Missing Milk & Buzzing TVs

The milk that Muthu was supposed to deliver was missing. This was getting ridiculous. Ever since Mani had taken up his new driving job, Parimala had switched to Muthu for milk delivery. He was frequently late, or would be a few packets short. It was a double shame, because Mani had been quite handsome and would speak to her about traffic and his sister’s impending marriage. She rarely saw handsome boys in her area, and they never spoke to her. In his red monkey cap, pulled tight over his ears, Muthu always looked like he was guilty of some small crime. Today, the milk packets weren’t there at all. 

 

It was Saturday, Parimala’s third favourite day of the week. On Saturdays, she walked to the supermarket and bought refills for her salt boxes and coffee cans. If she was feeling especially good, she would treat herself to badushas from Ganga Sweets on the way back. She was angry, but not as angry as she might have been on a Friday, her favourite day of the week. 

 

Friday was when Kadal Kanmani aired their best episodes. The other days had good episodes too, but Friday always turned the story in a different direction. In the last episode, Siva had sided with his wife Sima over a fight that she and his mother were having. The mother, Rukmani, wanted to cook rice the old way but Sima insisted on removing the starch. Sima was right, Parimala thought, but a son should always side with his mother. For many centuries, there had been a deal. You put up with your mother-in-law and your husband so you can have a son and a daughter-in-law someday. But now times were changing, and there was nothing that could be done.

 

She didn’t drink black coffee, unless she was a guest at a black-coffee drinker’s house. So she boiled some tea leaves in a vessel. Some lemon would have been nice, but she had run out. She would have to pick some up. All morning, things had been going wrong. She had woken up an hour earlier than usual, the sun had been especially loud, and she couldn’t go back to sleep. Then the milk problem. Tea in hand, she sat on her couch, the plastic rustling as she shifted to find a comfortable position. She turned on the TV, waiting for the clock to show 9 o’ clock. She was excited to know what Rukmani would do. The best decision would be to leave the house, she thought. Living alone was not so bad. It was peaceful and quiet and she could take a bath whenever she felt like it. Still, if her son Ashok had been there, she wouldn't have to rely on Muthu for the milk. Plus, there was nobody to argue and make amends with. 

 

The TV just played static. She couldn’t believe SunTV had forgotten to air Kadal Kanmani, it was too important. She waited ten minutes past 9 o’clock just to make sure. But when the buzz continued, she called Rose to ask if she was facing the same issue.

 

Rose was a Christian, but she was the only one who followed Kadal Kanmani as closely as her, so those differences had to be set aside. They had spent many walks dissecting Siva and Sima’s relationship, and Rose always said something interesting like, 

 

“He loves her but only because she is his wife.”

 

Rose always picked up her phone within the third ring, but today it rang and rang, until a straightforward, tinny voice informed that she was busy. Just as well, she had been sending her too many Good Morning messages with Jesus in the background. Parimala didn’t understand the Christians and their vulgar imagery and woman priests. But she did like the high ceilings of churches and the stained glass windows that dappled pink light on the floor. Lately, she had been wondering about God, but she managed to push those thoughts away whenever they bubbled to the surface. Still, she only prayed when she remembered she used to, and when she passed by temples she kept her head low, like she didn’t want to be recognised. 

 

Apart from Rose, she had only had one close friend - Harita, in college. She wondered how she was doing now, if she still refused to braid her hair and wore jeans against the rules. She realised that she would be an old woman now, and she wouldn’t know her if she passed her by, and it scared Parimala. 

 

Since her show was not playing, she decided to go grocery shopping earlier than usual. On the way back, she could stop at Health and Glow to pick up something for Anita’s graduation party. Usually on Sundays, she went to exercise in the park. But the graduation party would be a lot more exciting. This to-be deviation in her routine made her feel mischievous.

 

She made a mental note of the things she had to buy and repeated them to herself. Tomatoes, milk, urad dal, toothpaste. Tomatoes, milk, urad dal, toothpaste. Oh, and lemons. Tomatoes, milk, urad dal, toothpaste, lemons. She pressed the lift button, but it stayed stuck in the basement. It had been out of order for a few days, although the repair boys were supposed to fix it that morning. 

