The Purple Umbrella

As the dusk grew thicker, the drizzle turned into a downpour, nothing like the locals weren’t used to. The wet smell of land and the sizzle at the omelet stall lightened up the humble chawl beside the railway tracks.

“And since that day, all the trees decided to take a vow of silence, for the day they’d speak, humanity would’ve failed the world and most of all itself,” her light brown hands dipped themselves into the small cup containing oil, and then perused through the head of the small girl kneeling in the other direction. About eight years old. She wore a cute green top that had a few stitch marks below the waist. She had bright pink cheeks and hair that came till her shoulders, which she’d later tie with a band. The lady putting oil in her hair casually glanced at the clock, looking at the time, the wrinkles curled up on her forehead, her pupils moved in the direction of the window to register the intensity of the dark. She finished up combing the hair ending up with a Sagar Choti that her mother used to make her every Saturday when she was young. She then told the little girl that she had to go for the evening prayers and asked her to go down the alley and get the packet of Agarbattis. Her face lit up with excitement; she nodded her head, twirling the fresh Choti, and ran towards the door. She took the umbrella from behind the door, pushing her small feet inside blue colored shoes, she ran out. The lady smiled and sat facing the door expectantly. After a few seconds, the little girl came back running and out of breath; she kept one hand of her on the doorframe and the other on her thighs, trying to breathe. The smile on the lady’s face widened as her eyebrows raised sarcastically. “Paise?” the little girl smiled. The lady got up and moved towards a rustic wooden drawer. Cascading through a stack of sarees, she found a small purse in which her husband gifted her earrings at the time of their marriage. She took out a 20 Rs note and firmly placed it in the hands of her daughter.

“Rekha?...,” he whispered gently. “It’s a girl.” She opened her numb eyes to look upon the face she’d never forget; her lips opened, but no words came out, just a dazed-out smile. As she turned her head through the other side, a small droplet of tear spilled through her left eye.

Rekha took a bath and then went for the evening prayers; she’d learned this from her mother, who always insisted all her kids come forth for the prayers, “It’s a look inside your own soul,” she used to say with her wet hair hurriedly entangled with a towel, always a white one. Rekha had big brown eyes, a result of applying kajal daily, as her mother used to say. She then cleaned the entire house. Although it was a one-room kitchen, she kept it as neat as she could, with the covers on the small sofa replaced, the decorations on the television box sorted, and a mild smell of Mogra throughout the house.

With the Diya lit, the house seemed to be completed as a home. On the radio, it was the birthday special program of Lata Mangeshkar with “Tu Jahan Jahan chalega,” stringing the chords of nostalgia in Rekha’s head. She knew most of the songs and would often sing them in her head along with the tune. She then started the preparations for the dinner and had brought Eggplant for the ‘Bharta’ that she was going to surprise her husband with. She picked up Eggplant from its stem and greased it generously with oil, and roasted it on the blue flame of the Gas; amidst the preparation, she checked the clock; it had been almost half an hour. Rekha turned the stove to low and went to their small balcony to see outside, the rain had stopped, and kids in shorts were running in the mud behind cycle tires. ‘Nidhi’ and her Purple umbrella, however, were nowhere to be seen. A wave of concern passed by her head; she turned off the stove, took the dupatta, and went out to look for her.

“He knows what we’ve been through, the pain and anguish that we suffer, yet he just sits there. Seeing the lengths humans go through once they abandon dignity, so what makes him wait? The world is as bad as it is, yet he waits for people who still seek solace in the idea of a supreme being when in reality, they just wanted to seek solace in themselves”. Nidhi was lying in her lap, already asleep; Rekha knew this yet kept speaking softly while looking outside the window.

A droplet of sweat came dissolving the sindoor on her forehead as she walked hurriedly through damp corridors of the small establishment and went outside. Repeatedly adjusting the falling dupatta from her shoulder and at an increased pace, she began looking in the vicinity. She approached the kids playing there, “Pinkya! Come here,” she said to a kid there, “Did you see Nidhi come here.” The kid looked at her, “Son, say something, my daughter, your friend?”. She kept asking the questions, each one more desperate than the last, while the kid just stood there, smiling.

