugh in her voice, “‘I’ll be damned if I let anyone come in the way of my first cup of chai.’”
