My mother, crispy pakodas and the hot coffee.
The encroaching clouds were showering their love on the barren lands. It had not rained like this. At least, as far as I remember. The bright side of rainfall is that the primary schools across the village were shut down. I need not pretend to my annoying teacher. Instead, I would stay at home, in the arms of my loving mother eating crispy pakodas and drinking hot coffee. But today, my uncle brought me to his house. He lives up the hill a few blocks away from my home. I wish the rain stops and I could walk back to my home and later, let it rain howsoever.
My mind traced three years back. The time when the first walls of my home were raised.
“Buy "Good-Day" cookies. You will like it with coffee.” My father gave me 10 rupees. I ran to the shop on the street corner and brought a cheaper "Parle-G" biscuits and returned the remaining 6 rupees. He did not ask me why. But, I had seen him worrying about the money to build my home. So, I had secretly added my 6 rupees share to it.
I walked up to the window and looked at my home. The blue painted palace with a red roof, surrounded by three coconut trees and heaps of jasmine plants. My mother would be waiting with open arms, crispy pakodas and hot coffee. I wish the rain stops and I could walk back to my home.
The time when they painted the roof- red, people had said- 'Chotu... new house! You are getting rich.' Little did they knew that my mother had got poor. She had lost four gold bangles, a gold chain and my grannies nose ring.
A pat on my back brought me to the present. 'Chotu... Cofee.' my aunt whispered. She gave me a steel glass half filled with coffee, (My mother would had filled it fully, I thought,) and I again looked at my home. The blue painted palace with a red roof was sliding down the hill, walls breaking apart and the red roof was juggling. Inside- was my mother, crispy pakodas and the hot coffee.