Gratitude

Nothing comes from nothing

Nothing ever could

So somewhere in my youth or childhood

I must have done something good

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Oh well it is the Birth Day today. 

At the stroke of twelve last night, 3 books, 1 pair of danglers, 1 petite pendant and 1 tiny cake appeared from under the nightshirts of the magician and her apprentice. 

Interesting. 

THREE books. Also other stuff. All out of pocket money. Hm. 

Then the story revealed itself. 

The girls checked available balance from leftover pocket money, pulled out hidden notes and emptied coinboxes to find 700 rupees or so. Then, a public bus was taken to Gariahat followed by a walk to Golpark old bookshops. I took a deep breath picturing them dodging crowds on a super peoply Sunday Gariahat crossing 2 weeks before Pujo. Much to their relief, one Rushdie, One Arundhati Roy and one Murakami, added up to well under 400 rupees, and were purchased quickly. Recounted my school days when price of a book in these shops was directly proportional to the number of its pages and I always looked up thinner books. 

OK then the earrings and pendant were bought from an adjacent seller down the same pavement. Finally, going to Mio Amore (sensibly not Kookie Jar not Flurys not even Cakes) and asking for the cheapest and smallest non-chocolatey cake available. Because mother is not fond of chocolates. Also because at this point, little money is left. Return to home was on an Uber alone. As in just the two of them girls, 16 and 10. Another first. 

After the stroke of twelve, the danglers and the pendant were put on. Looked funny with my night tee and shorts but boy were the jewellery beautiful. I felt pretty without needing to look at a mirror. The candle was blown without making a wish, latter being kind of a lost habit now even though the daughter did remind. A tiny slice was cut out of the tiny cake and shared and eaten. And the books were loved. 

"Will you start reading my one or didi's one right now, Ma, right now ? Achha say you like mine better. " 

"Genius. Of course Ma likes the Murakami shorts better than your fat Rushdie novel"

After an unresolved debate on which book Ma liked better and would start reading, the girls were hugged, but not enough. Not enough.

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For here you are, standing there, 

Loving me

Whether or not you should

So somewhere in my youth or childhood

I must have done something good