Bugs Bite

CHAPTER FOUR: Confrontations

'Well, well,' Shweta observed, 'your bruises sure healed quick.'

'Told you it was nothing, Mom,' her son chirped. He seemed pretty effervescent today, she noted; good dreams, must be.

It's remarkable, really, how young boys work; one day they can be all murk and no please, the other day as lively as a squirrel. More complicated machinery than that of a freaking time-machine, Shweta reflected.

Anyhow, seeing her son all jumpy and jittery and acting like an actual kid for once gave her joy. She knew things were rough at school for children like Avish, children who never spoke back, who could never think of a come-back, physical or verbal, who kept their heads down hoping to dodge insults rather than revolting to repel them. She herself had been such a kid. But she knew there was a distinct quality in Avish that made him different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it - he was usually so discreet, kept to himself - but she was certain it was there. Buried somewhere under that precocious, quiet boy was a much more layered person. A capable person.

(capable of moving mountains and rivalling rivers)

She frowned. The phrase had simply popped up in her brain with no explanation whatsoever. She'd never heard it before.

Not for the last time, she reminded herself she was getting older with each passing day. Speaking of old, how about her darling husband to give her a strong daily dose of migraine - since every conversation between them benignly wound up into an argument sooner or later. She knew Avish sensed it, the palpable heat in the air every night they had dinner together. Which wasn't always. Most of the times, Dhruv would come after Avish had already slept, swaying and stinking of booze. She was glad his work - if he still had a job, that was, he never talked about it - kept him occupied for the most part. Yes, she got damn bored at home alone, with the same rom-coms on the telly and the same nosy ole' neighbors to talk to. Same ole' Mrs. Gupta giving her advices, telling her of voodoo charms and what-not. Her own same ole' mother asking same ole' questions on the phone, whether that brute Dhruv was taking right care of her (she had always been against this marriage, now Shweta regretted not listening to her).

Sometimes, Shweta just wanted to scream into the receiver: he's a monster mom take me back just take me back please I am still your little girl yes yes still your little girl please O please save me - but of course not. How could she? How dare a grown woman like her - a mother, for heavens' sake! - act so naïve?

This is life, bitch. Handle it any way you can.

"SSDD: Same shit, different day; from today till eternity" - that ought to be the name of her goddamn autobiography, if she ever had one, that was. She wondered whether anyone would read it.

'Momma?'

'Huh?' Shweta was bought back into the here and now.

Avish smiled lustrously. The sly son of a gun; he always knew what was going on. 'I said, I have to go now, Momma.'

She bent on her knees - at which her joints lamented, another reminder, madam, of your age - and kissed her son on both cheeks, then creased her face as she studied him. 'If you're not a civilized human, honey, at least act the part. You'll stain my name.'

The eleven-year-old groaned as his mother bought a comb and began tidying his bedraggled hair. Satisfied with her work, she then pecked Avish on his cheeks again. 'Mom!' he cried.

'Now you look like my son. A bit more like him, least.'

'Can I go now? I'll miss the bus.' Avish sang, but his posture still spoke mirth.

'Got your lunch?'

'Yes.'

'Water-bottle?'

He held it up. 'It's in my hands, Mom. How can you not see?'