sushmita bhowmick

Drama Others

3  

sushmita bhowmick

Drama Others

The Scarf

The Scarf

5 mins
243


“Mum, can you please come quickly. I am at shop #201.”

It was Lilibeth. She sounded terrified. I untied my apron, turned off the burner, and taking my purse rushed out. Half an hour back, I had sent her to the shopping center for prawns and coconut milk. She had reminded me of a few other things, taken money from the drawer and left. I had told her to get only the essential since I knew that her cramps got bad from the second day onwards.

In my hurry, I did not take the umbrella. It was easier by foot than driving. I had to cross the street and enter through the backside of the shopping complex. It was almost 12 pm and the sun was dazzling hot. Squinting, as I waited for the signal to turn green, I wondered what could have happened. Had she fallen down from dizziness? In Singapore, thinking about mishaps that are commonplace for example, in India, was difficult. This was a clinically hygienic city.

I hurried up the steps to the second floor. This was an old hawker center and did not have escalators. I was walking briskly towards the grocer, at the distant corner of the corridor, when I heard, “Mum.” I stopped and saw Lilibeth standing inside a garment shop.

“What are you doing here?”

She was crying. “Mum.”

Before I could say anything else, the lady, presumably the owner, said, “She was trying to walk out with the scarf.”

“What!” I couldn’t have been more surprised.

“No mum. I never walk out. She does not believe me,” Lilibeth was hysterical.

I calmed her down. She had been at the grocer’s when she had felt a big clot of blood and to her horror, it overflowed the confines of her sanitary napkin and she could feel her shorts getting wet. Not knowing what to do, she had thought of coming to the garment store and getting a big scarf to tie around her waist. Having selected one she liked, she had tied it around her waist. The shop did not have a mirror, so she had walked out to catch a glimpse in the shop façade. That was when the shop keeper had raised an alarm and cornered her.

When Lilibeth had tried to explain, the owner had started abusing her saying that migrants were thieves and fraudsters. The grocer, who knew Lilibeth, had come overhearing the commotion and bargained a call for Lilibeth, to me, before the shop keeper called the police.

“Aunty, she not like this. She good girl. Know her for three years now,” I told the lady.


“No. No. No. No want to know. Call Police.” This was followed by a barrage in Chinese; her expression and gesticulations clearly showed that those were not kind words.

This went on for a long time. The heat was getting to me and my head was throbbing. All this while Lilibeth had been standing, red in the face, eyes downcast. I guessed the cramps were tearing her abdomen. I knew how uncomfortable she was inside her pant. Wet and soggy. She had dared not open the shawl from around her waist. Even after all the drama.

“Aunty, I pay fine,” I said, volunteering to do something totally against my character.

Lilibeth looked up surprised. She knew I was not someone to cower down. She has seen me fight many a war, even if the battles were lost. And here I was ready to bribe.

“You pay $50.”

“What! The scarf is $5 and you are asking me to pay $50. And not even when she was stealing it.” I was shouting. The grocer, who had tried his best to mediate till then, looked visibly upset.

“Ma don’t get angry.” Then to the shop keeper, “Kah-yin have no shame lah!” He could probably speak to her like that, being neighbors for many years.

Ma,” this to me, “Give her $20. Sorry for this. Better if the girl had told Kah-yin and moved out.”

“But you know Lilibeth for so many years. Do you think she can do it?”

I took out the bills and practically threw them on the counter, the only way to show how disgusted I felt.

Ma I know, but not Kah-yin. Lilibeth, go now anpe.”

Lilibeth bend down slowly and picked up the grocery bag. She did not look at any of us standing there and slowly walked on, head bent in shame.

Working in Singapore, earning a living to send back home, where a daughter was studying, old parents were building a house to call their own, she had escaped a major crisis. If the police had been called, it would be a cancellation of her work visa. And an end to all her dreams.

I caught up with her and tried to take the grocery bag from her.

“No. No. I carry.” She held on to it with an unnecessary force. We walked in silence, and once home, I said, “You change and rest. I will finish cooking and then we have lunch.”

By the time I sat with my prawn and rice, Lilibeth had taken her bath and was sitting near the corner of the sofa by the window. We had fallen into a habit of eating lunch while watching Bollywood movies.

“How is it?” I asked referring to the food.

“Very good mum. Thank you, mum.”

While she was cleaning the kitchen, I lay down on the couch, nestled in my favorite posture. Her work done, she came and sat near the couch.

“Mum…”

“Yes?”

“I took four.”

“Four?”

“Four scarves.”

“What!”

“You pay $20, I took four. She wins, we win!”

“Lilibeth! I am amazed.” I tried to sound suitably upset.

“Now when I go there, I look at her in the eye. She knows she not able to fool us and cheat us.”

Later, when she went to her room, I just couldn’t help a smirk.


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