Winner of Wattpad India Awards 2020 (Judge's Choice) in the New Adult category.
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"The lights are cheeky, you can't live without them, and yet if you get too close, they'll blind you. Darkness? Well it doesn't cheat. It's cool and soothing. It's r...
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After Madhu returned home, she made a beeline for her mother's old bedroom, the one she slept in.
It had a concrete platform in the right-hand corner, a corner Madhu was always careful to avoid looking at, for it housed an ancient-looking chest. The same chest her mother used to stuff with sweaters and other winter clothes after spring.
It had a deceivingly thick lock on its flap, but Madhu knew it could be picked easily, she used to do that as a kid all the time. It only took a few minutes of looking around to find the key placed behind the chest, in between the cramped space against the wall. Turning the copper coloured key in the lock, she heaved the lid open.
A handful of dried Neem stems and leaves fell out as Madhu carelessly tossed the first layer of neatly folded old sweaters on her bed, already knowing that she'll take those back with her to Delhi. All the jewellery had been taken away by her mother when Madhu's family had moved to the city, jewellery that was now lying stashed away in the vaults of a bank, for there was no one left to wear it. But Madhulika stopped short when her eyes landed on something far more precious than gold.
They were saris. Not very expensive ones, just plain cotton, but those that her mother used to wear on regular days. They were those saris which, even after all these years, were the only clothing Madhu could picture her mother wearing in her mind's eye.
Though pretty old, they were surprisingly well maintained. Madhu wondered if Nakoo had them washed and ironed, for they carried the faint smell of soap.
Picking up a simple lemon-yellow sari with white and red borders, Madhu shut the lid and slipped out of her jeans and t-shirt, replacing them with a yellow petticoat and ill-fitting blouse. Her practised fingers made quick work of wrapping the sari around her body, and before she knew it, she was gazing at her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her bedroom door.
The only time Madhu wore saris was during parties and formal events, and all those times it had been elegant silk or stylish chiffon. Never had she worn a cotton one that was meant for everyday use.
Utilitarian saris were looked down upon by her peers.
As she continued to gaze at herself, her chest tightened. If it wasn't for Madhu's height, she would've looked exactly like her mother. They had the same shapely cheekbones, thin, long nose, oval jaw and the same shade of dark hair and eyes. Soft, full lips took the edge away from their otherwise sharp features, lips that her mother used to always stretch wide in a smile, but which Madhu preferred to keep sealed.
Maybe it was her imagination, but beneath all the soap, she could actually get whiffs of her mother's comforting scent, a mix of wet mud and something citrus, a scent she had craved after for almost a decade now.
Mahima Thakur would've hated what her daughter had become.
Taking deep breaths to keep her tears at bay, Madhulika stepped out in the hallway and made her way across the end of the corridor, to the storeroom right next to the bathroom.
