(December 23, 6:36 pm)

It was December 23, 1992..I was young...very young..
but, the memories are clear like marbles..

Since the Gods knew our days were numbered, they had given me sharp memory. They needed to prove they were kind.

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The Babri had just been pulled down, and anticipating the riots, we had left our sprawling cottage-house in Sultanganj, and moved to this place where Muslim population was thin..

Grandmum had tough time convincing mumma, who was above such things.. For her, the blood was red in every vein... interestingly, even the day we "fled" the place, she had summoned her Muslim driver and other guys for escort!

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I despised the house...but since it offered me a view of the main road, from where i could keep a watch for mumma to return, i had agreed to it as periodic arrangement..

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So, there i stood in that terrace that afternoon, under the radiant sun... my thoughts wandering as i looked aimlessly at the street below.."Look its almost four now, she said she'd come by 2," I told my brother annoyingly.. we had already played the ludo many times, and there was nothing new to do now..

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Every year, after our schools had closed for winters on December 3rd or 4th, we waited desperately for 23rd to arrive..Mumma's last working day!

And with bro's b'de the next day, she'd hurriedly come back from college, dress us up, get us a brunch, and we'd be off for shopping...we bought the jackets, we bought the shoes..pairs of denims, santa caps, wind-cheaters..gloves and mufflers to match..story books, toys..the cake, the meat-balls...the list would be endless, because mumma, before she'd come to pick us up, would have encashed whatever was left in her bank that day..

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23rd December 1992.
Bro still was waiting for mumma.

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But, I was waiting for the culprit.

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Light slowly began to fade, and darkness and despair set in like unsought guests..i was more and more sure she had failed us.. Yeah, she'd turn up, but without the money.,

Grannie had told me about our crisis only the previous day..how Mumma had first squandered everything, her arrears, her deposits, her NSCs...then indulged in relentless charity..and this magnanimity as if so intoxicating, she hadnt even bothered to draw her salary between..

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So unless it was by a repertoire of magic, we wouldnt have any money for the year end (Her salary would come only on Jan 2nd, when the university reopened)..

Fingers crossed, we waited.
We prayed.
We implored upon the Gods to be kinder..
Else bro's birthday would be wasted.
Christmas too.
And my b'de, that fell on new year.

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But she would not turn up. "Why is she taking so late. Is her salary credited. Why did she have to go looking for it the last day. why dint she draw it three months? And why did she spend all her money away?" I asked irritatingly.

"May be it's credited," bro suggested, not willing to give up.

"In that case she'd have come already."

"May be she is shopping," he tried to reason.

"Without us? No way." I dismissed.

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And then with careless abandon to how it might upset him, I asked him again, "Will she come?"

"Not again," he stooped me midway.

"Will she..."

"Will she what," this time he didnt beat around the bush, "She is not dead. Nobody dies just suddenly. But if you believe she has, do it all to the Goddess, please."

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He left.

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I felt better. His outburst had somehow convinced me mom was not dead. So i was back the tyrant again. Awaiting the culprit.

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It was a long wait.
The sun God bade me goodbye, and the moon came to befriend.

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From the crossing, she appeared.. With grace in her walk, and a smile to beam...and with a kind of lovingness that in one second undid all the wrongs that i had been all this while listing..

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Who'd say she had been so long into the 40s...
Except perhaps the laugh lines.
But, that appeared only when she laughed heartily.

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I had warned her against that.

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She was wearing the pure-silk saree.
It was finest silk. Grannie's testimony to mumma's indulgence.

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The story goes that in the late 1960s, decent pure silks were available for Rs 120. The classy ones for 200. But if you wanted the bride-hunters do talking, you wore a 300..to upset would-be brides, a 350...and to left men gasping, a 500.

And upon such times, i am told, mumma had bought this sari for 900.
Even professors were paid 800 then, aunts had added.

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To be continued....

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