Whitewash

By Rijuta Pandey

 

Maya squeezes the cotton strip off the excess cold water one more time and places it on Shreya’s forehead. There is a sudden disturbance on the shelf behind the curtain.

“That wretched mouse is shredding the old newspapers”, says Maya with gritted teeth.

Prem stands up and shakes the curtain to scare the mouse off. But the curtain hook comes down, taking a big piece of plaster with it. Maya takes a deep breath but doesn’t say anything. Her face turns red.

“She is running 103 degrees Celsius fever. Yesterday she was fine. But last night she was mumbling that Amitabh Bachchan was hanging from the fan”, says Maya exasperated.

“She was also saying something about Shahrukh Khan’s house. I think we should call him”, Maya said, placing the strip of cold cotton cloth over Shreya’s forehead again.

“Doctor? It is 8 of the night. He won’t come. We would have to take her to the clinic”, Prem said, shaking his head.

“No! I meant Bhoora”, she says with her eyes closed.

“Are you serious?”, asks Prem, raising his eyebrows and widening his hazel eyes.

The clock strikes 10. She looks over her shoulder towards the door. Prem had said he would be back in an hour. It has been almost 2 hours now. She holds Shreya's wrist in her hands. It doesn’t feel hot like it had an hour ago. Finally, the paracetamol has kicked in. Shreya groans and tries to turn.

“Beta, you want to get up?”, asks Maya.

“Mmm…water”, mumbles Shreya.

Maya bends down and picks up the glass and the jug up. She pours some water into the glass and places it on Shreya. Shreya tightens her grasp and tries to get up.

“Wait, wait”, says Maya. She takes the pillow and places it against the wall slanting. Shreya rests her back on it. A few flakes of paint on the wall come off on the pillow. Her eyes are puffy. Shreya takes the glass to her lips and drinks half the water. After a moment, she looks around. Her eyes are drowsy and her head is heavy with all the medicines she had been taking for the last three days.

“Where is Papa?”, Shreya asks in a croaky voice.

Maya looks at her, and a small frown appears on her forehead. She puts the jug on the floor and lies across Shreya’s legs, sighing deeply when her back meets the bed.

“He has gone to bring the doctor home”, says Maya.

“Oh, will he be having all those injections?”, asks Shreya with a little more attention.

A smile comes to Maya’s lips but she tries to cover it with a cough. After two more deliberate coughs, she says, “No, but he will be bringing some things.”

Shreya looks at the slightly open door. “Maa, won’t the mosquitoes and fat rats of the building come inside?”

“Hmm, are baap re, yes.” Maya reluctantly gets up from the bed and shuts the doors together, her knuckles cracking when pressed against the bed. Shreya now drags herself into a supine position again but her eyes are wide open.

Maya, on watching her lying down again says, “Three days of fever has weakened you.”

She gets into the bed and lies next to Shreya hugging her.

Both of them seem to be too tired to talk. Suddenly, a noise of plastic cracking comes from behind the curtain. “Ugh, it is the rat again, trying to get into the cardboard boxes.”, groans Maya.

“That’s why I told you to get the house painted. It will throw all the rats out of our home.”, replies Shreya with a certain told-you-so manner in her voice.

“Don’t start again. And till now you had no energy, suddenly you are all attentive to tell me what to do and not. Does anyone fall sick on festivals?”, says Maya.
“Mummy, why are you not listening to me? I even broke my piggy bank.” Shreya says weakly.

Maya’s face softens. “Beta, that much money is not enough. Our house needs some repair work as well. If one wall is touched, all the walls come closer to show the cracks more clearly.”

“But, everybody has it done in their houses. I don’t like only our house is left with the rain-washed paint on the walls”, whines Shreya and tears come out of her eyes.

“Oh, now you are crying. Don’t cry! You will have a fever again”, pleads Maya. She hugs Shreya a little tighter.

“So, that’s why you sat outside the house in that chill without your thermals and cried for two hours? Because people are having their house painted and we aren’t?” asks Maya.

