The days were long, yet fleeting, hot but refreshing, they
were lonely, yet unpredictable. Mansi
sat under the old peepal, on the lone swing. She tried to make the air around her move as
heat hung over like a pall. A hot breeze
brushed her face and moved on. She sat in a lull, feeling her sweat trickling
down her temples, into rivulets down her spine, or choosing to remain speckled
on her upper lips. She listened to the
dull silence of the afternoon. Her grandfather’s snores bellowed from his room
into the garden, competing with the tired roar of the cooler from the side of
the house. An occasional bird flittered in the branches above her before
landing lazily in its nest.
Mansi waited for the household to stir from their siestas as she incessantly eyed the needles on her tiny wristwatch tick away, a dot at a time. Her uncle’s dog, Sheba, a lean German shepherd, lay curled up by the tree trunk on the hard concrete of the circular patio. Mansi jumped off the swing out from the shade into the sun and sauntered toward the cowshed. Her rubber slippers crunched on the gravely path until they met the soft ground littered with hay and mud.
Quarter a bucket-full later, Mansi abandoned the task and
returned to the Peepal. She found her grandparents comfortably seated on
lounge chairs, refreshed from their naps. On a small table next to them lay a
tray decorated with teacups filled to the rim with hot, creamy tea, a tall glass
of cold milk pinked with rose syrup, and a plate full of glucose and
crackerjack biscuits. Mansi ran up to the empty chair, picked up her glass and
gulped down the thick, creamy milk. Resting the empty glass back on the tray,
triumphantly, she smiled, pink moustache and all. Her grandmother handed her a
handkerchief and Mansi wiped the cream off her lips. Pearly whites sparkled as
she displayed a big smile of satisfaction. A breeze began its hesitant journey,
offering refreshment, fluttering the leaves above them. Birds chirped their way
into the sky to celebrate the breeze.
As an adult now, surrounded by mechanical sounds night and
day, Mansi travels back to the farm days in her memories to find her quietude. Her
ears search for the chirps and twitters amidst the rumble of airplanes
overhead, her eyes admire the redness of the roses blooming in the planter
outside her house, its fragrance faint but in attendance.
Mansi waited for the household to stir from their siestas as she incessantly eyed the needles on her tiny wristwatch tick away, a dot at a time. Her uncle’s dog, Sheba, a lean German shepherd, lay curled up by the tree trunk on the hard concrete of the circular patio. Mansi jumped off the swing out from the shade into the sun and sauntered toward the cowshed. Her rubber slippers crunched on the gravely path until they met the soft ground littered with hay and mud.
She swung open the small gate and made her way into the
newborns’ pen. Big brown eyes looked up at her with interest, as the two calves
sat in their nooks. Mansi kneeled next to one of them, and ran a hand over its
soft hide, letting the calf nuzzle her arm. The second stared at them and let
out a loud moo. Mansi laughed and offered an arm to be nuzzled by it as well.
She talked to the calves, telling them stories of the other animals at the
farm, asking them if they missed the cool shades of their mother. She watched
them swat away flies with their small tails, as if waving brush strokes in the
air for a magnificent, unseen art. They batted their gorgeous, long lashes to
blink away bugs and Mansi mocked them.
The gate behind her creaked and as she turned, she saw the
farm hands coming in from their break. They picked up buckets from the shelves
and walked into the sheds where the cows and buffalos stood, lined up. Mansi
got up and followed one of the workers. He helped her get set up beside one
cow, took her fingers to place around the udders and guided her to gently milk,
each squirt at a time.
Quarter a bucket-full later, Mansi abandoned the task and
returned to the Peepal. She found her grandparents comfortably seated on
lounge chairs, refreshed from their naps. On a small table next to them lay a
tray decorated with teacups filled to the rim with hot, creamy tea, a tall glass
of cold milk pinked with rose syrup, and a plate full of glucose and
crackerjack biscuits. Mansi ran up to the empty chair, picked up her glass and
gulped down the thick, creamy milk. Resting the empty glass back on the tray,
triumphantly, she smiled, pink moustache and all. Her grandmother handed her a
handkerchief and Mansi wiped the cream off her lips. Pearly whites sparkled as
she displayed a big smile of satisfaction. A breeze began its hesitant journey,
offering refreshment, fluttering the leaves above them. Birds chirped their way
into the sky to celebrate the breeze.
Mansi walked over to the chicken coop behind the house and
watched them strut about as they pecked on seeds on the ground. She walked over
to the gardener who handed her a bouquet of roses he had designed, its perfumes
leaving a path from the garden to the house. As the sun’s rays weakened their
intensity, she changed and dashed to the swimming pool. With a rush of energy
and thrill marching in her veins, she climbed the step ladder to the top of the
water tank next to the deep end. From its precipice she leapt straight down
into the sparkling clarity below, sinking to the blue bottom where her feet
found ground. In a single motion she launched herself up, effervescent gurgles
sounding in her ears, vision of serenity in front of her goggled eyes, softness
of the fluid on her skin, until her head popped back above the surface into the
heat and mechanical sounds.
As an adult now, surrounded by mechanical sounds night and
day, Mansi travels back to the farm days in her memories to find her quietude. Her
ears search for the chirps and twitters amidst the rumble of airplanes
overhead, her eyes admire the redness of the roses blooming in the planter
outside her house, its fragrance faint but in attendance.
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