With every passing minute, my confidence stooped down to fear, because of the thought of the ultimate thrashing that I would get from ma, if she sees me in this state, and my anger turned in to cold fear because then I realized the gravity of the situation. I started to cry again, and this time more loudly. I could not bear it. I have done a mistake (my part) and should very well get the punishment (my mother’s part). Thinking that, I wailed more loudly, so that at least somebody comes to my rescue. Help!!!!!!!!!!
Arjun bhaiya peeked inside my room, with the kindest expression on his face. Seeing him, I actually stopped crying. He came in and sat on the floor, beside me, beneath my position on the bed, and held my tiny face in his huge hands and wiped my tears. His fingers were rough due to the immense amount of hard work he used to do because of his daily household chores, but I did not mind. His wordless, effort to make me stop crying, was always successful. I hugged him tightly and rested my head on his chest with my eyes down, and was all of a sudden very comfortable. he then, with his one finger, lifted my mini chin and asked,’Bitiya, do you want to eat jalebi?’
A huge smile lit my face. He then smiled back, my favourite crooked smile. He had that look of doing something forbidden.
He then lifted me up in his strong arms in just one swift moment and then took me outside the house through the backdoor. It was the tiniest street present, hardly any place for two. Yet, bhaiya’s quick walk, made the world look like a slow motion picture. The lady, who was thin to starvation, sweeping the dirty road with an enormous broom, men shouting on the top of their voice in order to get their work done, the labourers carrying bricks on their heads, with their faces almost red by the powder of the bricks that they were carrying, the enormous black drain in the corner, which was a torture to look at, and which always held the possibility that somebody might actually fall in it. But the thing that really used to catch my eye were the group of children, always naked to the waist, with brown hair and filthy faces, with their ribs clearly visible while they were running, making paper boats in the drain or playing any game, that I could never be a part of. I was not allowed to play with them.’ Princess should never play with servants’, bhaiya used to say.
Then, my favourite shop came into view. With its canvas shade dangling on its hinges, I could undoubtedly smell my favourite aromas. Bhaiya stood there in front of the shop. It was very small, but clearly occupying most of the street. Four round men with their enormous waistline, clad in white half sleeves vests sat there. One, on the kadai , where kachori’s were made, the second one making milky white cottage cheese, the third making round round jalebi’s, and the fourth one, my favourite dada, sitting on the counter, always trying in a vague attempt to not to attract flies, swaying his giant hands, with a dirty rag held in one of them and a cheap pen in the other, as he was in midst of making his daily accounts in a small notebook(the one used by nursery kids).
When he saw me, he would then shout at the top of his voice,’ Bitiya rani!!! Come come...what will you have today?’
‘Jalebi...two, because I am in a bad mood...’I would reply, in my squeaky low voice.