“No…yes, but no…you had told me that our house won’t be painted. Even Sakshi’s mother is not having her house painted this year. But that evening all their stuff was outside of our house. Even our walls got dirtier because the laborers were not careful while placing their bed frames. I realized it would only be our house left behind. I hate it when it happens. All my friends talk about how they bought new curtains, paints, shelf sheets, cushions, and whatnot. We don’t bring new things every year but we paint our house. How can we not have that?” Shreya’s eyes are brimming with fresh tears. Maya brings Shreya’s face a little closer to her shoulder and caresses it.

“We will have it done next year, okay?”

Shreya sobs quietly. “I don’t like those ads in which Shahrukh Khan sings, “Jab ghar ki raunakbadhani ho, deewaron ko jab sajana ho. Those big-big houses painted in that shiny paint. Every year, those ads come and I don’t like that only our house is not shining.”

“Shreya, beta, those are ads. They are made so that people go to market and buy the things which they want us to buy. Those big-big houses you see, they are not real. They make these ads so that we go to those shops which we like and buy expensive paints. But we cannot afford them beta.”

“But maa, I hate this. Not being able to afford those things. Everyone else can. There are only 4 walls. People have big houses, but still, they get it painted all the time. I don’t like them stained or patched.” She starts hiccupping. Maya gives her another glass of water. “Beta, you first take care of yourself.”

After sipping the water thrice, she says, “When I grow up, I will paint these 4 walls myself.”

“Silly girl, when you’re a grown-up, won’t you buy a big house for us? Won’t we be living in a bigger house?” asks Maya.

“Maybe. But I can paint this house as well. Our house is tiny but I love my house. “

“Even though all the walls have cracks in them? When you grow up, buy a new house. We’ll have it painted every year.”

“No, you’d say then that big houses are painted once every 10 years. I heard you saying this to Sadhna Aunty one day.”

Maya laughs and pats her daughter on her cheek.

“Okay, once in 5 years?” Maya teases Shreya. Shreya sneezes furiously.

“Mummy… but get this house painted please… look at that big patch you had accidentally made on that wall next to the shelf. I can see 3 older layers of paint. The pink we had got painted 2 years ago, then the sky blue you had chosen 3 years ago and Papa hadn’t liked it. Even that horrid purple color which was Sharma uncle’s choice but Papa had got painted when I was 7, he had told me.”

“3 layers, what 3 layers. Only 2 are visible.”

“No, mummy, if you concentrate on it, 3rd one shines. Look.”

Maya squints her eyes and focuses on the patch. “Ha, you are right.”

“And there are ink stains all over the shelf on which I keep my school copies and books because Papa accidentally spilled ink over it while helping me with the holiday homework.”

Maya sighs and says, “You remember everything.”

“And you know that rat? That rat has come from Sandhya Aunty’s kitchen. I had seen the same injured rat in her kitchen. I am sure when they brought all their kitchen stuff in front of our gate, the rat ran into our house. Whenever someone else gets their house decorated, they put all their stuff in front of our house, I don’t like that either.”

“We cannot do anything about it. Our house is built on the terrace and this is where everyone keeps their furniture when they have their houses renovated.”

“No, I don’t like it.” Maya chuckles. She picks a box from under the bed and cracks open a packet of Parle-G biscuits.

“Enough baba, lo, take this. Eat something. Talking non-stop since you woke up.”

“I will but tell me, do you not want the house painted? Not even the kitchen?” asks Shreya to her mother who is busy organizing the stack of bedsheets now.
Maya takes a deep sigh and looks at Shreya’s pale yet hopeful face. She bites her lip, relaxes her shoulders, and sits next to her daughter who hasn’t left her mother’s gaze even for a second. She straightens the sheet over Shreya’s legs, pours a glass of water in the glass, and drinks it in two gulps.

“I do want to get the house painted. Of course, I do.”

Shreya, invigorated by her mother’s confession, sits straighter and asks, rather loudly, “Then why do you keep saying no?”

“Because we could not afford it. Cannot afford it.”

The blood that had rushed to her face a moment ago had left the face again. She picks one corner of the bedsheet and starts twisting the tassels of it.

“Not the glum face again”, urges Maya.

“Hmmph…okay. Yes, I do want our house painted. Why would I not? We have only four walls in this house and this one big curtain which itself has these holes now. The year our house is painted, it feels like we have one extra tube light that never goes out. Our house shines. I also don’t like the patches behind the gas stove. Now, there are 2 years of patches. As if they are holding the memories of each time I cooked. They have permanently darkened the entire area.”

