Dil Beparwah | ✔

fifty

||CHAPTER 50||
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┊V A R U N┊

Most afternoons, knitting occupied Bebe's time. She would knit when Dadu served in the army, producing maroon gloves and mufflers when his postings spanned the winter months. She would knit when my father was in the merchant navy and sailed for months on end, producing multi-functional monkey caps that could also be used as a small sack for storing things. And she would knit for me when, after two long months of summer, I was to be sent off to boarding school, producing sweaters that fit a size too small but tightened till I came home to her for the next vacation.

Often, I'd sit by her feet while she wove the threads with the thick needles. She'd let me borrow a long yarn from her ball of wool, and I would show her new tricks that I had learned on the cat's cradle. Sometimes we would exchange our crafts, other times reviews.

This time, it was memories.

"Lattu kyu nahi ayi?" She asked me for the third time since my arrival.

On days like this, it was advised not to jog her memory. She would remember eventually. Interlocking the looped strand of yarn, I showed her one of my oldest productions: string in a ring. Bebe peered at the velvet hair-tie I had stolen this time, waiting for me to perform the trick.

Grinning, I released my middle and little fingers. The tinier loops uncoiled and the hair-tie fell into her lap. "Kyu Bebe, hoon na mai magician?"

"Ae hoje magician da ki fayda jo apni biwi nu hi gaayab kar dein?"

"Keho ji gaal kardio Bebe, mein usko bhala kyu gayab karanga?"

She stooped forward in her rocking chair, "Toh kidhar hai woh? Baat kara tu meri."

"Busy hogi," I tried to reason. "Aap sweater dikhao, bunn gaya?"

"Busy hogi? Evein kive busy ho gayi? Ode pyo naal gaal hui thi, Arora ji aaye sige."

The house-help chose this moment to jut in, "Bebe wo Arora ji nahi, Brar ji thhe."

"Brar janaab kaun hai?"

A detailed reintroduction put my grandmother into deep thought. She nodded, passively listening, relapsing into silence as she picked the needles up to resume the process.

The outward dismissal prompted me to spend the rest of the afternoon holed up in Dadu's study. What missed my consideration was the kitty party that my mother hosted on Thursdays in the living room that I had to cross to reach the study.

Loud, boisterous laughter boomed through the house as aunties in bright colored salwars and gaudier make-up came into view. Never quite understood what joy gossiping about acquaintances and family friends brought them, but I was not in the position to be the pot that called the kettle black.

An assortment of fried snacks and mock-alcoholic beverages was laid upon the table, and if I were lucky, may be I could sneak some from the kitchen later. But it was Pammi auntie who called me out just before I could step out of the living room.

"Oye Varun puttar, apni Pam ko hello-shello nai bolega?"

The glare my mother directed at me forced me to turn on my heel and fake the missed greeting. "Pairipauna Pammi auntie, sab changa?"

"Haan, sab vadiya hai, tu apna das! Kehoja chal raha ha tere woh start-up shat-up?" She barked a laugh. "Hein, kya naam bataya thha? Bijnes?"

"BizNest," Maa amended, offering her a glass of orange juice. "Media award jeet ke aya hai abhi."