The wrinkled look was the rage!
She loved it! She could just don her shirts, skirts, whatever without a hitch…. No time wasted on ironing out stubborn creases and wrinkles. And even her Mom had accepted it, although she emphasised, “Not in my house!” (Drifits came to the rescue there).
It was simply amazing that the more she grew up, the lesser she had time for mundane things… Keeping the home spic and span, laundry, and ironing, among many other inconsequential. The sheer time that was wasted… she could do another Ph.D!
“How can you wear that dress to the party? Can you not see the wrinkles on it?” And she could not fathom, how would a wrinkle or two, mar her dress or her appearance. In fact, she felt Mom with her smooth, honey complexion, deep brown eyes where all the secrets of the world lay submerged and her long black silky hair always neatly coiffured, commanded attention and respect.
She could not think of anyone in the family, who would not come to her mother for help, reassurance, or advice. One who could easily iron out differences and wrinkled foreheads. Her rich voice seemed to emanate deep within her heart. Listening to the melodious narration of folk tales, stories from the Ramayan, Mahabharat, Vedas and the rest, many a times her siblings and she would roll off into slumberland.
As time passed, she lost her grandparents and one fine day even her father. The bustling sounds of the household shifted. Her ever-busy parent, who had a kind word and a poor joke to share with all, leaving a wake of smiles and laughter wherever he went, left a void in their home. Mother seemed to have taken the jolt very poorly.
Overnight there appeared wrinkles.
And grey!
Wrinkles on her face, the beautiful ethereal, Devi Lakshmi, turned into a haggard Sybil.
She snapped out of her reverie.
She owed it to dad and even her dear mom. To iron out the wrinkles that had cropped up suddenly in their lives.
All those who had sought out her mom’s help for sorting out their problems and differences suddenly had no time nor reason to visit…. Not even to share their cuppa of hot coffee, the talk of the town.
The loneliness surrounding her seeped in, in towards her heart and soul. The lilting voice was barely audible… The silence was tormenting. Piyali struggled long with what to do…All her attempts at trivial conversation, her plans to get her mom to venture out, or even to get back to running the house fizzled like a damp squib.
“Aunty, can I have some milk please…Mom’s gone out. I found this pup near the corner, where few urchins were tossing pebbles at it, to see whether its alive. I was so angry, I shouted at them at the top of my voice. This little bag of bones whimpered and two of its siblings emerged.” On and on went Shweta.
There was a whimpering at our door, as if on cue. We all turned towards the sound and in trudged the smallest, scrawniest little pup ever, but…. With the deepest, brownest, eyes like chocolate ice cream. The intelligence leaped out and crushed us in one humongous wave. If this were a comic strip, it would have been an electrifying moment, with thunderbolt symbols flying around the panel.
The chocolate ice cream brown eyes besieged the human brown eyes and whimpering gamboled to her feet. The piteous call, the lively eyes, the pathetic backstory, did magic. She bent down to extend her bony hands, while speaking to it in her deep sonorous voice… Oh you little one! Who troubled you? Don’t let anyone scare you… We will fight them together. You just let me know! Ok?
She straightened up as she remembered something. “Yes, Shweta, of course I have milk for this poor little guy. And I might have a little bowl too, just right for him.”
She bustled towards the kitchen, with a spring in her step, and in a flash came back with a generous helping of milk for the poor mite.
Guess what? As the hungry puppy fell into the bowl itself, in its eagerness to lick the bowl clean, the little tail wagged nineteen to the dozen.
After a long dry spell when the first showers of Monsoon, bring respite to the parched earth, the petrichor spreads Heavenward, filling the world with promise, a joyous rhythmic movement wipes off the sorrow, replacing it with a slowly spreading smile.
And such was the smile on her Mother’s face… as she watched the little mite, climb out of the bowl, satiated. Its little abdomen distended, and its face contorted in a joyous smile. It wagged nonstop, attempting to chomp my mom’s saree.
“Now you want to eat my Pallu?” Laughing she bent down again to pet it.
The gurgling laughter reminded Piyali of yesteryears as the house once again prepared to receive the smiles, laughter, and soothing voice of her mother.
The laughter erased the wrinkles sitting on her forehead, like illegal trespassers on a lordly estate.
