The papers.

"...and that's why I want to be a Doctor when I grow up".

Thats how the little girl’s speech ended on children's day. Her parents sit in the first row, because she asked them to. They clap their hands, a bit too enthusiastically. She is happy.

The little girl finishes with a flourish and blushes furiously at the standing ovation. She stands uncertainly for a few seconds on the stage, smiling widely, before running towards her parents. Her parents are proud. They both reach towards her and their hands touch. Both of them draw back, as if stung. Priya, or Prikutti, as she is fondly known, all of nine years old, is too young to notice anything strange.

”Do you like my trophy, amma?” Priya asks her mother, holding the small trophy close to her heart, tilting it a bit so that the words Priya, engraved in gold letters shine in the light cast by the chandelier above the dining table.

Priya admirably hides her disappointment when she notices that her mother has not looked up from her novel. With downcast eyes, she settles down on her chair and plays around with the food. Her father notices the telltale attention-seeking signs of his daughter but somehow does not indulge her this time.

”Amma, appa hate me,” Priya concludes “because I am not as fair as Sheetal, because I scored 23.5 on 25 and she scored 25/25 in the Geography test”. Unnoticed, innocent tear drops fall down her cheeks.

Being a child gives Priya the privilege to forget what just transpired, in a few moments and she runs off to play with her Barbie dolls. The little respite offered by their only child, having evaporated, a gloomy silence fills the dining room, broken by the cold sounds of cutlery grating against plates. The farce now complete, husband and wife retire to their respective bedrooms.

*****
”But, why can’t you come? Amma, appa, me, you, we can go together to my school like we used to…”, Priya pleadingly looks from her mother to her father, searching for an answer in their impassive expressions. “Appa will take you today and buy you chocolates on the way to school”, her father tells her, hoping that this offer would shield Priya, even if temporarily, from the shock that she eventually would have to face. Priya looks back one final time to see if her mother would come with her, and then walks out with her father. She cannot understand what she has done to bring about this strange change over her parents.

*****
Today, Priya is happy. It is a Saturday, which means no school and her parents got her icecream in the morning. She sits unsuspectingly, happily on the couch, eating icecream and laughing at Tom and Jerry’s antics. Her parents are busy discussing something animatedly, which she cannot understand, a sheaf of papers spread about in front of them. She smiles happily, misconstruing business for marital bliss.

“I think we have reached an agreement then.” the lawyer says, standing up and shaking hands with Priya’s parents. Priya stands between them, curiously staring at the man’s official-looking mustache. The man leaves and Priya’s parents sit down, tired, both looking worriedly at their daughter. Priya knows enough to understand that this cannot mean any good. She tries to edge away to her play room. “Did amma, appa find out that I hit Kanchu today at class yesterday?” she wonders.

To break the uncomfortable silence in the room, Priya’s father clears his throat and says “Prikutti, pattu, inge va, unga kitta konjam pesanum”. Priya is wary but cannot resist his pleading tone. She plops herself on her father’s lap and looks up expectantly at his face. After all, in her eyes, isn't he the most important and intelligent man? the best father in the world?

Her mother looks ready to cry, unseen ghosts tormenting her mind. She stands up decisively. She cannot deceive her child further. “Appa and Amma want to take a small holiday, Priya ma…,” she says, doing her best to maintain her composure. Priya still playfully fiddling with her father’s gold chain, does not look up. Her father gently unwinds her fingers and lifts her chin up. “Holiday polame!”…nine years old and she has already learnt to infuse more enthusiasm into her voice than she actually feels. Her parents exchange a look of pain, concern, love…for a second, they feel a connection, one that they had not felt for so long that they had forgotten what it was like to feel again…what drew them to each other in the first place.

A mother’s heart can take an unbelievable amount of personal misery but somehow always disappoints when the child is concerned, it can no longer maintain its unrelenting stamina. Unconsolable tears stream down her face. Her husband sits unmoving for a few seconds. He sees his wife, the way he has not seen her in a long time. He lets his eyes, his self take in every bit of his wife. He notices the delicate creased lines on her forehead, eyes that he adored until a few months ago and now again, a small nose, red now with emotion (he smiles)…and suddenly he realizes he feels like he had when they had initially started going out. She is the same beautiful, vulnerable, stubborn girl…and he could not love her more than he did now.

Priya did not understand why her mother cried and why her parents were hugging now like they do on TV, when they make her get up to get some water for them. She is happy and runs forward to hug them. Mother, father and daughter stand in an intimate circle, the papers strewn on the floor all around them.

*****