“Ready to go na?” acchan asked for the 15th time. Kiran aunty was with us to help us out with the luggage. She brought wadapav and jalebi so that we can have it on our way to airport. Madhu still hanging around in front of the mirror, making sure her mask goes along with her outfit. Amma checking the gas cylinder again, doubting herself, calling Kiran aunty to check again and again. The house that I lived in for so many years, felt different that day.
Everything hits different about Bombay on the way to Kerala. The banners in Marathi, the green gold bangled aunties, the last wadapaw, the last. When we know we’ll meet all of this after a long while or never, even the very ordinary hits different, making us feel it was not that ordinary. Sitting in the backseat of the taxi, I was observing every minute things I can. I saw a different Bombay that day than I ever did in my 17 years. I felt like pausing the moment but was too late for that. Felt like I should have spent all my days in Bombay thinking it’s my last day, would have understood Bombay more closely. Dabawala’s (who carrying food from home and deliver to office employees) with a ton of steel dabba’s behind him was just beside me, waiting with us for the signal to turn green. I wanted to know where this each dabba’s came from, I wanted to know what’s all inside it, I wanted to talk to those aunties who made that food and wanted to write down the recipe. But the signal turned green. We have to move on.
Looking down at the night, we’ll see the city stars. Twinkling blinking, moving. The city at night and the sky at night are the same. City itself is a galaxy with a milky way. All of this reminded me of the song in the movie La La Land, “City of stars, are you shining just for me?’’
Reached Kerala. A realizational journey I would say. Kunjumama waiting outside the airport with his car as usual before time. Like a tradition now, everything will happen exactly like the last time. “Since when were you waiting for us?’’ acchan asks.
‘’not long ya, just reached. Come quick get inside, ammuma is waiting since so long.’’
We’ll enter the car, acchan and kunjumama will start talking about politics
once a banner of a political party passes. They’ll talk about the parties one year activities, their pros and pones till we reach home. Madhu will be getting her deepest sleep. Amma calling and informing everyone that we
reached safely and are on the way to home.
It was raining a bit, I saw the same city stars, on the leaves of the plants. Had a heavy dinner. Rice, sambar, chicken. She made it exactly the way their granddaughters like.
“Krishna, why did you cut your hair so short?’’ ammuma starts. Though it’s just a few inches, its way to much for her.
“Just for a change ammuma’’
“What change? A girls beauty lies in her black dark hairs, you’ll not understand what I’m saying now, grow old you’ll realize what ammuma was talking about.’’
I started realizing from where my mother got all of her punch dialogues.
‘’In our age we never used all of your chemical shampoo, we used ‘tali’, do you all even know what a ‘tali’ is?’’
We know what a tali is. She talks about it every time. We act as we don’t know and let her talk. We like to see the spark and excitement in her when she talks about them. It’s part of our home coming tradition. Electricity went down later that night. Candles and torches were lit all over the place. Every members still in the dinner table with empty plates and unwashed hands, talking about the marriage we have to attend next week. My aunties’ explaining how their sari look by describing every minute detail.
The orange light of the kerosene lamp made everyone nostalgic and started talking about those good old days. Slowly one by one, flies started getting attracted to the light. All of them decide to windup the talk for now.
Madhu with Vigha, our cousin sister went to brush outside in the dark. Both are great companies for each other.
“hey look there!’’ can you see that orange light?’’ Vigha asked surprisingly. “Oh my god, yaa what is that thing? Moving up and down. Is it a spark?”
Madhu asked with a brush in her mouth. “I think it’s an old firefly.”
“Really? How come?’’
“When fireflies are born they have bright yellow light, as they become older they become darker and darker, yellow to orange. And at the end, full black then die.’’
“So I guess it’s a pretty old firefly.’’
‘’yaaa’’
They adored that old firefly while brushing. It was our neighbor, smoking beedi in the dark. I didn’t tell them that it wasn’t a firefly. I felt their observation and thinking was pretty beautiful so I’ll let it be that way. They inspired me to open my eyes, look deep into the darkness, and find my firefly, before it becomes dark and fades away forever.
This story won All Kerala Level Literature Fest short story writing contest by Mathrubhumi 2021.
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