Eighth Floor

The clouds rumbled as Chitra turned the knob of her apartment.

 It was a pity because the morning had seemed bright and sunny. Just the kind of morning she liked when she needed to buy some grocery. As she shut the door to pick up her umbrella from near the shoe stand, the downpour began. Clattering and splashing huge drops on the uncovered portion of her tiny balcony.

 She walked across to the glass panes and stood there watching the rain. Sheets of water, in a slight slant were cascading down on the tiles outside. The lush green Epipremnum Aureum growing luxuriantly against the wall splayed itself langorously towards the pelting drops. Almost as if smiling in joy. 

 Chitra was a meticulous housekeeper. Never missed watering her solitary plant which she preferred to call by its botanical name. Unlike her mother who called it the Money plant or the Golden Pothos. The more leaves it sprouted the more smug she became. The plant was an odd signifier of wealth. 

 ‘Look at those huge leaves in Titun’s garden. No wonder they are loaded. All those dollars her father earns.’ 

Chitra was in her teens then. She shot an angry look at her mother.

 ‘The plant is feeding off their huge mango tree, Ma. It has nothing to do with their dollars.’ 

 Her mother muttered something under her breath and said, ‘Yeah, maybe.’ She knew better than to argue with the young firebrand Chitra. Always quick to come to her father’s defence even if the attack was a veiled taunt. 

 Chitra watched the rain in silence. She saw a little girl with a yellow and blue umbrella tiptoe across the balcony, grinning from ear to ear. A young woman, laughing with her hands outstretched, catching the pelting hailstones and showing her little girl the magic of those huge stones scattered all over their balcony. Shouts of children reached her ears and Chitra drew back very deliberately from the glass door. She drew close the curtains, unclipped the black umbrella and strode out. 

 Chitra had not seen her parents for two years. She wondered about the wart she had noticed on her mother’s neck in one of the pictures she had uploaded. It hadn’t been there the last time they had video chatted. The conversation had ended as usual in an argument. Ma has this habit of bringing in inane gossip about relatives.

 ‘Ranu has not been liking my pictures lately. I had told her off the other day.’

 ‘What about? Anyway, don’t tell me. I am not interested’ 

 ‘Listen, her status the other day was all about me.’

 ‘Ma, I said I am not interested. You don’t understand?’

 ‘So I told her…’ ‘Ma, I said no.’

 ‘But just listen..’ Click. Chitra had pushed the end button on that. 

 The rain seemed to have brought out all the weekend shoppers on to the streets. She smiled at the Indian couple who waited at the stop with her. They had a baby on a blue hooded stroller who kept craning her neck to look at her. Chitra sat down on her haunches and said, ‘Hi.’ The baby’s face broke into a beautiful smile, the pink silicone pacifier slipped out which her mother quickly placed back into her mouth. 

She smiled at Chitra and asked, ‘Student?’ 

 ‘No, I work here.’ 

 ‘How long?’

 ‘Nine years.’

 ‘You look like a kid.’

 Chitra smiled to herself as she found herself a seat right in front of the double decker bus. She loved to watch the city lights from this height. The dense growth of trees on either side of the roads, the twinkling back lights of vehicles whizzing past, the revelry in the air despite the downpour, the festoons everywhere declaring the festive season. She mustn’t forget the blue cheese, she reminded herself as she pressed the bell for her stop.

 The lady at the bus stop was quite accurate. Chitra did look like a kid. Her thick black hair had been gathered into a loose mass of curls fringing her round baby face. Bespectacled and without a trace of makeup she looked young for her thirty six years.

 ‘Next, please,’ said the girl at the billing counter.

 ‘That’s going to be one awesome Christmas cake.’ 

She smiled at Chitra as she quickly charged the items to her card. 

 ‘Merry Christmas,’ smiled Chitra. ‘That’s for my Mum.’

 ‘She sure will love it. Happy baking. And Merry Christmas to you too.’ 

