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MAHUA

PART I


A rickety taxi pulled up to a screeching halt outside a fairly modern apartment building. The sudden movement had little effect on one of its occupants. Mahua Basu’s eyes remained closed, head comfortably placed on her mother’s shoulder.

Geetanjali Basu looked at her daughter as the driver switched off the engine. She smiled and patted her lovingly on the cheek.

“Mahua, wake up. We have reached our new house.”

Mahua opened her eyes. She blinked several times; her eyes squinted against the sunlight which cut through the open space between the two buildings. Her face lit up with orange and golden rays. Mahua fluttered her eyelids, getting accustomed to the sudden surge of brightness. Finally, she smiled weakly at her mother.

“Mama, you look like an actress in Salwar Kameez. The dress goes well with your tall frame and straight hair,” Mahua said, feeling proud of her mother.

Geetanjali kissed her on the forehead. “That’s a nice compliment.”

“Bhaiyaji, how much do I have to pay you?” Geetanjali asked, shifting her gaze on the driver.

“Two hundred.”

Geetanjali offered him two hundred rupee notes, her eyes scrutinizing the building entrance. The absence of security guards upset her.

“Mahua, there is no one at the gate. We will have to carry our luggage,” Geetanjali declared unhappily.

“Memsaab, do you need help with your bags?” the driver asked.

“Are you a Bengali?” Geetanjali asked him, surprised at his response.

“No,” the driver replied.

“Then how did you know I needed help with my luggage?”

“Well, it seemed logical. I thought it would be a hassle for you ladies.”

Geetanjali smiled.

The apartment building located in Hauz Khaas area, a posh Delhi suburb was Geetanjali‘s new habitat. The Basu’s had been allocated an apartment on the second floor by the Indian State Bank. Geetanjali worked as an area manager. It was her third transfer in the last five years.

When everything was shifted inside the apartment, Geetanjali offered a fifty Rupee note to the taxi driver.

“Here, please take this. You have been very helpful.”

“No Madam. Thank you.”

“I cannot offer you anything to drink …. or eat. We have just shifted. I need to arrange the things first.”

“It’s okay Madam, “the driver said.

“Back in Calcutta, people have a different opinion of Sardarjis. They feel Sardarjis are…”

“Cheats.” the driver completed the sentence.

“I guess they are wrong.”

“Madam, all five fingers are not same. Even we are humans …. we have families … “

“I am sorry,” Geetanjali apologized once again.

The driver smiled, saluted smartly and left.

Geetanjali closed the door. She dragged the bags and cartons across the living room, lining them neatly inside the bedroom. Mahua watched her mother for a while. Unable to bear the new settings she threw herself on the couch. Tears flowed down her spotless face.

to be continued....


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