Rani’s Diary

Dear diary,

Today, the day on the whole was too hectic. Last night my headstrong-hubby, Tanmay was on duty in a patrolling vessel offshore. Recently he got transferred to a Naval base near Mumbai.

I had to get up quite early, which I rarely do.

The very first instruction I received was at 5.30 AM. The piercing sound of the landline phone forced me to get up early. The telephone ring was too loud indeed. Rarely that instrument would remind the household of its modest but authentic presence. 

We kept that landline then, particularly for the secured broadband internet facility. Both of us used mobiles for our calls. We would occasionally receive long-distance calls from a few very close relatives, friends, and acquaintances on that landline. We would use its router to get a Wi-Fi connection for video chats through Skype with our parents. The rate at which people are giving up using wired-telephone-sets, and calling through a landline would slowly become totally outdated. The saved numbers in mobile sets gave people the freedom to the associative areas of the cerebral cortex for now we don’t need to memorize the contact numbers.  

I picked up the receiver.

From the other end, Tanmay, said with full ardor, “Hi, good morning, ‘Jhansi-ki-Rani,” and in the next moment modulating his voice he cajoled, “See, Rani, there’s some urgent work I had been instructed to attend. So, I may be a bit late this morning. Please drop Jay at his school today, OK” and in next moment switching the scale and tone, he flattered, “Jai ho, Jhansi-ki-Rani”.

He continued without waiting and giving me any chance to say my part of the greeting to say good morning. He would talk at length nonstop. An inherent habit he possesses. He explained to me in explicit detail about the route right up to the main gate of the school from the main gate of our colony on the outskirts of Mumbai in which we’re provided our residence.

He further continued, not to start the moped with the key because the very first start should be a kick-start. Immediately I said, “I’ll call the security guard to kick your old faithful follower, the rusted & screechy two-wheeler for your prescribed kick-start.”

 Notwithstanding my comments, he kept on, reminding me in a warning tone, not to venture into any unfamiliar lanes and he categorically mentioned to me the exact place where I should park the two-wheeler before entering the school.

Out of irritation, I said, “Hey I got it. Now for god’s sake spare me for I need to start my daily chores”

- Oh yeah, sure, bye.

- I smiled coyly and kept the receiver. 

Jay and I reached school on time.

And thereafter, I returned to our quarter. 

Throwing the handbag on the sofa my eyes fell on the mobile screen. Finding missed calls, I immediately called back.

A lady from Jay’s school picked up and said, “Hello, may I know who is calling?” after a pause, I continued again…

- “Here is Mrs. Ganguli, Senior KG student, Jay Ganguli’s mother?”

- Yes ma’am, be patient, don’t panic, there’s some unpremeditated bandh-call. As a precaution, we’re sending children back home. Don’t rush madam. Be careful our attendants are taking care of the kids. Don’t you worry ma’am.    

 Thanking her, I picked up the mobile, and the moped’s key and rushed outside.

Near main gate a guard came forward and informed, “Mr. Ganguli instructed us to tell you that one vehicle is going through that same route. Please park your moped here”.

Reaching there, I found that the main gate of the school was closed. I entered through the small gate. The movable iron parts screeched.

Seeing me, one of the attendants beckoned me.

- Jay is here, come this side, madam.

Our fairly talkative son, with a melancholic face sitting on a small chair, school-bag was lying beneath near his dangling legs.

- Many students have left Ma.

- Oh dear

- Where’s papa?

- Your papa is busy now.  

Holding my hand Jay walked.

His gait has uncanny resemblances to the body movements of my father. People say that the hereditary characteristics of the maternal side are too conspicuous. I observe him and wonder about the magical manifestations of nature.

As we reached near, the driver-uncle asked Jay, “How are you Jay-babu? No school today?”  

Jay gave a faint smile and said, “Today is bandh. Uncle, have you seen the Bandh people around? 

"No Jay-Babu, police didn't allow me to see the Bandh people. Anyway, let's go to the quarter and you can enjoy your favourite cartoons."

We returned home.

I got busy in my world and Jay in his.

Suddenly I realized there was awkward pin-drop-silence. Whenever Jay remained silent, he would have done something or the other not usual.  

I ran and peeped inside. He had kept a small stool and on top of that placed a small teapoy. Standing on that he was trying to take something.  

With apprehensions, I shouted, “Oh, Jay, the stool may sleep away.”

In the next moment, he fell exactly the same way that I feared.

He got a cut on the chin. It was bleeding profusely. Holding his chin with cotton to stop further bleeding, I called loudly for help from the neighbour’s quarter.

Mrs. Singh came out. The Nepali security guard too came pantingly.

Mrs. Singh suggested, “Take the car of the Sharma’s.”

Holding my breath, I drove the car to the medical centre. 

Within a few minutes, we reached there.

Jay kept mum. He knew very well that it wasn’t a good time to talk.

Stitches were applied, chin was bandaged.

And then, Tanmay was informed.

 

He was on his way to the medical centre.

With a lot of anxiety, I kept on looking outside.  

Tanmay walked into the main door. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven …"

And a part of my brain was striving haphazardly to predict what he may be asking me.  

How careless you were! Didn’t you watch him? 

Or See the safety of our child in the first place.

Or he might say how serious the injury is.

Finally, while entering the room, he overtly pronounced, ‘Thank god at least one of my pieces of advice you had taken up seriously, see the benefits of taking ‘driving lessons’.

 In that instant, I received a call from my mother. I avoided the recent accident episode. Weird though, both father-son-duo, simply kept unfailingly quiet. Both embraced me too intimately and remained calm. It was indeed a kind of eternal embrace.

Before disconnecting the call Mom said philosophically, “Rani, dear, You people are like birds, some days earlier you were near Madras and now you live near Bombay.”

Sedately I said, “Yes mummy, true, very true.”

... 

Good bye my dear diary, 

No more to pen today, more I'll put down later, till then good bye

Yours, 

Rani

                              *******