Buku The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah
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The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah

Author:Aparna Kaji Shah

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Inanna Publications

Published: 2018-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

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The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah

Ba

I would plead, “Just one more story, Ba, please, before you take a nap.”

“Okay, Suneel,” she would agree, “then, young man, off you go and play.”

 

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The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah

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The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah

 

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The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories by Aparna Kaji Shah

Author:Aparna Kaji Shah , Date: June 11, 2019

,Views: 18

Author:Aparna Kaji Shah

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Inanna Publications

Published: 2018-06-10T16:00:00+00:00
Ba

I would plead, “Just one more story, Ba, please, before you take a nap.”

“Okay, Suneel,” she would agree, “then, young man, off you go and play.”

When I came home from school around four, she always opened the door for me with a steaming mug of tea in hand. My parents returned from work at seven, and I looked forward to my Ba’s warm smile and chatter about what she had been occupied with during the day. “I walked for half an hour before lunch and oh, I saw such beautiful flowers on Bruce street,” or, “Did you hear about the accident at the intersection?” She showed me the book she was reading with comments like, “Such trash!” or, “Amazing, you should read it during the holidays.” She often went over to our neighbour Susie’s house. Susie was eighty-seven and completely bed-ridden. Ba read to her, made her a cup of coffee, chatted, and cheered her up.

Other neighbours greeted her with a warm, “Hello, Mrs. Mehta,” and Ba always stopped to ask about their families and jobs.

When she went out, she would come home and tell us, “Marie’s baby is lovely; I saw her at the park today.” Or, “Poor Henry, his knee is really bothering him. I told him I would get him the Ayurvedic ointment when I go to India.”

I remember being very upset one evening because of a C-grade in a science project, as I usually got an A. I was miserable after a heated discussion with my parents. Ba came into my room later that evening and said, “Suneel, you can’t always get an ‘A.’ A ‘C’ will motivate you to work harder and not take your strengths for granted.”

“You’re right, Ba,” I replied.

I had wondered about Ba’s transformation after my grandfather had passed away about seven years ago. No longer did I hear the tinkling of glass bangles as Ba approached; no longer did I see her in a deep red or green sari with a vermilion bindi on her broad forehead. Those were the days when she was often in the kitchen, making traditional mithai that all of us, but especially Dada, loved. Now, I was used to seeing her in a white sari, no bindi, and a single gold bangle on her arm; now, she only helped my mother with the cleaning and chopping of vegetables and rarely went near the stove.

One Friday night when Ba was already asleep, I tiptoed into her room to pick up a book that I had forgotten. I was surprised to see my parents in a whispered discussion by her bedside. I got my book and turned to leave. My dad came out with me. We went to the family room, where he seated me next to him on the sofa.

“Listen, Suneel, Ba has been diagnosed with a lung condition that will make her bed-ridden in about six to eight months. They did some tests as her cough wouldn’t go away; we just got the reports this afternoon.

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