One Evening....

I was riding pillion on my husband’s bike from HSR Layout to Banashankari on a Saturday evening at 4 PM. As we skimmed through honks, smoke, dust, the vehicles slowly reduced their speed to a signal showing red and eventually stopped.

The noise of the engines, and the smell of smoke, made my head turn to my left and I noticed a biker next to me, his vehicle was very close to ours. His bike engine was running, and the smoke and noise were annoying me. He was browsing through his mobile, and a quick look at his screen told me he was glancing through FaceBook.

I looked away and aimlessly scanned around when my gaze fell on a coffee brown car beside me on to the right. A young man at the steering wheel had his eyes fixed on the mobile. My gaze then moved towards the lady seated next to him and her screen was clearly visible to me. She was scrolling through WhatsApp status pics unaware that I was watching her. 

As the signal turned green, we buzzed through the roads only to be stalled at yet another signal and I let out a moan. My wandering eyes were soon glaring at a similar scene in a red car except that this time, there was a girl in the back seat typing something real fast on her mobile and smiling as she did so. 

My eyes surveyed her hairstyle for a few moments, some hairs are taken out from the centre and pinned backwards and I saw her 2 ponies coming out from her sides to fall on her shoulders. I admiringly looked at her and thought that the hairstyle suited her really well. 

“I should try this on Neha, it may look good”, I thought and cringed at how bad I was with hairstyles. Poor Neha.

“Oh my!”, I had forgotten to call her. I fished out my mobile from the handbag and looking through the history, called the number that read “Neha”. I could hear the ringing sound for a good 15 to 20 seconds before I heard, 

“Hello Maa”, from my 13-year-old girl.

“What took you so long Neha?”.

“Sorry Maa, the phone was in the upstairs room, What time are you coming?”.

“We are on our way, maybe another 40 minutes, what are you guys doing?”.

“I was reading my library book and Arjun is doing some painting”.

“Oh ok, don’t open the door to anyone, we will be home soon”.

“Okay, bye Maa”.

“Bye Neha”.

There it was, the deadly silk board junction signal. Helpless, I continued my rendezvous with my co-travellers. But this time, I noticed something which for once lit up my eyes. I spied a baby boy maybe a year or less, he was half sitting and trying with all his might to stand up on his grandfather’s leg, who was sitting in the front seat of the car. The car window was up, maybe to keep the baby away from pollution, but his eyes were curiously looking around and his little hands were banging on the glass window. His head would turn with a sudden jerk, in the direction of any noise. His legs were bouncing all the time. When his gaze met mine, I waved my hand and smiled, he continued looking at me. His grandfather who was watching me lifted the baby’s hand and made him wave at me and then he smiled and chuckled.

“Oh, cho sweet”, I couldn’t help saying. 

I had enough time to play peek a boo with him before we went our ways.

As I rang the bell, I heard my 10-year-old son, come to the window and scream,

“Who is it? “

“Monster Mommy”, I said laughingly. 

I could hear the sound of the latch being unlocked and immediately my girl, burst out with excitement,

“Maa you should read Roger Ackroyd, I just finished it and it is so so good.”

As I walked into the house, I noticed an A3 size cartridge paper which was laid down on a newspaper on the floor. The cartridge paper was wet and I observed the painting of a lady in bare feet, with her pants, rolled up, her hairs tied in a ponytail, holding a little girl with her left hand and even a younger boy in her right hand. There was blue paint all around.

“Did you like the painting ?” asked Arjun, eager for my approval.

“I loved it. Are you done with it ?” I asked.

“I am done for now”, he said and added, “I am hungry, can I have something to eat?”.

Out of habit, I inspected the floor, there were watercolour tubes, some open, some closed, a bowl of water which was gutter green in colour, paintbrushes strewed around, droplets of water. I walked around all that stuff, carefully and announced,

“Guys quickly clean up the living room, I will freshen up and get you both milk”, before I entered the washroom.

In a short while, we sat down with a tray of coffee, milk and homemade banana bread cake.

The aroma of coffee and cinnamon from the bread cake diffused into the living room and a gentle calmness took over me.

At that instance, my mobile phone buzzed and I looked at the screen, the display showed “Sowmya”, my cousin’s wife.

“Hi Sowmya”

“Hi.... Are you home? I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”, Sowmya asked.

“We just came in a while ago, if it is ok with you, can I call you in like half an hour”, I said.

“Sure”.

I took a sip of the coffee and went “hmm” and closed my eyes. 

“That is my glass” screamed my son.

“Is your name written on it ?” my daughter yelled back as she picked up a slice of the cake and then the banter continued while we had our snack and chatted.

As promised, I called Sowmya after a while.

“Sorry, about that Sowmya, now I am free to talk?”

“Did you see the videos I sent you?”.

“I noticed your messages this morning, but didn’t find time to really go through them, but what were you doing at 2 am in the morning, sending me those messages?”

“I was watching the videos and reading the forwards from WhatsApp last night and didn’t know the time go by, do watch them, they are so funny”

“By the way, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”.

“Oh ya, you know what, the school counsellor has advised us to take Shravya to the psychiatrist.”, confusion and concern coupled in her voice. 

“For what ?”, I asked a little shocked.

“Her grades have been dipping, she has got C this time, can you believe it ?”

“Hmm mm”

“Her teacher tells me she is having attention issues, she is unable to focus in class.”

“Whenever her teacher reprimands her for not paying attention, she complains of a headache and starts crying”, she continued.

“Are you there?”, she asked when I didn’t respond.

“I am listening, go on”, I said.

“Ya so, at home she is always hooked on to the mobile phone, she is either playing games or watching some videos.”

“I am tired of telling her yaar, she just won’t listen to me”.

“That is bad”, I finally managed to say.

“I have fixed an appointment with the psychiatrist, but she says, both parents need to come for the appointment and you know your cousin, he just doesn’t want to come”.

“Can you please talk to him and convince him, he really listens to you”.

“I will try”, I assured her.

“Neha is one year older to Shravya right ? Do you have similar problems”, she asked.

“Not so far”, I said.

“You are so lucky yaar, Shravya on one side, she doesn’t listen to me and your cousin is equally stubborn, he is back from work, but sitting with his mobile since then”

“I will talk to him first thing in the morning tomorrow Sowmya.”, I said before I ended the call.