Free Monsoon Memories by Renita D'Silva Page A

on her head for her troubles. But now, Madhu didn’t even notice. She was gazing somewhere into the distance, far beyond the fields, farther even, it seemed to Shirin, than Beerakka’s house at the edge of the village. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and this, more than anything, gave Shirin pause.
    A heartbeat later she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Madhu. I shouldn’t have asked...’
    ‘Why are you crying, silly girl?’ Madhu reached down and gently wiped the reciprocal tears from Shirin’s cheeks. ‘It’s okay. I have you now.’ Madhu smiled. It seemed to Shirin that the smile made her look even sadder than when she had been crying. ‘Now turn round and let me finish plaiting your hair. I don’t have all the time in the world, you know...’
    ‘What happened to your baby?’ Shirin wanted to ask. ‘Where is it? Is it a boy or a girl?’ The words tumbled over themselves in their hurry to pop out of her mouth, but she bit her tongue hard, tasted the salty tang of blood. She did not want to make Madhu cry again.
    ‘So,’ Madhu said after a while, ‘how many children do you want to have, Madam?’
    ‘Six,’ answered Shirin promptly. She had given it much thought. ‘Two sets of twins, then a girl and a boy.’
    ‘Oh, I see...’ Madhu’s voice was normal again—no sadness underlying it, only a hint of laughter. ‘And who will look after all these children, then?’
    ‘You, of course,’ Shirin said at once. Then, hesitantly, ‘Won’t you?’
    Madhu laughed out loud, making Shirin inordinately pleased that she was happy again. ‘Do you know that there is a way of telling how many children you are going to have?’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Don’t wriggle. If you keep moving your head, I won’t show you.’
    Shirin sat still as the statues of the Holy Family residing in the altar, hardly daring to breathe until Madhu finished with her plaits. Then, unable to contain her excitement any longer, she jumped up and down in front of Madhu, ‘Tell me! Tell me!’
    ‘Give me your right palm.’
    Shirin held both out for Madhu to peruse.
    ‘My! How you’re growing, Shirin! Look—your palm is almost as big as mine.’
    ‘Madhu, tell me how many children I’m going to have.’
    ‘See this line here? It is your life line. You are going to have a long life—ninety at least. And this one is for wealth. You are going to be very well off...’
    ‘Madhu! Children... I want to know... Ooh, that tickles...’
    ‘Okay, okay. It’s these lines here. Hmm... Let’s see. One, two, three, four. You are going to have four children!’
    ‘Only four?’ Shirin was disappointed.
    And that was when Madhu, laughing, asked Shirin to try and give birth to one child first...
    The phone at her desk trilled, bringing her back to the present. Shirin ignored it. The memory, long forgotten and yet retained by her subconscious as clearly as if it were yesterday, made the sandwich sit leaden in her stomach. Madhu’s face, eyes glistening with tears, swam before her. Shirin’s stomach heaved. The sandwich made its way up her throat and she got to the bathroom just in time. She retched long after the contents of her stomach had been dumped, trying to dislodge the memories, trying to purge the past and at the same time wishing she was back in the days before.
    Before. One little word. So conveniently wiping away so much.
    If only it were that easy...
    Shirin shook her head, giving herself the pep talk that had gotten her through the last few years. She pulled on the mask of accomplished, confident businesswoman that she hoped people saw when they looked at her and opened the cubicle door only to find her colleague—aka gossip queen—Anne’s face reflected back at her from the mirror.
    ‘Are you okay? I heard you, you know...’ Anne mimed being sick. ‘Is there something you are not telling us?’ Anne’s eyes twinkled and she did something, which must have been meant to convey mischief, with her eyebrows.
    ‘Huh?’ Shirin