Bad Flaffy, No Donut for You

She was sure he'd come back. That's why when her friends came over looking sad and held her hand, she just smiled. When they told her to cheer up and come shopping with them, she went shopping with them. She didn't need to cheer up. She knew he'd come back. He'd always liked how clean her house was. How she always made sure the pillow covers matched the duvet. The way her clothes were sorted out by use (daily wear, exercise, office, parties, Indian get-togethers, casual evenings), color (reds, greens and blues - she didn't like oranges and yellows, too bright) and length (shorts, skirts, pants and pjs, ankle skirts, saris). Every day she made up their bed (on both sides), vacuumed her house and made sure there were fresh flowers in the living room vase. Because she knew he'd come back. And imagine if the flowers were faded when he did.

Perspective

She squinted in the sudden, dazzling sunshine. She had forgotten how bright her country was, how every sense seemed to go into overdrive as soon as she crossed the border. Recognition and then, an irrepressible smile. She stepped into the familiar embrace, the inimitable fragrance she had grown up with, a combination of something floral, sandalwood and talcum, enveloped her. She was welcome. For an instant she stayed in the circle of reassurance, felt all her hard won independence and strength seeping out of her. The one place she didn't feel like she had to communicate, that she had to work to be understood and to understand, that she was in a parallel universe, on one bank of a raging river shouting over the wind to the other side, trying to be heard. She sighed, her second skin shed. She belonged. Her mother stepped back from the embrace. "You have become a skeleton, papa. Skin and bones! At least I can fatten you up now that you're back". She laced her arm through her mother's as they started walking towards the car, "Amma, what are you saying? I'm fattttt!!!!!!!!" she exclaimed, thinking, for an instant, of all those mornings in the gym and all the calorie-watching that never seemed to be enough. She looked at her dangerously thin daughter. Sometimes she didn't even know who this human being was; where had the child who couldn't get enough of her cooking gone. She felt like she had to communicate, that she had to work to be understood and to understand, that she was in a parallel universe, on one bank of a raging river shouting over the wind to the other side, trying to be heard. She sighed. Her daughter had grown up. She'd have to learn to adjust, to accept her changes.

A Date

Monday trudged into the pub. Friday was at the bar already (which was altogether appropriate since he was the owner and bartender-in-chief). He greeted her with a cheery wave and a thumbs-up sign. Yikes! Why people would stick their thumb up, she could never understand. Such an unbearably positive gesture. She nudged Tuesday with her shoulder as she settled down next to him. "So how have you been?" he asked. He was the most business-like of the 5 of them. No greeting, no smile, ice-breakers of all sorts were eschewed. She kind of liked that. "The usual" she replied with resigned gloom. Her head was aching, she was completely disoriented, she looked like she had just dragged herself out of bed and stumbled out of her house (which was a very close approximation of what she had done). She looked around at the familiar faces of Wednesday and Thursday. There was some comfort in routine. In an endlessly cheerless life, where every day felt like all the grey in the world had leeched into it, there was something almost pleasant about the daily stop at Friday's (even if the interior was done up in ridiculously cheery colours). Wednesday grinned sympathetically at her. She and Wednesday always got along well. They were shopping buddies, Marvin fans and W could sometimes bring her periliously close to laughing. Often, it was the thought of making it to Wednesday that kept her going, through the daily trials and tribulations she had to face. "A rum and coke as usual?" Wednesday asked her. Monday nodded glumly. Thursday piped up (in his ridiculously young voice), "I've got a new plan. Guys, wanna hear it?" He was the perpetual optimist, always expecting tomorrow to be the day everything would go right. He had an infallbile faith in the miracle that was waiting to happen, just around the corner. Monday shook her head. "Aww, c'mon you could just listen" he complained. Wednesday grinned at her again. Yup, it was almost nice, being right here in this place right at this moment. Monday settled herself down more comfortably. Friends made it all seem better.

Cautionary note (placed strategically at the end of the post): Felt it was about time to write about more serious things. This is to forestall all accusations that my posts are becoming too heavy! Flippancy is for the birds, one feels.