 As she rode back home, Chitra wondered whether four hours was enough for soaking the fruit. Her mother would start shopping for her baking about two months before Christmas. She would keep ticking off items from her list once they had been procured. A stout woman in her fifties, she would spread out the goodies on the table, gazing with love at the small mounds of almonds, walnuts, cashew, sultanas, raisins, dehydrated blueberries, cranberries and all. This was a new ritual that she had started after she started watching those Rachel Allen shows. All the leftover liquor of the house would be poured into a glass jar, the goodies put in, the top covered tightly with cling film. She would shake the bottle every three four days, watch the raisins feed on the liquor, plump up and change colour over the next two months. She would remove the film sometimes to sniff and almost gag at the smell.

 But their home would be wonderfully aromatic on the day she baked. Chitra would wake up to the smell of cinnamon and apples, walk into the kitchen to see Ma flushed red, hair askew but grinning triumphantly. 

 ‘Want a bite?’ ‘Not now, Ma. Later.’ 

 ‘Take a small bite, baby.’ 

 ‘Ma, I said no…’ 

 Chitra heaved the heavy packages onto the kitchen counter top and expelled a deep sigh. Rummaged in the shelves for some tupperware boxes, put them in the sink to wash later, washed an Avocado, sliced it through to remove the stone, put a dash of lime and salt, scooped out the insides for her dinner. Unscrewed the bottle of piquant black olives stuffed with cheese and popped three into her mouth. 

 ‘Is that all you will have for dinner?’ 

She mimicked her mother’s tone while scraping the plate into her bin. 

 ‘Yes, it is. Because I eat healthy.’ 

 She grinned to herself and shook her head. Her mother loved surprises. 

 ‘You know, Ravi’s son has come. Ravi said he jumped out of his skin when he saw the boy at the door. Never let his father know. Drove all the way from Bengaluru.’ 

 ‘He must have come for a pocket money raise.’ 

 ‘Chitu, he has a job.’ 

 ‘I know. With a salary that runs out in the middle of the month.’ 

 ‘Whatever. Ravi is so happy. Nice surprise.’ 

 ‘One that I won’t give ever, Ma. Stop hinting.’ 

 She held her breath while the flight touched ground with that crescending roar. She breathed easy while it taxied slowly to a halt. Never a comfortable flyer despite having travelled over half of the world. 

The phones started buzzing and ringing all together. Most passengers had risen, queued up while trying to remove their baggage from the cabin. 

A nice looking gentleman across the aisle smiled at her. He sat patiently like her, waiting for his turn. Somebody’s grandfather probably. Going by the stooping shoulders, wizened face and gnarled hands.

 She smiled back. Nana would have been this old had he lived. That phone call one early evening and the loud sobs of Ma. 

 The old man joined the queue, a bag slung over his shoulder.

 ‘Honey, you need help?’ 

 She looked up to see the old man helping a woman pull a bag out. The woman was attractive, in her forties, deeply kohled eyes and red lips.

 ‘Have you got your stick?’

 ‘Yes, dear.’ 

 He mouthed ‘my wife’ to Chitra as she stared. She smiled and reminded herself not to judge again.

 She quickly glanced at her phone. The first time she had gone offline for more than twelve hours, Ma had roused her neighbours to go and check on her.

 ‘I was working, Ma. Forgot to log in. Anyway, stop stalking like this. I feel claustrophobic.’

 ‘You know I worry. How do I know you are fine?’ 

 ‘Can we cut the drama element? No one behaves like this.’ 

 She was angry. Ma stopped showing her anxiety after that. 

There was always a note of breathless joy in her ‘Ello’ when Chitra called, as if she had been holding the phone in her hand, willing it to ring. 

Her mother was a teacher. After school hours she taught little children of the nearby slum for free.The other day Chitra heard them chanting tables in the background. 

‘Two ones are two, Two twos are four’. 

 ‘Hi Ma. What are you feeding them today?’ 

 ‘Nothing. They did not like the soup I made them last time.’ 

 ‘But why did you make them soup? Why not your desserts? I thought they liked your treats of souffles, Crumbles, Tarts and Pies.’

 ‘They did. But I thought it is not fair to give them a taste of what they won’t get to eat again. Rather give them some nutritious stuff like soups, bread,eggs and all.’

 ‘I don’t agree. Give them exotic stuff that they will aspire to get to eat in their lives.’

 ‘I made them Broccoli soup today.’

 ‘That’s more like it. Did you have some yourself?’

 ‘Tell me. What did you have for lunch today?’ 

