Munna attempts to open up the third brass canister, placed in the middle of the topmost shelf, as he balances his legs carefully on the stone slab, two levels below it. He prays this be the one, as his ears stay attuned to soft musical notes wafting in the background. Why does Amma pack the laddoos away after putting in so many hours of hard work? After all, doesn’t she make these for all six of us? The earthy aroma of the slow-roasted sweet wheat balls filled with nuts makes him forget everything else. He quickly puts one each in the pocket of his knee length pants, slowly placing the canister back as he races towards the verandah. His mother, clad in a saree, sits on a mat on the stone floor in the baithak, listening to the gramophone, playing in the corner. He catches a glimpse of her face through the window. A strange calm had descended on her, like she was in some kind of a trance, oblivious of the world around her. He knew not to interrupt. Perhaps Amma loves this music, just like I love these laddoos, he thought to himself. Years later, wherever he went on a transfer with his family, he managed to find a bakery that made cashew biscuits. I watched him as he got these by the kilo at the shop, making sure they lasted long. Whenever the box was empty, it would be full again, just like that.
Shalini Gupta lives in the serene small town of Pondicherry in India. In her erstwhile life, as a journalist, she used to run around asking people questions and putting the answers together in what she called a story. Now she spends her time doing nothing, except when inspiration strikes and then she paints, crafts, sings and even dances. She can be reached on twitter @shalini_writes.
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