Complaining About Dogs

                                               

     “Not so tight. I’ll get a headache. There’s already too much oil.” I whine to my aunt who is combing my hair.

      I live in a large farmhouse in a valley in Ooty, a rainy town in southern India with my parents, grandma, aunts and uncles, and several cousins. 

      In the mornings my mom or one of my aunts massages our hair with warm coconut oil.  They comb and braid our long hair. My dad and uncles are out in the plantations.

      It’s a warm day, and we are standing out in the courtyard. 

     The Dalmatian puppy, Dalmi Doll, barks and jumps around her wood kennel, eager to be free from her leash. She’s been with us now for only four months. 

     “You’ll be late to school. Stop fussing!” My grandma sits on the garden parapet enjoying the morning sun and us, her granddaughters.

      She has a steel pestle and mortar in her hands and is using it to crack her areca nuts. I love my grandma's silky, white and black long hair and her soft, wrinkled skin.  

      “You will come back like a ghost with your hair flying all over if it is not braided tight.” Grandma uses that tone on me quite often when she thinks I’m being difficult. I ignore her. There are also days she chases me around the house when I am trying to escape tying my hair. 

     Just then the tractor man drives in to the driveway, and as he parks my grandma calls him in a stern voice, “Murthy!” He heads towards her with his arms folded. “How many times have I told you not to drive that vehicle of yours on my rose bushes? You have to replace them.” She’s actually scolding him. Now I don’t like her doing that, and I can see Murthy’s face. It looks sad.

       My aunt finishes plaiting my hair.

       I bolt up to my grandma and whisper in her ear, “Don’t scold him. Please, Ajji.” I kiss her soft cheek.

      My grandma looks at me, and then she admonishes him, “Be careful next time. How’s your baby?”

     Murthy’s face lights up.

     I grab my bag and a couple of slices of rusk from a box on the window sill and dash to the car, a maroon Ambassador.

     We have four dogs at home apart from Dalmi Doll.  The dogs are tied to the pillars in front of their kennels and bark loudly.

    Three of them are guard dogs. They are left loose at night.  Their barking can be heard far away on top of the mud road leading to my house, and no one dares visit or walk down the valley into our compound.  One of the dogs, a Doberman, is ferocious. We have to make sure that by the time the farm workers come in at seven in the morning, we feed him and get him into his kennel or leash him.  The two German Shepherds bark loudly and scare strangers. Our black retriever, Bodie, gives people the chase but means no harm. I throw the dogs some rusk and hop into the car.

      Our house is far from school and the roads are very rugged. The school bus isn’t allowed to come that far into the countryside so we have a driver to take us to school and back.

      I squeeze in back with my four cousins. We all are in our school uniforms. Our school bags are on our laps. My oldest cousin sits in front. The driver, Govind, closes my door.

      “I have a geography test today,” says one of my cousins as she pulls out her text and starts studying.

      “Hope we are not late. It is already 8:15. If Ms. D is around, she’ll punish us. She already warned us last week.”

       Govind drives us up the rocky, muddy route to the main road which leads us to town, school, and for that matter anywhere out of the countryside.

     We are all quiet during the ride. Just as we reach school a frightened look falls over our places. We are late. The school girls have lined up and are heading to chapel. They are wearing black blazers, light blue shirts, grey pleated skirts and socks and brown shoes.

      As I get out of the car, I am a little nervous, “Akka, I haven’t polished my shoes, and I don’t have a handkerchief.”

      “Take this.” My cousin gives me her hanky. “You should have polished your shoes instead of playing with Dalmi Doll and Bodie. Now go join your line.” She has a downbeat expression.

     Ours is a girl’s school managed by the Church of England. I don’t like to be late and my  stomach feels odd. My cousins and I place our school bags against the wall of the building and join the line of kids to chapel. We look around. We smile at each other when we realize the principal, Ms. D, is not there. We got lucky.    

      In chapel we sing carols and pray. Today we sing my favorite song – “Count your Blessings.” The vases on either side of the altar contain lilies and roses.

       After, we head off to a  Library period, and I borrow Charlotte’s Web. The morning classes are dull.

       For the 11:00 am break we get bread and butter, and lemonade, instead of tea, because it’s a warm day. We all stand in a queue, and two of the bearers serve us. There are only 220 girls in the school, and we all know each other well.

       After rasam rice, boiled egg, and beans for lunch, I play tag with my friends. Today, we have double crafts period. We are learning to crochet.  After tea break at 3:00 and bun, we have Girl Scouts.

       When our day is done, Govind  picks us up and  drops us off on top of the mountainous road.  We have to walk down home from there.

     “Why are you not driving us all the way home?” One of my cousins asks the driver.

     “The car has a problem with the tires. It can’t go down the road till we get it fixed.”

      “Why didn’t you just bring the jeep?” My older cousin asks, “We are scared of the farmworkers’ dogs. They may not be tied and can come chasing.”

      “Tomorrow surely, young madam. I’m sure they don’t bite.” the driver says. He is a tall, thin man and speaks very little.

       My older cousins help me carry my school bag. I love my cousins very much though they don’t always let me and my other cousin, who is just two years older than me, join in any of their games. My bag is made of cloth, and they hang it on one of their shoulders.