 Chitra knew when her question was dodged. She wouldn’t have eaten anything. That was so unlike her mother. She loved to cook because she was die hard foodie. Chitra remembered sitting cross legged on her bed with Ma, as a fifteen year old, eating hot Vadas at three in the morning. She had been studying till late at night and was hungry.

 Ma had got up on hearing her in the kitchen and said, ‘You want to have vadas?’ 

On seeing the delighted nod, she had hugged her tight and brought out her pan. 

‘You go, I will bring them.’ 

 But it seemed like she did not like food these days. It was always oats, fruit and soups. Was she sick? Was she not telling her something? 

 ‘Why this sudden trip home? I thought you said we could go together?’ 

 Pratim was suspicious and probing. As if he gets to decide everything in her life.

 ‘Well, I can change my mind, can’t I?'

'You are still annoyed. Look I said I was sorry about that sexist remark.'

‘No, I am not. And it is ok if you think women ought to be just eye candy.' 

Chitra giggled  to herself as she remembered his confused expression. And gave herself a thumbs up for having aced that once again. She could tell posturing men so much faster now.

The Immigration line was long. She was tired. If she got delayed further at the airport, she would need to call home. The security at home was under instruction to allow visitors only after a video call from the gate. After 11 they became particularly stubborn about following rules. And though she had the house keys with her she was in no mood to argue and convince a groggy, half asleep, bad tempered security guy at the gate. 

 ‘You are listed as co owner of the house, baby.’ 

 Chitra had stared at the keys her mother zipped into the inner flap of her bag the last time. 

 ‘But why are you giving me the keys?’ 

 ‘In case there is an emergency and you need to let yourself in.’

 ‘You should write a long story, Ma. So much melodrama in you.’ 

 Her feet felt cold suddenly. She wondered whether she had enough time to make a beeline for the seat nearby and wear her socks. No, the line was finally moving and she shouldn’t take a chance. 

 Finally in the cab and speeding towards home, she hugged her bag close. Her stomach rumbled. Hours since she had eaten anything. She had put her flight meal in the bag because she did not want Ma to cook for her in the middle of the night. The fruit cake was packed well in the Tupperware but the heavenly smell of cinnamon, rum, the plump golden fruit was oozing out. It was just like the ones her Ma baked.

 Excitement was catching up as she neared their apartments. She looked up at the eighth floor and all was dark. No lights through the curtain slits. Unusual because Ma read late into the night. She couldn’t quieten a moment of unease. 

‘All is well, all is well’ she whispered to herself.

She tapped her card at the Reception lobby and the guy looked up,

‘406?' 

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘You are Madam’s daughter?’ 

 ‘Yes.’ 

 ‘Go quickly. They are waiting for you.’

 ‘Why what happened?'  She was running now without waiting for an answer towards the elevators, breathless. She half heard the guy who shouted something after her. The door closed and she was on her way to her floor. She was sobbing quietly now, mouth clenched, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 The impersonal tone of the floor announcer said ‘eighth floor’ and the elevator stopped.

 When the door opened, she saw through her tears her parents waiting there, looking worried. 

 ‘It’s ok, said Baba. The guy confused the number. Mrs. Mishra was hospitalised today for a cardiac problem.’

 He held her close as she sobbed in relief.

 Ma moved closer,crooning softly, ‘Hush, baby. All is fine.’ 

 She drew away, laughing loudly now in relief as she took in her parents standing there, barefooted, in their night clothes and the door of the apartment behind them swung shut. 

 ‘Oh no,’ Ma wailed. 

 ‘Oh yes!’, said Chitra, taking out her key from the bag.

 ‘This is the kind of emergency I like, not any other. I swear I will kill the Security chap.’

 ‘Why on earth do you guys look so thin?’ 

 ‘So, it shows? That means the diet works.’ 

 ‘But why these stupid diet fads now?'

 Putting her bag down, she noticed flowers in the corner. There were candles And the smell of food! The table was laid with her Ma’s best crockery and cutlery. Chitra looked incredulously at them. 

 ‘Did you know I was coming?’ 

 Baba cleared his throat and said, ‘Your Ma felt you were coming. In her bones, she said.’

 ‘But how? I was so careful.’ 

 ‘I just knew,’ said Ma. ‘From your tone. I get to know.'

'Eighth floor' said the recorded voice of the elevator.