“Babba, where are you off to early in the morning, all decked up like Mala Sinha?”
Sitting on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, my husband was scanning through the newspaper, eyes gliding over news of the nation, society, and people’s faults. Peering over his glasses, he threw the question at me.
— “To Ranga Kakima’s house. She had asked me to get two books from the book fair. Thought I’d drop them off; otherwise, she’ll keep calling in distress. Tinni has a holiday today, so I got the time.”
— “Holiday today? Is it for Rose Day celebrations?”
— “Ugh, stop your nonsense so early in the morning! The seniors have exams, so the school is closed. But since when did you start keeping track of these Rose Days and all?”
— “Well, today marks the beginning of Valentine’s Week, and apparently, it’s the day for giving roses! Who knows, maybe schools have started declaring holidays for this too. These modern schools celebrate everything with parents and even grandparents involved. And since morning, my WhatsApp has been buzzing with red roses.”
— “Oh really? Who’s sending you roses at this age?”
— “There are admirers, you know! Just because I’m older doesn’t mean I can’t have fans.”
— “Huh! What a load of nonsense!”
— “Alas! How tragic! The market is so bad these days that no one even believes I could have admirers. Hey, listen… since Tinni is asleep, why don’t you come sit beside me? Let’s have a little romantic chat…”
— “Oh, stop! I need to go and come back quickly. No time to sit and listen to your chatter!”
He smirked. Slinging my vanity bag over my shoulder, I stepped out. I got an auto right at the main road’s corner. Ranga Kakima’s flat wasn’t far. Her son, Dada Bhai—my husband’s elder cousin—had bought a flat nearby, and last year, we managed to convince Kakima and Kaka to leave their dilapidated old house in North Kolkata and move in permanently.
Ranga Kakima treats my husband like her own younger son. Ever since my mother-in-law passed away, my husband has found solace in Kakima, as if he got his mother back. And honestly, I’ve rarely seen such an uncanny resemblance between two people. After my mother-in-law’s passing, Ranga Kakima seamlessly filled her void.
Now, let’s talk about Ranga Kakima. She’s nearly 70, and Kaka is 78. She is both authoritative and witty. Once a stunning beauty, her skin still has that golden glow. She has a round face, large expressive eyes, and a prominent red bindi in the middle of her forehead. Her lips are always stained red from chewing betel leaves. She wears white sarees with red borders every day—the quintessential old-school mother-in-law look. A voracious reader with vast knowledge, she isn’t grumpy but commands a natural authority. Despite her age, she’s incredibly smart and even adept with smartphones—something I’ve rarely seen in 70-year-olds. My own father, who just turned a senior citizen last year, is still content pressing the green and red buttons on his phone.
Ranga Kaka, on the other hand, was once a railway employee. He is tall, fair, and well-built, except for his growing belly. Strangely, every male in this family looks similar. My husband isn’t bad-looking either—not that I praise him to his face, but I do like him quite a bit. Even my co-sister’s son is quite handsome. But the most shocking fact? Ranga Kaka had a love marriage—actually, he eloped to get married! Given his serious personality, it’s hard to believe his youthful escapades. I’ve heard many juicy love stories about them from my husband’s aunt, though I never dared to ask Kakima directly.
The auto stopped in front of the apartment complex. Adjusting my saree, I got down. Oh, right—one of Kakima’s rules is that I must wear my mother-in-law’s sarees when visiting her. She claims my mother-in-law’s collection was unparalleled, and she never let anyone wear them, always saying, “My son’s wife will wear them one day.” So now, I must be extra careful—no tearing the sarees!
From the gate, I could already see Kakima standing on the balcony, probably amused by my saree-handling struggles. Before I could ring the bell, she opened the door.
— “I made some naru for Khokon (my husband). Take them with you. You people live in such a godforsaken place; can’t even find good gur (jaggery) there!”
— “How are you? And how’s Ranga Kaka?”
— “Oh, we’re managing, two oldies stuck in this pigeonhole.”
She made a face, then suddenly noticed my saree.
— “This garden saree… did you know your mother-in-law wore it on Khokon’s 10th birthday? It was her first garden saree. Don’t you dare tear it!”
I sighed. Kakima’s eyesight was sharp as ever, catching my every movement from the balcony. Trying to change the subject, I asked,
— “Where’s Ranga Kaka?”
— “Gone for a walk. He’s found a new gang of old men to chat with. Aging, yet his humor is growing!”
I knew better than to engage in this conversation—dangerous territory! I quickly handed her the books. Her eyes lit up, and for a moment, she looked just like Tinni when she got books from the fair. That look warmed my heart.
— “Looks like you haven’t eaten. I made ghee parathas. Have some before you leave.”
— “No, Kakima, I must rush. Tinni’s school is off, and her father has to leave for work.”
— “Then why didn’t you bring her?”
— “She has exams soon. She won’t study properly if I’m not around.”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Ranga Kaka walked in, beaming. He was dressed in an all-white outfit, resembling a cricket umpire. Seeing me, he suddenly turned serious. Then, I caught the smell—hot kachoris and malpua! He quickly slipped into the kitchen, and within minutes, Kakima’s voice boomed,
— “What’s all this now? I made parathas, and you bring these! You have digestion issues, yet you keep buying fried food!”
Despite my protests, a full plate of kachori, paratha, chorchori, pantua, malpua, and a jar of naru landed before me. I surrendered and ate. Just as I finished, my husband called.
— “When are you coming? I need to leave for the office, and Tinni can’t be alone for too long!”
— “I’m leaving! Kakima made me eat first!”
— “Alright, come quickly.”
I knew he wouldn’t argue against Kakima’s orders. Honestly, I had enjoyed the meal. Stuffing the naru jar into my bag, I bid farewell.
— “Be careful with the saree and the naru jar! Bring the jar back. Dugga Dugga!”
As I stepped out, my stomach full, I moved slower. Just as I got into the auto, I realized—my phone was missing! Ugh, the hassle!
Rushing back, I rang the bell. No response. Fourth time in, Kakima finally opened the door—hair undone.
— “Back so soon? Stomach upset?”
— “No, forgot my phone. Were you about to shower?”
— “No, just felt a bit sweaty.”
Sweaty? In February? Strange! Entering the room, I found Ranga Kaka looking guilty. My phone lay on the sofa, but what caught my eye was the red-stained white sweater… and a fresh red rose hidden under the sofa!
Realization hit. Their guilty faces mirrored young lovers caught red-handed. Suppressing laughter, I grabbed my phone.
As Kakima walked me to the door, I impulsively hugged her and whispered,
— “Happy Rose Day!”
Oh, if only I could show you the blush and glow on her face!
© Pallabi Paul
