30 TEENAGE STORIES

Present Perfect Lalitha Sridhar

Character:Dadaji(Grand father)                                                                                                                                                      Beti(Daughter)                                                                                                                                                                    Dedi(Sister)

Sandy (short for Sandhya) got off the train gingerly and looked around, uncertain whether she would like what her eyes saw. She did not. The tidy little village station was a scene out of a picture-postcard. But that was not what Sandy saw. What Sandy saw was the lack of people, the lack of sounds and activity. This place was dead!

 Sandy could see the few people there were staring at her. Mom had warned her she would draw attention in her stretch jeans and sunny T-shirt, but there was no way she was going to travel in a solwarkameez. So she chose to ignore the stares. Her eyes were on the familiar face just a dozen steps away. She remembered the straight spine she would piggyback on and the face which smiled a welcome everytime it saw her—like it was doing now.

 Sandy was struck by how he had aged in the two years since she had last seen him. His face had new lines, his hair had turned all white and...had that regal stance stooped a little? Still, his hug was as strong as ever! She started walking , then ran into her Dadaji's bear hug. 

"Well! Well! How my Guddi has grown!"

 The two of them made their way out of the station with Dadaji insisting on handling both her bag and suitcase. They passed the station master who raised his hand in a half-salute to Dadaji but his eyes were on Sandy—her short, blunt cut hair, her hep outfit and her fashionable boots. 

Sandy sighed. In spite of her dismissing Mom's requests for conservative dressing, she already hated being gawked at as if she were an exotic parrot!

 "Did you have company on the train? What is that you are wearing? How are your parents? When can they come?" Dadaji's many questions distracted her.

 There was no point in answering the first part so she said, "They can't make it right now because of their year-end job commitments. I hardly see them at home myself! It is going to be this way for the entire summer hols, which is why they thought I should spend some time in Palgarh with you."

 "Absolutely right. How old are you now? Fourteen! And you last came when you were all of eight! Too long. We couldn't do much when I came to the city two years back. This will be more enjoyable, no?"

 Sandy did not answer that one either. 

Dadaji's trusty old Ambassador bumped and rattled all the way to their huge, two-storeyed mansion. Everything was the same and yet everything was different. There was no sound of Dadi in the kitchen, scolding her for eating too much raw imli—she was now a photo on the wall, its garland of mogra now dried. Everything looked old-worldly with no special thought given to decor or appearance—even the ancient egg-shaped fan whirled lethargically. 

The sunlight filtering through the grill of the courtyard failed to lift Sandy's spirits. Two months here? Away from her favourite friends (who had plans to take on summer jobs for pocket money), away from her favourite music (no pop in P^lgarh, Mom's orders), away from her favourite^T.V. channels (Dadaji didn't even have a cable connection) and away even from her favourite clothes! Mom had packed her suitcase with long skirts and salzvars—includung dupattas, of course! 

The days passed—dragging on at a snail's pace. The caretaker was Kishen Kaka and his wife, Shubhadra Bai did the cooking. She pampered Sandy with home-made buttered rotis, farm fresh vegetables, thick kheers and fresh lassi by the lota full. But how long could Sandy live to eat? Dadaji took her on walks, shook his head when she woke up at 8.00 and kept her company at every meal. Sandy let him think her boredom was only loneliness. If only..!