Appu agreed to come to the Bank Ganesha temple because I promised ice cream on the way. Gomathi, my only daughter-in-law and Appu’s mother, was dying in the hospital. My son, an alcoholic, had fled the coop three years back, never to return.
The old Maruti Omni was as noisy as a tin-can as I switched gears. Breeze through the window ruffled Appu’s hair.
“What do you wish to have?”
I asked without thinking. At six, Appu asked no difficult questions, did as told, without any tantrums. There must be a storm raging beneath the calm exterior.
“Hmm?”
He turned away from the window to look at me.
“Your most dear wish?”
I repeated, the rhetorical question initiating a churning in me. I couldn’t offer my grandson solace; why not guide him to sanity?
“Chocolate cornetto- the nutty one,” he said, without blinking.
I LOLed. “Besides ice cream.”
Appu crinkled his eyebrows. ”Why? Is it Ma? Is Ma…? Are we going to see Ma?”
My heart sank. I told him the truth.
“Ok, so you have only one wish?” I steered, trying to digress.
“Dad?” Appu asked, sinking my heart again.
“From now on, it is just you and me.”
Appu blinked.
“I want lots of ice cream; I want to play cricket- like Kohli. When I am big and strong, I will buy medicines for Ma, take care of everyone, buy multi coloured sparklers and long trousers for Diwali,” he buried his disappointment in list-making.
In front of Bank Ganesha we stood- erect, arms crossed, taking turns to recite Appu’s wishes aloud. While returning, we stopped at the Kwality cart near AVM. Appu gripped the side, pushed up and stuck his head into the cornettos, casattas, kulfis, sticks, cones, et al, away from all the worries of the world.
Vijayalakshmi writes from Chennai, a coastal city in South India.
No comments:
Post a Comment