“I’m sorry baccha, you ok?”. Nidhi turns her head on the other side of the bed, her eyes swollen from the crying. Rekha stood by the corner of the bed; her throat felt blocked from guilt. She moved towards her and held her from the back as she laid there while moving her mouth close to her ear. “I don’t know, you of all people is the last person I’d behave badly with," she whispered in sorrow, not being able to control her tears, "I know your father works very hard, and he loves us and yet sometimes, I just feel empty, I love you, you know” “I’m, I’m…”

She came rushing towards the main street only to see that the Agarbatti store was closed. Her legs trembled as she saw the closed shutter. With people now visibly noticing her panic and the mud stains on the bottom of her clothes, Rekha started shouting the name of her daughter. Her voice breaking down with every appeal, the shopkeepers sat motionlessly, a few of them gossiping amongst themselves. Amidst the hustle-bustle of the city, the blinding lights, and the scooters, she stood like a distorted soul. People started to surround Rekha, one of the teenage boys standing there was her neighbor; he held her elbow carefully, trying to take her off the road, saying, “Uhh Bhabhi, let’s let’s leave.” She shrugged him off harshly; her red running nose spilled as she stumbled upon the central lane, closely missing a few vehicles. On the other side of the road there was the local “Supriya dance bar,” the red and yellow sign, piercing through the night and the eyes of Rekha, she saw middle-aged men standing outside with a cigarette in their hands, looking at her, smirking.

From the front came a black and yellow rickshaw, and stopped expectantly beside the road. A man got off from the driver’s seat, about 5’8, in his uniform, and moved towards Rekha. She saw him and paused. The dry lips of hers opened as she ran across towards him, “I..I cannot find Nidhi, she just disappeared, don’t know where she must have wandered off… she.. ”, “How long has it been”? he calmly whispered, looking into her conscience, the wandering pupils of her stopped. “Huh?” she gasped. He took out his white handkerchief and wiped the salty water off her face; he then held her and took her to the rickshaw, “Basa” (sit). His face, not betraying any emotion. They came back to the Chawl. Prashant, the rickshaw driver - her husband, took her upstairs, holding her closely. Rekha now weak and wearing a very loose white top she had brought years ago, her hair having rogue strands of grey, her feet naked, stepping on the moss on the stairs, her eyes not blinking once, the once lush and chubby cheeks now caved in.

Prashant opened the wooden door of their house; the place was in a state of disrepair. The white tiles had turned pale yellow, the paint on the walls peeling off, covers on the sofa torn, the T.V kept aside, and a layer of dust accumulated on everything. He sat her on a plastic chair kept in the middle of the room, the look on her face still the same, the eyes now red with the arteries inside the cornea now visible. He then came back with a handful of ironically colorful pills and gave her water in a glass of steel; she unflinchingly swallowed them. “I’ll go get something to eat,” he said, “I’m keeping the phone here if there’s anything, call me,” she didn’t acknowledge; neither did he wait for it, closing the door from the outside.

She sat there in the middle of the room; her head tilted slightly left. After a few minutes, she heard muffled footsteps; she slowly lifted her face and looked to her side, in the corner, and saw Nidhi standing in the distance, looking straight into her Rekha's eyes and smiling. She wore the same pink top with the purple umbrella in her left hand. Rekha slowly widened her eyes and lifted her head, opening dry lips and breathing heavily. After a few gasps, she exhaled heavily and smiled. "Paise?" she said in a shrilled voice; the girl kept looking at her for a while, she then shook her head in denial.

Rekha moved her head in confusion; the girl took her right hand and held her right ear; her smile turned into a mild frown as she looked at Rekha expectantly. Rekha kept staring at the corner; she then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The weight of her sorrows barely managed by the plastic chair she sat on, the bright in the tube-light, fell onto her brows as she closed her eyes and kept breathing consciously.