Ready

I stroll on the golden sands of Tarina. It feels pillow soft to my worn-out feet. Far off in the lush, crystal blue sky a lone falcon glides over the waters. The fading sun kisses the sea intimately and leaves orange remnants of its love in the sapphire blue waves. Spring is near, the season of revival and rejuvenation…the season of parsley-green meadows and of strawberry ice cream…the season of snow-white dandelions and of unripe mangoes. I can taste the pear fresh sweetness in the salty air of the sea.   

I must go before it gets dark . I sigh. Rishi and dad must be waiting. I tie my ruby red scarf around my neck and walk back taking heavy steps. The first time I came here I splashed in the water for hours. Now it has become a part of my routine that it gets overlooked. Now I only come here once in a while . I watch out for tiny crabs playing peek-a-boo from underneath the grainy ground.

Along the way the aroma of fried fish entices my nose and my mouth salivates in unison. Oh, the red chilly and turmeric draped fishes flavored with lemon, onion and pepper . Dad loves them and Rishi hates them equally. I could buy some for him but then I have to go against his doctor's advise; 'no spicy food'. Then I notice an old woman selling garlands of Arabian jasmine underneath the coconut tree. Now these garlands aren't what you find in exotic places of Africa. Here, these strings are tied in the hair. I pass by just to get the wift of the flowers.

Our city is the epicenter of economy and professionalism. The atmosphere here reeks of business, poverty, fame, lights, camera and action. The crowded railway stations and jam-packed roads are some popular sights you might want to ignore after you have seen all the ugly parts of the city.

Few years ago, I worshiped the gravel lined roads of this humungous metropolitan. I admired its sky touching plazas and the people who walked in and out of it. Today I know it is just a compilation of rock fragments, buildings and humans. It’s a city that accepted me like the spicy-honey streaked chicken and spit me up like the bones.

I take one of those red taxis with black windows way back to home. Taxi is costly here but my aching knees are more valuable.

The taxi smells of cigarette smoke and tomato and garlic soup. And just in time I find crumbs of potato fries scattered on the floor. As if I don't have enough of too much to bear.

The sky is clear and the color of ultramarine. The streetlights run by too fast. And Kishore Kumar's melody fills the background.

For once the traffic is light. I can be home in an hour... an hour to contemplate my next move.

By the time I reach the locality, it is half past seven. Mrs. Sharma peers down from her balcony at the creaking of the gate. She waves and then retreats to watch her daily soap of overacting drama queens and overreacting drama kings. As if I wasn't one of them…only a quadruple of hours ago.

The journey to my house is even more tiring. The walls were painted only two years ago but they are chipping away exhibiting a fictional world map. The mandala pattern floor smells of antiseptic liquid and has stains of water . For a change the flower pots on the stair case have fresh plantlets of tomatoes ,crocuses, daffodils and primrose. They belong to our society manager who is crazy for micro-gardening and charges even for plucking the leaves. 

My home's door has the metallic golden lion handle, mom gifted when I bought the apartment. I strike the handle twice. After a minuscule time period, I hear dad's somnolent footsteps. He opens the door and gives me a weak smile. Rishi must have given him a hard time reading bedtime stories. I can't help but notice how much my dad has wrinkled and silvered.

It feels just yesterday when he would carry me in his arms to market to buy season's fresh.

It feels just sixteen hours ago when we made a futile attempt at grafting two varieties of roses together and playing in the mud later.

It feels just ten hours ago when he forced a dilemma on me ; " Leave the film or leave the home". And I left

home. Mom's demise must have taken place by seventh hour.

 It feels just six hours ago when he found out I was pregnant, miserable and broke.

And since then he stayed with us looking after my fatherless child and supporting my back while I scurried from one stink to another.

I wash my face , arms and feet in the bathroom and then check on my little one. He is sleeping under the nemo duvet hiding his face under his arm.

"How was your day, kid?" Dad asks in a meek voice while he steers into the kitchen to bring me his 'fruit of the day'. To get Rishi to obey a healthy diet, Dad created 'Fruit of the day'. He offers one shilling if the fruit is eaten.

"I left the film, dad." I bellow. He presents me with pearl-shined myrtle green grapes. I pop one into my mouth. The sugary sourness splurges inside my mouth like sweet waterfall crashing on a rock .

"Now… what happened? " he questions although he knows the reason very well. The people of the industry demand much more than acting, stuff that wouldn't be open to viewers until you offend the ones who keepsake it.

I notice dad has changed the curtains from black polyester we keep for winters to handmade rainbow crochet fall. Spring is coming. A period of new life. A new starting…I rub my temples.

"You know the usual thing they do. Just because they employ us, they think we are their slaves." I say in haze while I peels the skin of the grapes and squeeze the pulp out of it.

"So what next? " he juts while ironing Rishi's uniform for the next day school. I finish my ' Fruit of the day' and walk up to him.

He stares at me. I know when he said he disowns me… I know he was still proud of me for standing up for myself. I know his heart did somersaults looking at me carrying his grandchild in me while I crushed the family name into nothing. I know he still looks at me in awe while I go from working to jobless to working.

I bring my palm out to him and smile. " Next is…my prize money for finishing the fruit of the day."

The corner of his lips twitch and his fingers make their way into his pocket. Ten coins meet my skin. "Here you go."

"But , sweet daughter , the bills will be around the corner, Rishi wants new shoes, the washing machine is-", he could keep on counting but I raised my finger.

"I know dad. I know….and you need to know one thing. Things will be rough for a while, we might need to curb our wants for a while, you might have to give tuitions for extra hours but we will be fine. I will be fine. Rishi will be fine. Dad, we will be fine."

He replies back with old daddy with baby eyes' smile.

He pats my head. " Are you ready, my little girl ? "

Through all the ups and downs I have experienced. I was never ready. Maybe I'll never be.

" Will I be ready for all that life has to throw at my face?"