Azure- free sample
Get an exclusive preview of Azure, the opening story from Gubbare- a heartwarming tale of loneliness, unexpected friendship, and hope.
The sky pans out blue in all its glory. Not the interrupted blue of a city afternoon fractured by cables and terraces, but a clean, uninterrupted blue. Azure.
White wisps drifted without urgency. On one side stood a little girl in a pink frock, golden curls tumbling over her shoulders, her fingers wrapped around strings tied to bright balloons that tugged upward as if impatient with gravity.
“Mumma, I want those balloons!”
The laughter came first, hearty giggles filled the air. Clear. Effortless.
Then came the voice of a little girl, echoing, somewhere far away.
“Mumma… Mumma…”
Kabita Biswas, 44, stared at the wallpaper long after it stopped being a picture and became a wound.
The echo did not travel through the room; it travelled through her. It rose from somewhere beneath her ribs, touched a hollow place inside, and returned there, over and over again.
“Kabita? Hello? Kabita, can you hear me?”
Hari’s voice arrived thin and practical through the phone clutched in her hand. She inhaled sharply, as if surfacing from underwater.
“Yes, Hari. Uh… Don’t worry. I’ll… It’ll be done.”
There was an audible sigh from the other end.
“Kabita, I know what you’re going through isn’t easy. But you’ve been extended the courtesy to work from home. No travel. Comfort of home. If anyone can do this in such a short span of time, it’s you.”
She adjusted her glasses and looked at the sky again.
“I know. You can commit to the client. Two weeks.”
“Two weeks? Are you sure?”
“I can do it in one. I just don’t want to seem overconfident.”
Hari chuckled. “Alright. Two weeks it is then. I’m counting on you.”
She nodded, though he couldn’t see her, and disconnected. Silence returned immediately, like it had been waiting outside the door.
The digital clock blinked 9:25. Rachna was late. A small irritation flickered through her. Sharp. Brief. Almost welcome. Anger had edges. It kept things defined. Grief did not.
And then, she heard it again. The echo.
“Mumma!”
The courtroom had smelled faintly of polished wood, paper and tobacco. Words like stability, psychological history, custodial environment had been spoken gently but firmly.
Saurabh had stood composed, articulate. She had stood clutching medical reports. Proof of therapy, proof of medication, proof of trying.
Depression, even managed, sounded heavier when read aloud.
Ding dong.
The doorbell shattered the memory. Rachna entered apologetically.
“You’re late,” Kabita said, already seated again, fingers poised over her keyboard.
“Sorry, madam. I had to take my daughter to the doctor. She’s expecting. I had told you.”
Kabita did not look up. A few minutes later tea and toast appeared beside her laptop. Rachna lingered, twisting the hem of her saree.
“Madam…”
No response.
“Madam…?”
A distracted “Hm.”
“Chai… And toast.”
“Hm.”
“Madam… I need to ask you something.”
Kabita clicked her tongue softly. “What is it, Rachna?”
“The thing is, madam… I told you about my daughter? She’s expecting. It’s her 7th month and I need to take her to Raigad. Soon she won’t be able to travel. So…”
“So…? You can take her there and come back. Take 3-4 days off if you must,” Kavita said, without looking away from the laptop screen, as she continued to type.
“Madam, actually… I need… 6 months, madam… To take care of my daughter, and… And the baby,” Rachna hesitantly added.
Kabita looked up from her laptop and directly at Rachna, took off her glasses and pursed her lips, annoyance in her eyes. Rachna was visibly fearful. She half expected the tea cup to come flying at her head.
“But don’t worry, madam. I’ll get someone to replace me. It’s just for 6 months,” Rachna quickly added.
“And then you’ll be back?”
“Yes, yes…. But…”
“But? What?”
“Actually I will need to take care of the baby while my daughter and son-in-law go to work in the morning. But I can come in the evenings, madam. To take care of the dishes, dust and make your dinner, madam.”
Another change. Another adjustment.
Kabita didn’t say anything more. She simply sighed exasperatedly, scratched her brow with her finger and got back to working on the laptop.
Rachna took that as a positive sign, and quietly backed away, tiptoeing to not cause any distraction, as if she was scared of waking up a sleeping baby in the room, who would start wailing if disturbed.
Kabita removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
It was not generosity. It was fatigue.
~
Sarla Gawde, 55, adjusted the cloth bag on her shoulder, as a balloon vendor passed by with a bunch of colorful balloons.
The vegetable market was crowded and loud.
Noise layered upon noise. Vendors calling out prices, customers bargaining, children weaving between baskets of tomatoes and potatoes. Coriander released its sharp scent into the air.
“How’s your job search coming along?” Rachna asked, raising her voice to be audible in the noisy market.
“Search is happening. Job seems to be hiding,” Sarla said.
“The Singhs are leaving next week?”
“Yes. They are moving to Canada. They will enjoy snow. I will enjoy tension. How is Aarti? Did you take her to the doctor?”
“She’s good. I took her today. I’m going to take Aarti to Raigad in a few days, you know, before it becomes more difficult for her to travel. Her in-laws are there and so are all the older women who are experienced in childbirth,” said Rachna.
“You mean, she won’t be giving birth under medical supervision in a hospital?” Sarla asked.
“Aarti says she would be more comfortable there. Amongst all our loved ones. And she trusts those women. It’s our village tradition,” Rachna explained.
They stopped at a stall.
“How much for the brinjal?” Sarla asked the shopkeeper.
“Fifty per kilo.”
“Fifty?” Sarla widened her eyes. “Did these grow in gold instead of soil?”
“Fixed rate.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you a joke. If you smile, forty.”
The vendor ignored her.
“What did the cucumber tell the chilli?”
Silence.
“To cool down!” (Tu chill kar na, yaar!)
Sarla burst into laughter at her own joke. The vendor’s lips twitched despite himself.
“See? You smiled. Forty.”
He reduced the price.
“You and your silly jokes,” Rachna muttered.
“Laughter is cheaper than onions,” Sarla replied lightly.
“So… Since I’ll be away for 6 months,” Rachna continued. “My madam will need a replacement. Would you be interested?” She asked.
“Umm… I don’t know. She seems a bit difficult. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her step out of her house. How does she earn money? And how will she pay me?” Sarla wondered out loud.
“Don’t worry about that. She works from home only and earns a lot of money.”
“Does she pay on time?”
“Always on time,” Rachna said, as they stepped into their building gate. She then lowered her voice and added, “Between you and me, she has a lot of jewelry stored inside the locker of her cupboard. This one time during Diwali cleaning, she had taken them out and I had noticed.”
“That’s… Not important,” Sarla replied indifferently. “As long as I get my money on time, I’m ok to work there.”
Rachna was clearly relieved, as if she was carrying a gunny bag full of rocks on her shoulder which had dropped. “Great, I’ll talk to madam then. When can you start?”
~
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