"Babai! Ei babai!"
A young boy pulled his blanket over his head, trying to cut off his mother's voice.
But Rudroneel could only remain indifferent for so long, before he felt a shadow fall over him. He slowly lowered his blanket, looking up to meet those dangerous eyes hidden behind the sugary sweet smile holding a red hot spatula.
"Toke boro korar jonno ami nijer chakri ta charlam. Kano? Jate tui pore pore ghumate parish? Sengupto poribarer chele sheshe giye hobe rickshawala?!", the woman went off on the typical desi mom emotional rant which I am sure we all have learnt by heart.
(I left my job to make sure you grew up well. Why?! So that you can sleep in the entire day? The son of the family of Sengupta growing up to be a rickshawala?!)
The boy's mind tried to decide between answering back or not, knowing the end the result is going to be the same, him in trouble.
"Uh.....I can't find my socks!", came another voice from a different room, thus saving him from the dilemma.
"You and your father, all the same. You better be ready in 5 minutes. Vacation starts tomorrow, not today.", she waved the spatula alarmingly close to his face.
"Ma!", he shrieked, shrinking back....but she was gone by that time.
"Why do you scold him so much?", the father questioned, putting on the pair of socks surprisingly found stuffed inside his shoes.
The woman stopped folding the messy pile he had created while looking for the sock and looked at him with a bored expression.
"Because you spoil him day and night. Someone's got to be the bad cop."
"Well my bad cop, would you like me to come home early today to help you pack?", he hugged her from behind, catching her off-guard.
"What are you doing?! What if someone see's us", she whisper-yelled, trying to wriggle out of his hold.
He looked at her strangely,
"There's no one in this house except the three of us and Babai won't even dream about entering this room....even in his nightmare."
"Maa! Tiffin box!"
"Think of the devil and he shall appear...", he mumbled in disappointment.
She gasped and hit him on his arm.
"Subho Sengupta! That is your son."
"Chill woman! Why so violent...", he whined.
Mishti shook her head and made her way to the kitchen.
"Men", she muttered under her breath.
Quickly wiping off the sweat on her forehead she took the carefully packed lunch boxes off the counter top. On her way to the living room she stopped to look at her reflection on the mirror which hung beautifully over the wash basin.
She swept off the stray hair falling on her face, watchfully tracing the worry lines on her face with her eyes. She almost couldn't recognize herself, so different from what used to be. Where was that girl, who knew how to stand up for herself, who made sure her opinions were heard, who was respectful and sometimes rebellious.
All she could see.....nevermind, she shook her head with a sad smile.
Subho's face lit up, seeing the box. He opened it in, excited to find out what's for lunch, only to be met with dismay.
YOU ARE READING
Till We Meet Again (The Last Page Series- Book 3)
RomanceHatred....it is what protects love. Forgiveness......it is what teaches love Acceptance.......it is what preaches loves Love.......it is what I love -Iti Oindrila