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'The shop next to the Mother Dairy outlet.'
After a smile and a Thank you, We exited 'Unique Cyber Cafe' to wander in the busy day market of Hari Nagar. The electrical goods shop owner was talking to a customer about how beautiful handwriting he had, and giving some tips for the customer's son to improve his'. Now and then, cycle rickshaw's would ring their bells to clear ways.
I held Mumma's hand. In the other, I held the shopping bag. The flour shop had come. She climbed two steps to reach to the raised platform of that kiosk. Asking her to do the rest shopping and meet me at a commonplace later, I left for the next right turn, which was only a few shops across.
A Mother Dairy board was hanging on the stem of a tree...a yard's distance from the corner. A bunch of school kids were standing on their toes at a stationary shop, asking for Boomer and Kachcha Aam. Dressed in their school uniform...a half tucked white shirt on a navy blue shorts. One of the shortest and thinnest boy clipped his belt, reached for some coins in his pocket, and re-clipped his belt again.
An eatery's chef was kneading the dough, while his mates were putting Mirchi Ka Achaar, Chole in big aluminium containers. It was about time they started serving the famous punjabi dish, relished by Delhites & immigrants alike. Except my Mumma, who hated it.
The tree I reached, but no where in picture, was the Cyber Cafe which was supposed to be having a 'working' printer...
The big fat man on the dairy outlet was busy packing Curd into small plastic bags.
'Bhaiya, is there any Cyber Cafe in this lane?'
Busy in his work, bending over to pick a plastic from the pack, he replied, '1st Floor pe hai.' without even caring his eyes the effort to stop focussing the curd. Obesity could be so disabling. He was sweating by the mere task of bending. His lungs were efforting like that of a chronically constipated person's does.
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At 1st Floor, it seemed as if a hundred heads turned, even if the space had only ten systems working. A girl in a cyber outlet- was still weird here. Everyone kept on looking while I searched for a manager/owner. Finding none, I pushed open the door to exit, when one amongst the many staring said, 'Yes, Madam.'
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Print in hand, I walked only a few steps ahead when I found Mumma waiting. The sight of a familiar face instilled immense security, relief and happiness. I hate going to a public place alone. Even in buses or metro for that matter. Alienating it is.
Giving her the print, I took the shopping bag from her hand. Flour, Pulses and Fruits...added a good 8 kilo weight on my shoulders, to which I tilted my body and changed my center of gravity and we started our journey back home.
A lean, turban-clad 20-old boy was now standing at the eatery shop. The dough balls glistened as they lay neatly arranged near the cylindrical barbecue which smoked hot. 'Slurrrp' shouted the stomach. Eyes would have stopped for a moment, but not the feet. I shifted my gaze to the other things on road. The LML scooter, the Hero cycle. Not saying a word, and not exchanging a glance with Mumma, we kept on moving.
The stationary shop passed, now, having no kids. We were to re-enter the main markets just when Mumma said, 'Let's have a Chola Batura.'
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Tele says: She reads my minds. And sometimes, she even reads my actions well before their formulation. She let's me have what makes me happy. She's the magician!!
She does it all...for a mere smile on my face. Mothers.....will be mothers!!
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