Iti

Chapter 1

Mrs. Praneshwar passed her a brief look of frustration as she strode over to the short, bamboo chair, her eyes roaming around Dhriti's living room. Her books—mostly second handed or even older—were neatly arranged in the shelves meant for home decor. Below the wooden shelf, on a folded bamboo straw mat were the books that didn't fit into the already brimming book shelf. On the empty space of the mat were a couple of cushions.

The jiffy Dhriti put kabaddi on her paws, she did a wobbly sprint to the new woman, sniffing around her legs affectionately and starting to lick her foot. Mrs. Praneshwar bent down to take the delighted pup in her hands, with a smile—nevertheless a meager one, that still managed to reach her eyes and lit them up—that Dhriti had not perceived since so long in her mum.

"Hello, baby," Mrs. Praneshwar greeted Kabaddi, holding her to her face, looking into her tiny eyes that shone like pools of honey in the morning sunlight.

Bearing a bittersweet twinge, watching her mother smile so really at her pup, Dhriti did not know how to ground herself. As if the lump in her throat had descended to her heart as it just kept aggregating, her chest felt heavy, weighing her down from the sight in front of her eyes.

She willed her fingers that were fiddling with each other would stop, when she finally opened her mouth, her voice croaky. "Would you like some chai?" 

Mrs. Praneshwar responded with a silent nod. "Thank you."

Dhriti was glad her bleary eyes went unnoticed by her mother, as she walked into her kitchen.

Pouring a cup of water in a saucepan, Dhriti switched on the stove and placed it on the burner. In the most mechanical way possible, she pulled out a handy mortar and pestle from the cabinet above her head, bearing a contemplative frown that clenched her temples. A piece of ginger, a couple pods of cardamom and a couple cloves went in as she started pounding them, while her brain was completely fogged.

Mrs. Praneshwar's feeble chuckle along with her mirthful words to Kabaddi drifting off to the kitchen stopped Dhriti in her action. While turning around to get hold of the container of tea leaves, she stole a surreptitious glance at her mother over her shoulder leaving her with the most painful thought of her life.

Kabaddi was still held fondly to her face whilst she was licking (read: kissing) Mrs. Praneshwar's face busily, hurriedly, whilst her face was delightfully scrunched with a smile.

It would've been great if her mother had been just a pet parent rather than parenting her and her sister. 

Dhriti drew a long, deep breath at the thought as she caught hold of the sauce pan with simmering tea, swirled it a few times before she put it back on the stove.

When she was back at the living room, Kabaddi had passed out under the chair seeking warmth from her mother's feet. Noticing Dhriti's arrival, Mrs. Praneshwar put aside the newspaper in her hands, took hold of the mug with piping, hot chai and Dhriti pulled out another chair across her mother and sat down.

Mrs. Praneshwar drew the mug from her lips, after her first, hesitantly small sip, thinking if Dhriti still hated adding cinnamon to her tea that she did as a child, Dhriti was staring into her own tea, giving her best shot in basking in it, and not to think about how unbelievably cheerful she found her mother with Kabaddi.

"Dhriti," Mrs. Praneshwar's voice sounded calm and composed—unlike hers, as an aftereffect of being with Kabaddi. "I want to talk to you about your grandfather."

Reluctance lacing her forehead in rumples, Dhriti looked up. "Your father," she corrected with a word that was comfortable for her.

Mrs. Praneshwar's eyes did not stray from her daughter's, as she said, "Right!" She placed the empty mug on the plastic stool beside her. Resting her hands on her lap, over her foldover clutch and lacing her fingers together, Mrs. Praneshwar said in a decisive voice, "That makes him your grandfather, Dhriti."

Dhriti looked down at her thumb of her naked foot that she was wiggling on the colorful patterns of mosaic, restlessly. "It does."

"He's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's." Mrs. Praneshwar's tad shaky voice came off as a blow on Dhriti's face that made her look up at her mother. Blinking and blinking Dhriti could only find an inexpressive face. 

Mrs. Praneshwar continued, "He'd been living alone in Bangalore all this while, with a family friend in his residential area checking up on him then and now. It's not advisable he lives alone while his health has deteriorated."

Dhriti still couldn't quite discover what her mother was hinting at. "Okay?"

Taking a moment to breathe in, Mrs. Praneshwar spoke, looking at Dhriti in her coal black eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you think about having him over to live with you... considering that you're home mostly."

The last part her mom uttered triggered Dhriti more than it should. "I am not just home all the time, mother. I stay home and write. That's my job. That's how I pay my bills," she explained patiently, as if her mom did not know any of it.

And feigning patience wasn't an easy thing but Dhriti was getting earnestly good at it.

Mrs. Praneshwar resumed her thoughts without taking much of Dhriti's words into account. "He will pay you the sum that a caretaker has to be paid every month."

"Is it an obligation or a negotiation, mother?" Dhriti asked dryly.

"Depends on how you really look at it, Dhriti."

Her mother's supposed philosophical response compulsively irated her. But she decided she'd not express even a speck of it to the woman sitting across her.

One look at her mother's face, with the same set of stolid eyes staring back at her, Dhriti's pretense died a slow death, her bottled tears tingling in her throat. "I know I don't live a life you're very proud of—"

Veda interrupted, "I never said that."

"You don't even have to say," said Dhriti in a whisper. "What do you want, mother?"

"Let your grandfather live with you." It was almost a plea. Almost.

Dhriti inhaled a sharp breath and said, "I need some time to think about it, mother."

When Mrs. Praneshwar retired to her house, Dhriti had made her way back to her kitchen to prepare her breakfast, thinking about how, when her morning wasn't really scuzzy she'd honestly anticipated a disagreement between her and Shreyas; but instead how it'd taken a different turn.

Holding a plate of fresh, hot dosai with a heap of gunpowder, gingelly oil pooled in the middle, Dhriti dipped her finger in it, mixing the powder with oil and licked her finger as she reached her chair.

Beside her was Kabaddi, standing in a puddle of her own pee, looking up hopefully at both— the human with an exasperated face and a small snacks box that was filled with her treats.

"Oh, no!" Dhriti left out a gasp, placing her plate on the stool nearby and walking upto Kabaddi, who was still proud and hopeful.

Watching Kabaddi wag her little tail with fierce sincerity, Dhriti mumbled, "No, Kabaddi, you won't get treats each time you pee." She crouched down next to her. "It's just only when you pee rightly on the diaper."

As if Kabaddi really perceived Dhriti's words, her eyes saddened a little. There were creases produced in her temples and her tail was wagging with sad slowness. She toddled a few steps to walk into the gap between Dhriti's knees to tuck her chin over her thigh, asking for pets.

And Dhriti had not learned to resist that action of Kabaddi's. Probably, she never would.

"Fiiinneeeeee, you get what you want But only after I mop your pee."

Kabaddi, still playing her naive eyes, sat down and waited patiently while Dhriti mopped the floor, requesting, "Next time, please try to remember you're not supposed to pee on the floor, Kabaddi."

*****

Hey guys. I hope you like this short, first chapter. Let me know what you like to tell me in the comments about the chapter. Further updates of this story will be slow, and probably after I complete my on-going story, Dabara Tumbler.