Shadow

Next to me, Sowmya’s face glows with pride as our school principal leads her mother to the two chairs on the stage. Her mother is the chief guest for this month’s inter-house cultural events. She gets to occupy a place of importance on the stage with our principal and address us, the students. Last month, Kalyani’s mother was the chief guest. Our principal had introduced her as a very successful businesswoman, someone we girls had to look up to for inspiration. Bertha, who is sitting behind us, leans forward and whispers, “Principal ma’am called my mother yesterday. To invite her  to next month’s cultural but my mother is travelling to London. She had to decline the invitation.”

I look at Sowmya’s mother closely. A bright blue saree with vivid pink floral prints, matching chunky jewellery, bright pink lipstick, an embellished jutti in beige, and a beige handbag.

So different from Mother. All of them.  

I wish the school would invite Mother someday.

amavasya
the neon lights
everyone sees  

Open Window

The train pulls into Chennai Central Station, onto a platform swathed in sunlight. With our two-week holiday in Kerala completely washed out by rain, the warmth of the Chennai sun on our skins is just what we need. In a couple of days, we might join the multitude cribbing about the heat.

sambaaram—
on the square coaster
a round stain