 

She lived on the third floor, so it was a long way down, and would be an even longer way up. The ground floor or first floor would have been easy, but Ashok said that the third floor had the best ventilation. She suspected it was because rent was cheaper and she sighed to herself. She should have bought him that train set for his eighth birthday after all. She walked down the stairs slowly, one hand holding the rail, the other hiking up the hem of her saree, her body tilting diagonally with each step.

 

On the way to the supermarket, she thought about what to buy Anita. She was very grateful for the invite, she had not expected it at all. Ever since Ashok married her, he had stopped calling. No, that wasn’t right. They had been close until she fought with Anita about her decision to study abroad. Ashok had sided with her, and although it troubled her deeply, she was secretly proud of her son for being such a supportive husband. This graduation party was her way back into their lives, so everything had to go perfectly. Anita wore white nail polish and bright lipsticks, and she thought one of the sales ladies could help her find something. She had photos of her to show them, so she could get whatever suited her complexion best. If she didn’t find the perfect gift for Anita, it might really be the end of the world. 

 

The supermarket had its shutters pulled up, but the doors were locked. She peered through them, and nobody was inside. Only then did she realise that all the shops were closed, including World Class Tailoring Shop, which closed at 11 in the night and was open on all holidays. She hoped that divine intervention had kept Health and Glow open, but it was closed too. Strangely, the streets were busier than usual. Outside the small, one room Vishnu temple was a large crowd. People were shoving each other to catch a glimpse of the idol, their arms brimming with flowers and milk.

 

Back home, she laid down on the bed like a plank, her feet sticking out. Her saree felt sticky with sweat. She turned on the fan and stared at the spinning blades. She wanted to make dal rice, but had to settle for curd rice now. She also had to decide what to wear for the party.

 

She looked through her wardrobe but everything seemed like the old Parimala, not the new Parimala who would encourage Anita to pursue her dreams. Anita had given her a black saree with a thick red border the first time she visited. She had kept it away somewhere because she didn’t like the colours. Also, it was made of rayon fabric and she only wore silk. She trudged through mounds of clothes to find it all dusty and musty in the back. She could wash it but she wasn’t sure if it would dry by the next day. That was one of the problems with rayon, but it was what it was.

 

She put it in the washing machine, cooked rice and ate her meal in front of the TV. She hoped it would get fixed somehow, but the static remained. After a nice nap, she went to the balcony to hang her clothes. 

 

Four girls lived in the two bedroom house next door and treated the building like it was a French beach. Parimala had underwear that was longer than their shorts. They had not done their laundry that day. She knew because the same bras were still indecently hanging out front for everyone to see. They fell limply, without any wires to hold the cups nice and full. 

 

The girls were not that bad, even though they smoked like men and they left alcohol bottles leaning against the dustbin. They alway smiled and waved when they saw her and offered to carry her bags. One of them - the dark skinned one with the snake tattoo - had given her a nice chunky hair tie, reaching across the rails of her balcony. The short, sickly-looking one had brought over chocolate biscuits once. They were too chewy, and some of them had fused together, but she had eaten them all in a single sitting.

 

She thought again of her friend Harita. How they would exchange whispers, draw in each other's lab records, giggle at the boys that walked past them. Lately, everything seemed to be about her. If she could manage to dig her number up, she would give her a call. How nice it would have been to live with her like the next-door girls did. But she couldn’t think like that. Her cut-short semester and hastened marriage had given her Ashok.

 

She heard loud music from inside their apartment, and saw specks of coloured lights against the fuzzy glass doors. She watched and waited for a long time, she didn’t know what for.

 

She thought about what she could get Anita. Wine, maybe, like the Westerners. She had never once set foot in a liquor shop, but she was sure one would be open in the morning. Maybe she could even ask one of the next-door girls to help her.

 

She looked down and saw the street below was gathering an even larger crowd. People were hugging each other tight, running around in rabid circles. One man stood still, hands clasped behind his back, head turned up. He was wearing a red monkey cap. Clearly, Muthu was alive and well. She called out to him.

 

“Muthu, there better be an extra packet of milk for me tomorrow.”

 

He turned towards her, aghast, “Aunty, the world is ending.” He raised his arms and shook them.

 

She looked up to see the sun occupying nearly the entire sky. She hadn't noticed it before, but the day had been getting progressively hotter and everything had been drenched in orange. The sun inched closer even as she finished her thought. 

 

“Oh, is it,” she said with a light laugh, and straightened out her damp garment on the laundry line. “At least my saree will dry quickly.”