by Bakul Banerjee
A loud knock on the flimsy wooden door
jolted three of us. Mother rushed to open it
while trying to hide the rip in her sari.
A giant of a young muscleman was standing
there, taller than the door. Two taxi cabs
blocked the alley, a strange sight indeed.
Seven men and women, young and old
tumbled out. Neighbours watched the spectacle.
My shy little brother ran off and stood still
facing the darkest corner of our only bedroom.
That was often his solution, but I remained
curious. Muscleman hauled in many valises
and suitcases. Others followed. “The cab driver
needs his fare.” Somebody instructed Mother.
She dived into the dark bedroom. I slipped
inside before she could close the door.
Shaking out rupees from the hidden rusting tin,
she hissed at me, “Get an education and earn
money. Then, you won’t have to bear with
this nonsense. That’s it! No more money
to buy any food for the rest of the month.
We are out of the rationed quota of rice
for two weeks.” In the darkness, her eyes
dazzled and lips twitched. Brother whimpered.
An actress she could have been. She was
all smiles out in the courtyard, welcoming
relatives from nowhere, then returning
to her tiny kitchen to add water to dishes
she cooked in the afternoon. That evening,
at dinner in the courtyard, Father complained
about the thin Dal and smaller portion of curry,
but my portions were even smaller and no fish.
Mother kept piling rice on the plate
of the muscleman. “You should make the Dal
thicker.” The fat lady offered advice taking
three helpings. The granduncle ate
in silence. I took away empty pots to the
kitchen. Conversations continued as bells
rang in the temple of Lakshmi, the goddess
of wealth, filling the sky lit by moonlight.
Alone, she sat in the dim kitchen staring
at her sparkling but empty brass plate.
“What are you going to eat?” I whispered.
“Come back later to help me clean the kitchen.”
She replied. Disobeying, I stood by the door
staring over her shoulder. A teaspoonful of rice
from the cooking pot and a tablespoon of curry
sauce – that’s all she could put on the plate.
With great care, she spread the miniscule
mixture around painting a plateful of food,
then ate every grain one by one slowly,
lastly sucking the brown bay leaf.
Award-winning author and poet Bakul Banerjee, Ph.D. published her first volume of poems, titled “Synchronicity: Poems” in June 2010. Other poems and stories have been published in several literary magazines and anthologies throughout the U.S. She received the international Gayatri Memorial Literary Award for her contribution to English literature. Bakul has been featured in multiple Chicago area poetry events and presented workshops including one titled “Inspirations from World Poetry” at the prestigious Chicago Poetry Fest 2012. Currently, she serves as the chair of Naperville Writers Group. She received her Ph.D. degree in computational geophysics from The Johns Hopkins University, Maryland.
