A Sunday Morning
The mini senior citizen home "We
Three" was dead quiet. It was a Sunday, though honestly, it hardly made
any difference what day it was.
The daily schedules were only slightly different on Sundays. A little more tea, a little less hurry, a little longer in bed. That was all.
When the S-es had first started living as a group, they had sat around the old dining table with a notebook and a blunt pencil and made strict rules about duties and responsibilities. No one was to have individual guest in their room. Casual guests received in common areas. Everyone pulled their weight. If one of them had to take someone for lunch or dinner he/she would take him outside to a restarunt.
Shripad looked after finance and maintenance. The bills, the plumber, the fuse box that tripped every time it rained. If it had a wire or a rupee attached to it, it was his. All three contributed equally to him, and he took care that every paisa was properly spent, and accounted for.
Kshipra ran house management. The maid, the menus, the general household machine that kept the flat from falling apart. If it needed feeding, cleaning, or scolding, it was hers. She ran it all with an iron ladle and a soft heart.
Srini handled entertainment, and saw to it that no one was sad or bored. Hers was, by far, the toughest job. On the leanest budget in the house, she had to make living interesting. A birthday out of a packet of biscuits. A festival out of a string of fairy lights. Day after day, she had to turn routine into something worth waking up for. She never failed.
There were other rules too, written in Kshipra's neat hand and stuck to the fridge with a mango magnet.
No drinking or smoking in the common area. There was no TV in common area. All of them had TV’s in their bed rooms. Shripad liked
to watch sports. Kshi Marathi and Hindi soaps and Srini anything Punjabi.
She knew the language pretty well.
Phone calls were taken in bedrooms only. If your phone rang, you picked it up and you went to your room. No exceptions.
No guests at all. If you have guests, go to your original home.
And contribution was to be paid in full, even if you went out. The home ran whether you were in it or not.
That was the deal. That was "We Three".
It must have been around nine in the
morning.
Kshipra's phone rang, sharp in the quiet flat.
Both Shripad and Srini looked up at once. They assumed it was one of her sons, or a daughter-in-law. By now they were well aware of the warm, cordial relationship they all shared. A quick Sunday morning call from the US, nothing unusual.
But it was not from the US.
Within minutes, the emergency meeting bell rang out through the house, high and insistent.
It had been Shripad's idea, that bell. A small, heavy brass bell, kept right in the middle of the dining table. Whenever all three of them had to meet, right now, no excuses, someone rang it.
The sound still made Srini's heart jump.
Within minutes, "We Three" were at the dining table, breathing a little fast, eyes wide.
"Bad news," Kshipra announced, her face grim.
"What happened?" Shripad asked, already bracing himself.
Kshipra put her phone down with a click. "Our bai is not coming today. Some death somewhere. So no breakfast. And no lunch."
The kitchen clock ticked. Three seniors looked at each other over the empty table.
As usual, Kshi was the first to break.
A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out in a loud, sing-song voice, "Mumma! Mumma! Please help. We are hungry."
Srini smirked at the old call, her eyes suddenly bright. "Don't shout, my babies," she said, falling straight into the game. "Mumma will make something for you."
It was an old joke, older than their wrinkles.
When the three of them were small kids, living in Panase wada in Pen, they would play a make-believe game called 'Bhatukali'. A sort of role-playing house-house game. Somehow, probably because she was the eldest, Srini always assumed the role of mother. Kshi was always assigned the role of the lowly maid. And Shripad, round-cheeked and soft, was always the baby in arms.
Srini, the mother, cooked for the kids. They all ate make-believe food with great seriousness. Kshi always had to wash the clothes, clean the utensils, and eat afterwards, alone in the corner. It was slavery, pure and simple. But Kshi never complained. For her, Srini was the ideal role model then. She would have scrubbed a real floor just to hear Srini say 'good girl'.
Back in the kitchen, Srini wiped her hands on her saree and took charge. "If I make grilled sandwiches and tomato soup, as brunch, would that be okay?"
"Yes, mother!" came the reply in unison, Shripad and Kshi grinning like the children they had once been.
As Srini started her preparations, pulling bread and tomatoes out of the fridge, Shripad's telephone rang. Sharp and sudden.
The call was from the US. He hurried towards his room, phone in hand, the door clicking shut behind him.
