"I COULD THROW YOU INTO THE POND RIGHT NOW, FORGET THOSE TWO!” She retorted, fuming.
The April sun was beating relentlessly forcing beads of sweat down her forehead as she strolled in the lush lawn of Tiphook bungalow in Amgoorie tea estate. The divine white, flaming red and canary yellow lilies were in full bloom in the neatly planted row. However, the turmoil in her head distracted her from the beautiful view. Although, as always the fluorescent green tea bushes and the aroma of tea and floral-infused light breeze uplifted her mood.
She decided to go inside as the sun was setting, casting a chequered shadow that advanced from the jaali kamra into the gol kamra, over the edge of the blue rug and the wickered cane chairs. The ferns and foliage along with few bright summer flowers lay on the round wooden table. She often found an outlet for her anger through floral arrangements which turned out elegant and striking. The edges of the foliage were curling due to the heat, some of the ferns were already limp. Drizzling some water on them, she picked up the secateurs and snipped at the stem, inwardly cursing “Those two...They just do not understand”.
She caught a glimpse of her husband on his mobike, rolling in back from his kaamjaari. Dew and Boots, their pets were prancing all over wagging their tails vigorously. As her husband dismounted from the bike, they covered his hands in slobber, their tongues dripping with every lick, enjoying these perfect moments. He was yet to be greeted with the customary million-dollar smile by his wife but as he walked in he was taken aback to find it missing. Lobo the bearer placed before them a boiling pot of well-brewed tea. Lobo’s sight made her fury rise and she felt the storm stirring inside her.
“I have nothing to wear for the do,” she said. Her husband laughed softly, his deep chuckle lifting her spirits momentarily. She served him a slice of lemon cake. Sipping his tea, he uttered, “Come on, choose from the array of clothes and moreover you look good in anything.” But she wasn’t buying any of his charming appreciation.
She began to narrate the happenings of the day and to her utter disbelief, he burst out laughing hysterically. She glared at him and sneered, “How dare you?!” Her rage was powerful as wildfire; one could see the flames roaring in her eyes, ready to ignite anything that would come in her way. “You think it’s funny?”
Three weeks ago, from their vacation, she had bought herself an ivory white mirror work kurta made of soft cotton, long and beautiful. The small button-sized mirrors were embroidered with multicoloured thread on a patch of fabric which was skillfully stitched to the front, all the way from neckline to the waist. Along with the preparation for the catering for the ‘do’ she had started planning her outfit as well. This attire was apt for the luncheon- shimmering and dressy yet comfortable. The maid was instructed to wash, iron and set it aside but it wasn’t meant to be.
Suddenly the maid rushed in, displaying a dripping colourful kurta, holding it in front of herself. To memsahib’s horror, her beloved white kurta was ruined. It had splashes of vibrant hues all over. The colours from the threads had bled.
She could feel each part of her body pause for a moment before her thoughts caught up. “All is well”, she consoled herself. She had to get the patch of mirror work ripped and stitch it on another fabric which could be tailored again. The maid too sighed with relief as a little smile played on memsahibs lips.
Lobo was called and kurta sent to the tailor on the estate with instructions to get the patch of mirror work out so that the needful could be done. Meanwhile, the memsahib began to look for a suitable match among the other fabrics. She anticipated a new dress which she would wear to Seleng Club for the football-do which was known for its sumptuous spread and exuberance in the entire circle.
As days turned into weeks, there was no sign of the tailor or her mirror work kurta. Lobo was made to do another round and he returned with the news that the tailor himself would bring it to the bungalow as the work was difficult and required skill. He was being careful with it.
Finally, the day arrived when the tailor cycled to the bungalow. The memsahib came out much excited. The tailor held out a piece of rag and a small bag filled with a handful of tiny mirrors. He was proud of his work and proclaimed that each mirror was intact. She stared at that piece and then at the handful of button-sized mirrors. Her mind began to shut down, unwilling to think anymore.
She was livid. “What the hell is this?” She questioned them. The tailor said that he had taken utmost care as to not chip even a single piece. However, the memsahib did not seem pleased. Each time he opened his mouth to explain how skillfully and patiently he had managed this tedious task, she got angrier. The tailor and Lobo stared at the memsahib open-mouthed and the kept looking at their toes, occasionally glancing back at her face to see if she had calmed down. They just could not fathom what had gone wrong. Lobo had conveyed exactly as instructed to the tailor and in turn, had painstakingly completed his work with precision. It took her some time to process it; “this cannot be happening” she mumbled and then came to terms with her exquisite kurta being brutally murdered.
She had waited the entire afternoon for her husband to vent out the incident hoping for some sympathy and understanding. Instead, he shrugged nonchalantly remarking, “Communication is key. You should have been clearer.”
The loose string by which Alka was holding herself together, finally gave way and she exploded, "I could throw you into the pond outside our bungalow right now Bobby, forget those two!”