I had to go home last week.
I say, 'Had to.'
One grandfather's gone, the other on his way probably. Must go and see.
Started as late as possibly could.
Stayed with the old man long enough, and thus,
delayed reaching home as much as possible.
Once at home talked as less as possible.
Polite, courteous, distant.
Mother tried to initiate conversation.
Gave polite replies that couldn't lead to lengthy conversation.
She got the message, and retired to her bed room, hurt.
In the morning, asked if I needed any money.
That cruel question, again.
No specific need, I said.
If u want to give, there's the bank account. I added.
Stick it down your throat, I said in my mind.
She gave me some money.
'Thanks' I said, and shoved the money inside my wallet.
'No big deal', I said in my mind.
She then offered me some of the jackfruit halwa she'd made.
An exquisite delicacy, very difficult to make too.
I said sure, and thanks.
U cant replace harsh words with sweet taste, I said in my mind.
I was about to get on my bike and commenced the rather elaborate procedure of cold-starting an old Royal Enfield motorcycle
She came rushing with a hurriedly made packet.
I didn't even ask her what it was. I was already late.
Or may be I didn't care.
I asked her to toss it somewhere into my bag.
She did, and i did not think any further about it.
I returned to my quarters at the large teaching hospital where until recently I was a student,
And am now at a no-man's land between being a student and an independent professional.
Was drenched to the skin. That and a fall into a rain drain, having lost control in the heavy downpour.
Called in a leave for the day, surfed net for a while, went to sleep.
Woke up late in the afternoon.
It was raining outside my window. Moisture peeping into the room through cracks in the ceiling.
I was cold and lonely and hurt and hungry.
There was no food.
There was no heat and no warmth either.
I remembered the packet that mother had tossed into the bag. Fished my hand inside the bag and found the packet.
A half-finished bag of chips, and in another plastic cover, one last ariyunda out of a packet for a dozen.
All that she had in the house.
All that she had.
If only I could have a good cry..
