Misc. Erotica ...And My Mother doesn't Remain Ours

[garamrohan]

Didi is Home

I was totally lost. My mind was full of turmoil — sympathy for mummy and shame, guilt that I didn’t jump in to save my own mother. What a useless son I had proved myself!

I laid there watching her walk miserably, sighing in pain and burdened by sorrow. Her face was still in shock, unable to accept that such a cruel thing had happened to her, which she might have only read in the newspaper or seen in the movie. It was evident that she couldn’t even carry the bucket properly. I badly wanted to go and help her carry it, but I didn't. 

Me coming to her at the moment would have caused more damage than help. Which lady could bear her son knowing she has been corrupted? That would have made her position more awkward, the thing I wanted to avoid at any cost.

I laid there, alone, long past she had left the ghat to go home. Thinking about the incident and what stopped me from acting? Why didn’t my blood boil seeing that bastard harassing my mother? And I burst out, crying, shedding tears on the already moist grass.

—-

I tiptoed in the home, praying to god to give mummy the strength so to get out of this bad experience. My mummy was a very simple and decent lady. She was never seen quarreling with my dad or for that sake anyone, nor did she ever scold me or didi. She was truly the pious, beautiful Indian lady. A perfect wife and even better mother.

I could not find her as I walked through the house and as my heart sank; for my mind started anticipating all the bad possibilities. I double checked her bedroom, kitchen but not even a fuss. The backyard was empty as well. Oh god… tell me she hadn’t done any harm to her life, I panicked. 

I sat on my toes, catching head in both of my head and heart throbbing like it would burst. And suddenly I heard fluttering on the clothes in the backyard, I ran like anything and as I saw her putting clothes and laundry on the wire for drying, I had the most relieving feeling of my life. I couldn’t have forgiven myself, had something mishap happened that day. 

As she turned and feebly asked, in the tired tone, “Aagaye? Do minute ruko khana banati hoon.”
(“You’r home? Give me two minutes and I will prepare food for you.”) 

I just nodded in affirmation, tightening my lips to control the whine and retired into the home.

—-

I didn’t disturb her after mummy went to the bedroom for a nap. I was to skip college as Didi and Jiju were coming home for the first time. Papa had also taken a half-day leave and would be coming home at any moment. While Jiju had his own car; as they were coming from Delhi, they were commuting via train. Papa and I were to pick them up from the station which was around 2-3 km, within walking distance from our home. 

Papa entered the home with a rush as he always does. Yelling how come things are not in place and pushed me to wear new clothes. As he turned to the bedroom to wake mummy up, I stopped him.

“Don’t Papa. She is tired and her leg is swollen.” Did I convey something that I should have kept to myself? I never had been that smart. 

With a bitter expression he turned, and went to freshen up in the backyard. As I was changing into new clothes, I overheard him complaining to himself — “Whenever there is any good occasion, she always catches ill…” 
 
We were at the station at 3:00 PM as the train was to arrive at 3:30 PM. Dad was sitting beside me, on a bench, with a rigid face. Over the road he had lectured me on how to behave in the presence of guests at home. He is a good natured person, but at times annoys with his paranoid nature. As much as I know him, he was planning out ‘khatirdari’ (hospitality) for his son-in-law on his first visit.  Actually, he along with my mummy had already done the shopping — the clothes for the couple and the gold-ring for Jiju. But he was living like a typical Indian father of a newlywed girl.
   
A handsome, tall guy stood before us, with bags in hand, and it took me for a moment to recognize my Jiju. With classy goggles on, he smiled with confidence. 

“Papa… Jiju is here.” I shook papa who had lost in a trance and stood up, smiling back at Jiju. My eyes were searching for Didi but in the crowd I couldn’t see her. 
 
Papa did a heartfelt welcome of his beloved son-in-law and enquired of the wellness of his family and how the travel was. He was so overwhelmed that he probably forgot his own daughter was also coming along.

And Didi came to my eyes, walking towards us from a shop at the platform, sipping juice from the bottle; and how beautiful she looked in that black anarkali dress and large glass on eyes, both suited to her fair colour. 

She came and patted me, as we shared a truly affectionate smile.

“You look quite different, di!” I exclaimed.

“Oh is that so? Maybe you not being there testing my patience might have bettered me?” she flicked her eyebrows. 

“How cheap…” Jiju playfully hit the back of her head and suddenly I noticed why she looked so different. She had cut her hair into long bob cut; which was suiting her very well and complementing her beauty, the kind of cuts my papa never had allowed.

As we walked the path to our home, we three were talking and cracking jokes. And as I was looking at papa through the corner of my eyes, he didn’t seem happy with the changes in Didi. It was no surprise; not for me, nor for Didi.