June in India is blistering, ominous month. Long and damp days. Nights are roofed with sluggishness and surly anticipation. Rivers shrink and black crows overindulge on matured litchi still in lust green trees. The sharp spell of the glitzy and scintillating sunshine along with the monsoon breaks trills natives of India. In the countryside, we have miles and miles of foliage and greenery. The first rain drop comes like the showers of almighty’s blessing for everyone even if their dark side causes so much destruction. Even though we see grown ups towing their kids, the flooded roads divulge a perfect place for the children to row their paper boats and muddle up their clothes. Cars, buses are struggling to get out of the deluge but the struggle is in vain, because their engine doesn’t work. Rickshaws are the only bumpy vehicles that can pass through the floods, since they are pulled by meager people.
It is raining today. I looked up at the gloomy sky. The full moon is dazzling and the stars make the sky more picturesque. I hope time would stop because I am late today. Too late.
I take a sigh of relief when I see the old house with smashed roof at the end of the lane. A ruptured boundary, the wrecked wall with blue green algae and obliterated weeds shows that the house hasn’t been renovated for years. A broken silhouette adorned the doorway. It is an old woman bent double with age. She could barely walk and is standing with a clutch. Her motherly eyes seem to be waiting for someone’s sight. A sense of relief and satisfaction is seen as she sees me. I feel guilty for not informing her that I would be late as I bent down to touch her feet.
“Sorry aita, sorry to keep you waiting. There were a lot of customers in the shop today.” I felt everything around me is shouting ‘LIAR LIAR’.
“Don’t worry about me. Just concentrate on your work. Now dry up and come have some food. You must be hungry.”
At least I wouldn’t have to worry about lying about that bit. I really was starving. But as I looked at her now I wondered if she had noticed the recent surge in my appetite. The last couple of months I had been eating like a pig and she has never once mentioned about it.
She put the plate in front of me and looked into my eyes and I felt as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. And that’s when I felt the fear grow inside the pit of my stomach because I knew that no matter what, aita should never know what I was doing. Never. For one thing she would be heartbroken and for another that the knowledge about my doings would place her in mortal peril.
But somehow something inside me told me that those small black eyes could see right through me and knew all about it.
