And then she was gone... #ATOZCHALLENGE - A

“It’s loud enough to wake up the entire neighbourhood,” remarked a rather bleary eyed Ansh, “and you tell me I don’t even realise. Aai someone will report us to the cops for sure”.

“Gappa bas, veda” (Shut up, silly boy!), I retorted, chiding him to not make a fuss over such a small thing. He just happened to be awake for cramming a stockpile of books for his exam. Had it been a regular day, he would have been too unconscious to realise the existence of Parvati mausi’s divine alarm.

Each night mausi slept her forty winks akin to a NASA research scientist on the way toward a path-breaking discovery. As was her routine since years, she woke up at the dot of 4 AM. She'd begin her day with a bath and move to the puja room to pay obeisance to a line-up of deities. I am seldom awake at such an unearthly hour. Nonetheless, I have been an occasional witness to this morning ritual.

“Asha? Tumhi Prasad ghetla kaa?” (Asha, did you partake of the blessings)

Even before I could reply she seemed to know intuitively that I had not consumed it, and she slowly limped towards the kitchen table. She picked up a small steel tiffin box and reverse-limped towards me with the offerring.

“One for you and one for Ansh!” 

She always seemed to think of him fondly.

“Right hand!” she reprimanded. 

I complied like an errant little 8-year old. 

Her calloused palm placed two ladoos on my right hand. My ineligible palm customarily hid beneath it. 

When mausi was done cooking, the kitchen looked quite a sight. However, her daily spread was always a stunner. I thoroughly enjoyed Mausi’s fare as did Ansh and Amitabh (my husband). Pav bhaji and shrikand were on the menu today. Onion-skin and potato-skin scattered all over the kitchen table. Mausi would eventually clean it and dispose it off in a single limping gait to the common dustbin in the corridor.

She had this secret paani puri recipe she guarded with her life. She would carefully broach the topic of a pani puri soiree when she was sure of uninterrupted kitchen time in her kitchen. Yes, mine on a legal document but hers in every other sense. Her kitchen was her fiefdom where she made the rules. Slippers were strictly off limits as was entering without bathing in the morning. And her routine puja had to be completed before we even strayed into her alleged sacred space.

I had noticed Sheila’s curious expression each time she looked at Mausi but could never suspect what would ensue next. Images began to flash before me when my CEO--the person who banked on me so much to deliver to extremely demanding clients--just heard I had tendered my resignation. Mausi had pledged her loyalty to Sheila after almost 15 years of serving our household. How easily she relinquished the kitchen that had fed us food and fed her more and more ego. 

Just for a few bucks... 
See how people switch loyalties. 

I am sure my ex-CEO must have felt the same. His LinkedIn said he had invested in a promising company and was the posterboy of the “Our Team” section of their website. All was well that ended well. “This too shall pass for me”, I thought. 

She picked her belongings, looked hard and long and so very fondly at Ansh, and then limped outside the door of my home one last time.