Srini was bent over the fridge, hunting for butter. Kshi was still in her mischievous mood. She sidled up close to Srini, nudged her with an elbow, and whispered, "Can you at least now tell me why you always wanted to be the mom, Srini?"
Srini did not look up at first. Then she smiled, a little sadly, a little fondly. "You know, I had a baby brother at that time. I would see every day my mother doing all the housework, cooking, and caring for my baby brother. We used to have a maid for washing and cleaning. So I would always assign that role to you. And Shripad was such a nice looking child then. So beautiful."
Her voice went soft. "I would do everything with him. Making him sleep in my lap, massaging his little legs and hands, giving him make-believe baths, feeding him with a fake spoon. Don't tell him, but I also used to lift him near my bosom and embrace him. You were too young then. You never understood anything."
Both of them burst out into a hearty laugh, leaning against the fridge, suddenly girls again.
Just then Shripad came out of his room and caught them mid-giggle. "What was the joke about?" he asked, suspicious and curious.
Kshi wiped her eyes, still grinning. "We were talking about our little game of 'House-House' in Panase wada, and how you were Mumma's favourite baby."
Shripad joined the joke without missing a beat. "Do you know, girls, that I liked that role. The way Srini would kiss me on the cheeks, hug me, massage me and make me sleep in her lap. So I never said no to her. I also liked the way Srini would get angry with you and scold you as a maid, because otherwise none of us could talk you out of anything."
The kitchen filled with laughter again, warm and loud enough to cover the growling in three hungry stomachs.
Kshi was lost in memories now, her eyes distant and bright at the same time.
She turned to Shripad. "Shri, do you remember that boy Sonavane, or something, when I was in the fourth standard? He thought of himself as some sort of king of the class and ordered everyone around. He looked like a proper ruffian, so everyone used to be scared of him. He used to tell all the girls that they were his slaves and would have to do whatever he said."
Her voice tightened. "One day he brought a bamboo stick with him to school and threatened me. He said he would lift up my skirt with the stick, and the others would have great fun. I was mortally scared. I came running and told you and Srini about his threat."
She smiled then, a fierce, fond smile. "I still remember what you two did. You came to my class after school was over and found that guy. Shripad, you held his hands from behind and twisted them so hard that he started crying like a baby. Then Srini stepped in and gave him such a hard slap under his ear that he must have seen stars."
She clapped her hands once, delighted at the memory. "After that he became so straight, he never even looked at any girl again."
"Yes! I remember that," said Shripad, grinning.
Kshi's eyes glinted. "The funniest part came much later. After I kicked Mohan out of my house and started managing the estate myself, this same Sonavane came to me looking for a job. He looked very poor and needy, head bowed, hands shaking. I sent him to one of my friends, who gave him the job of a watchman."
Kshi threw her head back and had a hearty laugh, free and loud. Both Shripad and Srini joined her, the kitchen ringing with it.
Then Shripad stopped, frowning. "Hey, you never told me that you kicked Mohan out of your house?"
Kshi waved a hand, airy and unbothered. "It's a long story, Shri. Some other time. Let's eat now. Mumma is ready with the sandwiches."
As they had lunch, Shripad looked a little
perturbed. His sandwich sat half-eaten on the plate.
As always, Srini noticed it first. "What's wrong, Shri?" she asked, her voice soft.
"Nothing much," he said, stirring his soup without focus. "My younger daughter's youngest baby is a bit unwell. He has started teething and there's a stomach upset."
"Wow! How many kids does she have?" Kshi asked, eyes widening.
"Four, Kshi," Shripad said, a faint pride slipping through the worry.
"That's great," Kshi said, her face lighting up. "I wish I had four kids."
"Kshi, you are mad, raving mad," Srini smirked, shaking her head.
Shripad ignored both of them. His brow was still furrowed. "I felt a little peeved," he said quietly. "My daughter did not speak to me herself. She told Bill, her Spanish husband, to tell me. Silly girl. Of course Bill is very nice and polite, yet—"
His voice trailed off.
Both Kshi and Srini understood his feelings at once. The old hurt of a father kept at arm's length. They decided to keep mum.
Lunch was over. Plates were cleared, the bell on the table untouched.
All Three S-es were back in their rooms, the house quiet again.
(Continued in Chapter 4)
(All characters places except for geographical names events actions of people are fictional. Any similarity found is purely accidental. All images AI generated)