“Come… come with me to the kitchen now,” Mrs. Bajaj ordered.
“Why mamma? I'm watching TV,” the little boy answered.
The Other Side
229 “Mamma needs some help with the cooking. Please come,” Mrs. Bajaj requested, her tone mellowing down but the anxiety in her voice, increasing. The obedient son, that he was, Ajit got up and walked towards her.
“Whom were you talking to just now?” Mrs. Bajaj asked drooping down to her son's level.
“Didi'sfriend, Smita,” Ajit replied, eyes not blinking. “Mamma will be very angry if you make up stories, Ajit,” Mrs. Bajaj threatened. “I'm not lying. She wanted to know where didi was and when she would be back. She got angry when I said I don't know. I feel scared of her, mamma,” Ajit said, rushing to wrap his mother in his little arms.
“Your didi has been stuffing your brain with lies.,” she said, patting his back lightly. Mrs. Bajaj shivered slightly. No doubt, Ayushee's antics had started affecting her little brother.
The loud sound of the grinder's motor made her stand up and rush towards the kitchen. As soon as she pushed open the kitchen door, the heavy lid over the motor came off with a pop and flew in her direction. She hardly had any time to duck the whirling sharp circular metal as it narrowly missed her head and crashed into the door.
Mrs. Bajaj couldn't move her profusely sweating body. She almost fainted imagining what would have happened if she had not ducked.
When she informed her husband about the incident on his return from work, he raised his voice rather than sympathizing with her. He would just not listen when she was trying to explain the reason of her rushing out from the kitchen.
“Anything could have happened, Pooja. What if Ajit had come into the kitchen with you and the lid had flown towards him?” Mr. Bajaj asked, clearly infuriated. She shivered at the possibility.
“I don't want to hear anything. From tomorrow, ask Kanta to stay here itself and take a weekly off. We'll pay her twice her current wages,” Mr. Bajaj continued.
“B…but we're already paying her an outrageous amount for agreeing to work here,” Mrs. Bajaj tried to say.
“No, please don't argue. This is the limit of carelessness, Pooja,” Mr. Bajaj rebuked.
Mrs. Bajaj saw to it that the kids had finished their meals. She had not allowed Ayushee to step out of the house, keeping a strict eye on her movements since her daughter had come home from school.
“So how was your first day at school, Ayushee?” Mrs. Bajaj asked when she went to collect the empty glass of milk in the kids' bedroom.
“Good,” Ayushee said and pulled on the covers.
Packing off a sullied Ayushee to school soon became an integral part of Mrs. Bajaj's routine. A week later when she had just laid out the dishes on the table, she left the dining room to call Kantabai to help her in getting additional bowls. Two minutes later when she returned, Kantabai in tow with the bowls in her hands, a fowl stench hit their nostrils. It got worse as they neared the dining table and Kantabai covered her nose with the drape of her sari while Mrs. Bajaj used her palm.
The Other Side
231 “Memsahab, the food has gone stale. I can see worms crawling in the gravy,” Kantabai said.
“It is fresh. I just cooked it. How can it go stale?” Mrs. Bajaj said and placed a hand over the bowl of rice. “Oh no,” she said and checked the curry and the pulses in the same manner.
“What is it, memsahab?” Kantabai asked, seeing the nervous look on her face.
“It was boiling hot just sometime back. I used a cloth to hold the bowls from the sides and now…” Mrs. Bajaj tried to say. “… It's as cold as ice,” Kantabai finished, placing her hand on the rice bowl. “Don't worry memsahab. You take rest. I'll get something for the three of us from outside,” she added, trying to calm down Mrs. Bajaj.
In her heart, Kanta was just waiting to burst out of the house. On her way to the door, she remembered how last evening she had shouted at Ayushee for not keeping her room clean, making her mop it up daily. The girl had stood up and glared at her balefully. She had vividly seen her eyes change colour as she stared into her. She had screamed, dropped the broom and ran out to bump into a worried Mrs. Bajaj.
“What happened, Kanta? Why did you scream?” her memsahabhad asked.
“No… nothing. Lizard.” she had managed to say, not knowing how to explain what she had seen. Mrs. Bajaj would call her stupid whenever she heard her chanting the Hanuman chalisa while cleaning the corners of the house. She knew she had not been called stupid for chanting it but for being naïve enough to believe in something that she had been trying to make her memsahabunderstand.