One Cuppa Chai

°16°

The rubble that scraped my ankle, the pungent fragrance of paan wafting in the air and the kind co-passengers elbowing my side did not discourage me in the least.

My hand first found someone's nose and then slithered its way towards the rusted handrail and held on for my dear life.

The bus conductor muttered a few curses against us, the undaunted footboard travellers and upon his shrill whistle, the bus roared to life.

Using my gender card, I whispered a few demure excuses and the middle-aged men parted for me as the Red Sea did for the Israelites.

My file still tightly clutched to my chest, I squeezed myself next to a passenger seat. As usual, I wasn't part of the festivities at my house. Siya was getting her Mehendi done at home in a mini function, I was the spot boy for getting all the essentials for the preparatory ceremony wherein the groom and the bride should bathe in turmeric and fragrant oils. And then my mother patted a rupee note in my hand and gave crisp instructions to go to a University and fetch some applications for a degree. She specified that the application should be towards an undergraduate for Bachelor of Commerce and I had gone ahead and brought one for Journalism and English as well. The full realisation of my actions hit me right then and I wondered if she would scold me for wasting money.

While I was unbuckling my shoes at the pyol, I could hear the loud voices and laughter in the house.

I peered into the living room and watched Siya, her shoulder-length hair still moist from the recent shower, stretching her hand towards the mehndi wali, looking positively overjoyed. My mother fed her a spoon of soup and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked directly at me. She beamed and gestured for me to sit next to her.

I walked in with my humble file and my sun-tanned face while the others in the room turned and noticed me.

But my eyes glued onto one sight. Mr Jha on the sofa, his hands wrapped around a ceramic teacup. Mrs Jha was beside him and I gave her a bright smile, knowing that she would crack a joke in my account, but she just assessed me with cool, calculating eyes and then as if I imagined it, she immediately masked her expression with a sweet, sugary smile.

Enough to give me Diabetes.

Mr Jha, however, regarded me with a curious smile. "Now, now who's this important guest?" I didn't regard his teasing eyes.
The last conversation with Kabir popped up into my mind and I stilled on the doorstep.

The quirk of my lips was becoming increasingly brittle.

My sister elbowed me and I looked down at her sitting on the floor with fresh henna patterns in her hand and a pout. "Sit." She insisted. There were two fluffy pillows flanking her on either side to prop up her elbows and prevent the mehndi from being smudged.

I folded my legs under myself and smiled at my hosts again."I sent her to get those applications," My mother perked up, "We were so tied up with this one's marriage that it almost escaped my thoughts. Today was the last day so I remembered and urged her to go. Otherwise she herself doesn't care about her education."

I flushed slightly and willingly let Mr Jha have a look at my file's contents.

He went through the sheets and his eyebrows furrowed.

"This college, I heard, has lost its reputation years ago. The students are just vagabonds. Why don't--"

"Then we cannot let our Shyla go there and get spoilt!" My aunt cut him off, pretending to be horrified.

My father browsed through the newspaper silently as if he was nowhere related to this conversation.

"What shall I do with this girl?" My mother spoke as if I was an extra jar of ginger-garlic paste which didn't fit into the kitchen cabinet. "Why don't you say anything?" My mother looked pointedly at my father whose face was buried into the newspaper.