The Most Unforgettable Day in My Life
It was the day my son was to join school. My husband gave him a bath, dressed him in his best clothes, handed over to him the new colourful backpack with the accessories for the first day at school. The little fellow hoisted it onto his back immediately, and sat in the cane chair, his face shining from the shower and eyes sparkling with excitement. The rest of us in "Vivien Villa"– my husband, daughter and I- stood there for a moment looking at him, and then we broke up, my husband to the bathroom for his shave and shower, my daughter to her books till the school bus came and I, to the kitchen where I was usually caught multitasking at that time of the day(my niece who has a terrific sense of humour and a way with words always used to tell me that looking at me in the kitchen at that time of the day is like watching a fast forward clip).
I hurriedly put two large frying pans on the stove, poured ghee into them and arranged soaked slices of bread into the frying pan – ten of them –to make Bombay toasts (some call it French toast-but I’m mulish about Bombay). Then I whirled around and laid out four lunch boxes on the kitchen table and then was at the filter filling water bottles. Just then the delicious smell of Bombay toast frying in ghee came wafting up and I whirled around again towards the stove to turn the toasts over. I had just turned the last toast over, looking with satisfaction at the golden brown toast when I heard a loud yell from the bathroom.
I have fixed in my mind certain decibel levels as normal for each member of my family, based on their temperament, age and voice quality. That yell was way above the permissible mark set for my husband, and so, I did a magnificent hop, skip and jump through the rooms, my heart in my mouth.- Geyser shock? Fall? Accidentally cut the jugular vein while shaving? (always imagine the worst - that’s me)
“What’s wrong”, panic, fear in my voice.
“The lock is stuck”. He discovered this trying to come out of the
I hurriedly put two large frying pans on the stove, poured ghee into them and arranged soaked slices of bread into the frying pan – ten of them –to make Bombay toasts (some call it French toast-but I’m mulish about Bombay). Then I whirled around and laid out four lunch boxes on the kitchen table and then was at the filter filling water bottles. Just then the delicious smell of Bombay toast frying in ghee came wafting up and I whirled around again towards the stove to turn the toasts over. I had just turned the last toast over, looking with satisfaction at the golden brown toast when I heard a loud yell from the bathroom.
I have fixed in my mind certain decibel levels as normal for each member of my family, based on their temperament, age and voice quality. That yell was way above the permissible mark set for my husband, and so, I did a magnificent hop, skip and jump through the rooms, my heart in my mouth.- Geyser shock? Fall? Accidentally cut the jugular vein while shaving? (always imagine the worst - that’s me)
“What’s wrong”, panic, fear in my voice.
“The lock is stuck”. He discovered this trying to come out of the