The Disappearing Uncle. D. K. Rajagopalan
There were no more sixes, but a few boundaries put paid to the idea that Priya was the only one with talent. After another over, Geetha handed the bat to one of the boys and took his place as a fielder. When Sulochana got him out, she took his place and gave one of the boys the ball.
Babu stood off to one side, watching the game unfold. Kummi Paati walked over to him.
‘What do you think, Babu?’ she asked him. ‘Is this talent worth having on your team?’
‘They are very good players, but ...’
‘But what?’
‘I – what if the New Look fellows say they won’t allow girls?’
Kummi Paati smiled at him.
‘Don’t worry. They will.’
‘You think so?’
‘Oh, yes. And then they will have quite a surprise in store for them!’
Babu grinned at Kummi Paati. Priya looked in their direction and walked over to join them. Babu stuck his hand out towards Priya.
‘I should have asked you to play with us before. I’m sorry. Will you join the team now?’
Priya shook his hand so hard he winced slightly.
‘I will, but I have to tell you something first. I – I’m sorry too. About the balls.’
Babu’s brow wrinkled for a moment, then cleared.
‘You?’ Babu said. ‘It was you who stole all the – but why would – ohhhhh ...’
He was silent for a moment, his head down in thought, and Priya continued.
‘We didn’t mean to lose the balls either. We just hit them too hard sometimes and well ... we thought your parents would buy you more. Whereas our parents laughed at us for wanting to play cricket.’
Babu looked up at this.
‘Hmm. Just like I did,’ he said. ‘I think – well, if I had let you join our game in the first place ... well anyway, maybe we should just call it even.’
Priya smiled.
‘Okay, captain.’
* * *
Nearly two weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon, Kummi Paati and Somu Thatha were sitting on the balcony. They had just finished their 4pm tiffin. The twins were playing indoors. Somu Thatha looked replete.
After he dabbed a small speck of ridge-gourd chutney from his lips he said, ‘Kummi, that peerkangai thogaiyal was excellent.’
Kummi Paati smiled. Her husband loved chutneys and she so rarely made them now that her children weren’t at home.
‘Just amazing,’ he continued. ‘Never had anything like it.’
So this was his new tactic, she thought. He had tried asking her to make chutneys, and she had explained that the extra work was hardly worth it for just the two of them. Then he had tried what she could only describe as sorrowful hinting. Now it was outright flattery.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ she said.
He opened his mouth, no doubt about to continue to extol the virtues of her chutneys versus store-bought ones when they heard a big cheer. They got up from their armchairs and looked over the side of the balcony.
A group of children, perhaps twenty in all, were entering the colony accompanied by their parents. There was much cheering and shouting, and the centre of attention was a large trophy being carried by Babu. As they watched, Babu handed over the trophy to Priya. They were walking under Kummi Paati’s balcony and snatches of conversation drifted up towards her amidst the noise and kerfuffle.
‘... take turns keeping in our houses ... wouldn’t have won without you ... great captaincy ... great team ... great fun ...’
The group kept on walking. As they were about to go around the corner of the building, Priya alone turned back and looked up to Kummi Paati’s balcony. They smiled at one another. And then as Kummi Paati watched, Babu called out to Priya and she turned away.
Somu Thatha cleared his throat.
‘Now, when it comes to your curry leaf chutney ...’
II. SANJANA
Two women and two girls sat crouched around a palm leaf mat on a roof terrace. It was almost midday, and the searing heat was a welcome visitor, as Kummi Paati was making vadam – rice cakes that were dried in the sun and then fried. These were not unlike their more popular cousin, appalaam or papadam. She loved making these treats for her grandchildren, who enjoyed the process of making the vadams as much as they enjoyed consuming them.
‘Paati, when did you learn how to make this?’ Nina asked.
‘Probably around your age. My stepmother taught me.’
‘Our age? But didn’t you have school?’
‘Oh yes, I did. But after school I had to help in the kitchen.’
‘But not your brother?’ Alisha asked.
‘No, my brother would play with his friends.’
‘So you were like Cinderella, Paati!’
Kummi Paati laughed.
‘No, not at all. In those days, it was considered essential for girls to know how to cook well by the time they were married. My stepmother was doing her duty.’
A short pause and then Nina spoke again. ‘Did she teach your sister too?’
Kummi Paati smiled, thinking of Lakshmi, a year younger than her.
‘Yes. But she didn’t teach her until she was a bit older. She was probably twelve or so by the time she started learning. Your Lacchu Paati needed ... more time.’
The two young girls nodded, eyes wide.
‘In a way, it was a good thing that I had started to cook when I was so young. I could help my sister learn so my stepmother did not have to do all of it.’
‘Did your stepmother like you?’ Nina asked.
Kummi Paati pondered the question.
‘I think ... I think she did not dislike us. But she didn’t like us either. I suppose she considered us as one of her responsibilities; a part of her lot in life.’
‘Did you like her?’
Kummi Paati stifled a smile. Always with the questions, these two! So fascinated by what she had always considered a fairly mundane existence.
Had she liked her stepmother? She supposed not. Certainly not after Lacchu’s marriage. But it was hardly appropriate to say that to a ten-year-old child.
‘With time I have come to realise that she was compelled to act in a certain way due to her circumstances. But it took me a long time to understand that.’
There. That wasn’t a lie. And luckily, the vadams had all been laid out to dry, so the children wandered off to look out over the parapet wall. For now, at least, she could avoid further awkward questions about her stepmother.
‘Amma,’ Shakuntala said, ‘I was thinking of staying for longer.’
Kummi Paati looked up at her daughter.
‘Longer?’
‘Yes, yes, longer. As in, beyond when the twins – oh, never mind.’
‘I would love for you to stay longer, Shaku. But I don’t think the girls can travel alone at this age.’
‘No, of course not. You know what, it was a stupid idea. Never mind.’
Kummi Paati was about to respond when a young girl walked onto the roof terrace. She was in her mid twenties.