Monsoon Memories by Renita D'Silva Read Free Book Online Page A

everywhere, but in the end had to accept it was lost. And now...’
    So the photograph had been Madhu’s.
    Madhu ran her fingers gently over the girl’s face, her hair.
    And Reena understood why the picture was worn.
    ‘She had lovely hair, thick and long. I used to plait it for her in two long braids, and tie it up behind her ears. She always made sure I used matching ribbons.’ Madhu smiled. ‘She sat so still while I oiled it and combed it, no matter how knotty it was, no matter how much it hurt. And I talked to her the whole time. She was my favourite, you know. It was a secret—hers and mine.’ Madhu’s voice broke.
    Reena waited until Madhu had composed herself somewhat.
    She hated herself for doing so but she had to ask. ‘Did she die?’
    Madhu blanched. Years of living in a Catholic household had rubbed off on her and she made the sign of the cross, her puffy, red-rimmed eyes sprouting fresh tears. She spoke so softly that Reena had to strain to hear. ‘No. Thank God, thank Jesus, no.’

CHAPTER FIVE
    Blue-Green Soda Bottles
    ‘Y ou’re early today, Shirin.’ Kate said as she and Shirin took the lift up from the car park together.
    ‘Yes, well, Vinod had a breakfast meeting and I was awake,’ Shirin said, yawning.
    ‘Wide awake, I see,’ smiled Kate, who always turned up at the office at the crack of dawn—which would have been an extremely annoying trait in any other boss. ‘Journey here okay?’
    ‘Yes.’ She had sped past that particular pedestrian crossing, ignoring the two people waiting to cross. No haunting eyes.
    ‘It’s not the nightmare keeping you up?’ Kate’s voice was tentative.
    Sister Maya’s face—thick bushy eyebrows joined together at the top of her frog-like nose; a moustache replete with the beginnings of a beard; moles dotting her face, with curly black hairs growing out of the larger two, located rather symmetrically on either side of her nostrils—flashed before Shirin’s eyes. She smiled. ‘Not the nightmare, no. An ogre called Sister Maya.’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘She was my primary school headmistress.’
    Kate’s eyebrows were two question marks, her lips curved in a bemused smile. A query.
    ‘Memories,’ Shirin continued by way of explanation. ‘They’ve been overwhelming me.’
    ‘Since the dream?’
    Shirin nodded. ‘Vinod thinks it’s the healing process. He’s read all the books that counsellor gave us. He says I am ready to revisit the past.’ Words tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out of Shirin’s mouth, a bit like the memories that hovered, ready to spill out at the slightest provocation. ‘He thinks it’s the only way I can let go. Move on.’
    ‘And what do you think?’
    Numbers blinked red on the panel by the lift door: 2, 3, 4. ‘It doesn’t hurt to remember, Kate. Not anymore.’
    Kate smiled. ‘Good. That’s good.’
    The lift pinged, the doors opening with a sigh. Shirin looked at the rows of desks, bereft without their occupants. ‘Right. Work,’ she said.
    ‘If you need to talk about anything, you know where I am.’
    ‘I know. Thank you. For yesterday.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. See you around ten-ish for the UAT meeting.’
    ‘Oh, Kate, I almost forgot. That guarantees spec you requested is ready. Shall I email it to you?’
    ‘I think it would be better if we went over it together. Print it off. I’ll be at your desk in a tick.’
    As she waited for Kate, Shirin clicked on the first message in her inbox, one of those forwarded emails that she usually deleted unread: a photograph of a Stella Artois bottle sans label, sitting on a windowsill, a ray of weak winter sun illuminating it, making it glow. To Shirin, it looked just like the blue-green soda bottles of her childhood.
    A memory, long forgotten, suddenly vivid : Pelam beach. Sea roaring; sea gulls hovering, scavenging for fish scraps; noisy crows swooping and cackling; men with wicker baskets of churmuri slung loosely round their necks peddling their