Gaurav watched as the words disappeared before his eyes. He lifted his finger off “backspace” and stared at the neem tree outside his window. It was a cool winter afternoon. Winter afternoons were never cold in Mumbai. The green leaves swayed gently in the breeze and distracted him from time to time.
“If only I could get this one a happy ending,” he wished, looking at the tiny font in dismay. Then it happened. From a dark, distant corner of his mind, came a ray of light; a happy ending. The story had taken over. He could feel it make its way to his fingers. They rested on the keyboard, waiting for his inspiration to take the form of words.
“Gaurav,” he heard his bua (father’s sister) yell from the kitchen below, “The dishes won’t do themselves. All the curry has dried along the sides of the plates, get down here and scrubs them immediately, or I will throw your laptop out of the window.”
As it came, so it left. He cursed his bua under his breath. He didn’t dare speak out loud. Sometimes, he wished he had been sent to the orphanage, like his sister, Sukriti, after their parents’ passed away. She had received a good education and married into a wonderful NRI family. Unfortunately, she could not take Gaurav with her, but sent her bua money for his education and upkeep, until he was old enough to get a job. What she didn’t know was Gaurav barely got any of the money.
The only reason he was allowed to use the laptop she sent him, was because she would chat with him daily. Gaurav, the wonderful brother that he was, never uttered a word to his sister, about his life with his bua’s family. Three years later, he would turn 18. He longed to get a job and move out of this living hell, destiny had flung him into, to burn alone.
He sulked and got to work. He heard his bua grumble to her daughter, Prachi, about him not helping out with the chores. He ignored them and began thinking about his story. ‘What was it? That perfect ending!’
Prachi barged into the kitchen, “Kyon re? Tere haathon mein mehendi lagi hain kya? Ma ne thoda sa kaam kya karne ke liye bol diya toh zabaan ladata hain, besharam,(Do you have mehendi decorated onto your hands? Mother asked you to do a little housework and you back answered her, you are shameless)” she raised her hand to slap him. Gaurav was accustomed to such treatment. He ducked and watched as her hand knocked off a glass plate, onto the floor. Prachi stared at it, wide eyed. Obviously, this too would be blamed on him.
His bua raced into the kitchen and began examining Prachi’s hands, frantically. She threw Gaurav a scornful glance and huffed out the door, with her daughter. He sighed and got back to doing the dishes.
Prachi left for her ten day office picnic to Matheran. His bua sat blabbering over the telephone. ‘What a loud mouth she is!’ he thought to himself. After the dishes, Gaurav had to do the laundry, water the garden, walk the dogs, rake the little plot behind the house and heat dinner. All that time, he could only think about the ending. He wondered what it missed. Then, he felt it again. The story, the words, the inspiration, it was returning to him. It was giving him a second chance.
His bua entered the kitchen while he was still lost in thought. She absentmindedly stepped on the broken plate that Gaurav had forgotten to clean up. The pieces crunched under her slippers.
“Gaurav,” she barked at the poor frightened boy, “who the hell will clean up this mess? Your mother won’t come back to do it, naalaayak!”
She went on and on. Gaurav began to collect the pieces that lay at her feet. ‘Why did she have to do this? Every single day was the same – the insults, the abuses, the taunts. Why won’t she let me complete my story?! Goodness, was she loud!’
His hand moved swiftly. She stopped yelling. The glass fell from his bleeding palm. The cut was deep. Her’s was deeper. She fell to the ground, as he watched, baffled. She was choking on the kitchen floor.
“What have I done!” he gasped. He panicked and glanced around. There was no one. There was no sound.
He rushed upstairs and scrambled towards his chair. Gasping for breath, he glanced at the screen, at his story.
“Maybe now, you can give me a happy ending…”