Maya looks embarrassed and drinks another gulp of water.

“You remember last time? When Bhoora Uncle had painted that area 5 times”, said Shreya with a small smile.

Maya chuckles again. “You, my little lady, remember everything.” She sighs.

“Poor Bhoora, he had to wait for 2 months for the full payment even that year too. He gives his all but never forces us to make his payment on time. Because of him, we have this house intact.”

One tear rolls down Maya’s face. Shreya stretches her sleeve and wipes that tear.

“Now, you don’t cry”, insists Shreya, getting paler with the effort.

“I am not crying. But you are just like me. I also love it when our house is cleaned and smells like freshly mixed limewash. Only painting can get rid of all the pesky cockroaches that take refuge in the top shelf of that iron almirah. Until you open it and leave it in the sun, they just won’t go. Their eggs eventually reach all the dark corners of the house. Your father has a habit of asking for all the sweaters in the middle of October even when it is not that cold. I have to open the trunk and keep them under the sun anyway. If the house is not deeply cleaned, then the moths go into the trunks and ruin all the winter-wears. I…I…”

Maya groans and hides her face behind her palms. Shreya looks at her mother perplexed, not knowing what to do. She drops her gaze and says, “I feel like I am left behind when all the houses are newly painted but ours isn’t. When I come home from school, I don’t like those lines on the walls made by the rainwater. That big chunk of plaster will also come off if I touch it any harder. But I don’t like it when Sakshi’s house is all new with those new curtains and shelf covers. I feel… it is the same feeling I get when someone else wins the competition I also participated in.”

Maya laughs heartily this time with the kajal of her eyes smudged with the tears. “You know, 6th chapter of your Moral science book teaches you about the jealous girl, Meena”

Shreya whimpers and a drop of tear falls on her palm. Maya holds that palm in one of her hands and lifts her chin with the other hand. She looks up and all her tears begin to flow freely.

“I am not jealous. But I didn’t like it when she told me that her parents had gone to buy new showpieces and lights for the house. They already have two rooms and one separate kitchen. Unlike ours. They decorate it every year. I like their decoration when my house is also decorated for the festivals. Does this make me a bad person? I don’t feel good either way.”

Maya takes a deep sigh, tapping Shreya’s palm with her hands gently. Suddenly, she laughs again.

“You are not a bad person. Do you think your father and I don’t feel bad? Our home’s condition is even worse than Champa’s.”

“Champa Aunty, our garbage lady? How do you know?”

“I know. Your father and I have seen her home. We both felt a little jealous of her home. We are not good people either”, replies Maya nodding her head.
“But why shouldn't her house be in a good condition?” asks Shreya, a little puzzled.

“That’s a tough question. Well, let’s say, we are not good people all the time”, says Maya.

Suddenly, a raspy noise of someone dragging something bulky comes from outside. Maya and Shreya look at the door startled. Someone gently knocks on the door. “Maya, open the door, it is me," says Prem. “Look, your father is finally back with the doctor”, says Maya, relieved.

She pulls the latch down and opens the door. Before she could say anything, Shreya came running at the door and jumped up and down forgetting all about her fever. Prem has finally come back with a man. He is wearing an undershirt splashed with paints of all the colors of the market. His brown eyes are glinting under his white eyebrows and his black hair are coated with a thick layer of dust. He is smelling like a freshly painted wall. Bhoora is laughing at Shreya who is still jumping up and down clapping and laughing.

“Bhoora Uncle! Bhoora Uncle! You came? You came to paint, hugging him and his iron ladder.

Bhoora taps on her head and says, “Your house needs some fresh paint my gudiya. Let us trap those mice and clean the house.” Maya rests her head on Prem’s shoulders, a tear dropping on his shirt, and says, “Thank you. Happy Diwali.” Prem holds Maya’s hand.

 

Rijuta Pandey from India is a buddding writer who got her first short fiction published in 2023. She likes to click pictures, cook, run behind birds, study, and read. When she is not doing anything ,she is overthinking an idea of another short story.