       The road side, at one point, is lined with several of the farm workers’ houses.  A few of them have dogs that often roam free, bark at passersby, and some that attack a suspicious-looking walker. We never know which is a friendly excited barker or a ferocious attacker.

      Once we come near the houses, we shout to the workers, “Keep an eye on your dogs.”  Today we are luckless. Two dogs spring out of their kennels and race uphill towards us barking.

      My eldest cousin panics and bounces behind all of us. She fears the dogs the most.  But now we all are terror stricken and scurry around each other in circles. Somehow my oldest cousin manages to stay at the back. I am astonished because she is the one I always look up to when I am afraid.

      “Stop and stand still,” my bravest and brightest cousin yells. We stop circling around as the barking dogs approach us.  We stand still and speechless using our cloth bags as our armor.

       “Raja! Rani! Stop and come back! Come back!” A lady shrieks and rushes frantically from the fields towards the dogs. She is wearing a sari and has a sheet tied over her head. I know she is a farm worker.

        The dogs continue charging towards us. The lady keeps yelling. I know the lady. She is Kooniamma. The dogs slow down and then turn away. The other workers have gathered to see what the commotion is about.

      “I had tied up both of them before going to the fields.  Don’t know how they got free. I am really sorry. Now your grandma will be very angry with me,” Kooniamma says. She is worried and sorry for what has happened.  As she pulls her dogs away, she scolds them. They seem to understand her disapproval.

      We march briskly down our stony dusty road. We turn around to make sure there are no other dogs behind us.

      The road has huge bumps in regular intervals. My dad explained that these divert the rain water into the ditches that flow into the stream so the road doesn’t get washed away during the rainy season. The road meanders between huge terraced fields of potatoes, carrots, cabbage, garlic and wheat. There are patches of wooded areas of Eucalyptus trees. The valley is surrounded by acres of plantations, and mountains that look blue.

     Big white lilies stretch along the edge of the stream alongside the road. These are the lilies we take for the school chapel vases. The rivulet floods during the monsoon, and trickles during the dry seasons but I have never seen it dry. During summer we sit beside the watercourse and watch the tadpoles, read our books, or strive to improve our water color painting.

      Another puppy scampers towards us from the other side of the stream. Unable to cross over, it stands there wagging its tail and barking at us. It’s mother may not be far behind. Our stroll quickens.

      “Be careful, don’t trip.” My cousin holds my hand, and we can’t stop laughing. We see our house. As soon as we reach home, we complain about the dogs to Grandma, my mom, and aunts. We giggle as we recall how our oldest cousin pushed us in front.

       “Let Kooniamma come tomorrow. I will have to talk to her about keeping her dogs under control. How could she not tie up her dogs, and have them scare my granddaughters?” My grandma is sitting on the stone bench under the peach tree.

       “We shouldn’t have told Ajji what happened,” I tell my cousin. “I don’t want her scolding Kooniamma.”

      “I know,” says my cousin.  “But we have now.” She shrugs her shoulder.

      The farm workers and people around the countryside respect Grandma. I don’t like it when she is angry at the workers or scolds them.

       “Ajji, she had leashed the dogs, but they broke loose. So how is she to blame? Don’t scold her. They didn’t know we’d be walking down today.” I say.

       “The rule is to tie the dogs from dawn to dusk.” My Grandma has her hands on her hips.

        In the morning, I stand in front of the wash basin mirror brushing my teeth and looking out the window. I see one of our dogs, the oldest German shepherd, Ranga, spring out from behind the house. He chases a field worker who has come to work early. I know he won’t bite or harm the lady, but she is afraid. I drop my brush and dart outside. The lady waves her shawl and yells hysterically. I scream for Ranga to come back.

      My grandma and Mom join me, and we all clamor for the dog to stop. Ranga stops, turns around, and comes back.

      Grandma gives him a stern look and directs him towards his kennel.

      The lady’s face is red. She shivers. “I thought the dogs would be tied.  We cannot come in early because of these dogs. They scare us. The other day they chased Rukki, the new farm hand. She was complaining about your dogs.”

      “Yesterday, we complained about their dogs, and now they are. You cannot scold Kooniamma now.” I tug at Grandma’s sari. “Let the workers know to keep an eye on their dogs, even if they have tied them, if they don’t see the jeep driving us down at 5:00 in the evening.” I see a very slight smile at the corner of Grandma’s mouth.

      “Now you go and brush your teeth. Get ready for school.” Grandma is using that tone. “Mrs.D. will punish you girls if you are late again. Hurry now!”

      There’s a sparkle in my darling Grandma’s eyes. It assures me she’ll be fair. I finish brushing my teeth, and scoot to where Dalmi Doll is having her breakfast.

The End

It Doesn’t Matter

                                                    It Doesn’t Matter

    “Be careful! The driveway maybe slushy. It rained the whole day yesterday and this morning,” Appa says as he parks the car in the driveway. It is July and the monsoons have set in. The blue mountains surrounding the valley are covered with mist. The tea bushes are shining with wetness.  I love to run and jump on the slopes of the estate. But I will not. If I do my feet will sink in, and it will take me a long time to wash off the sticky mud.

     I am returning  from  a school trip to Madurai, a historical city in Tamilnadu. It was a fun three days.

    I get out of the car, grab my bag,  and run across the rocky driveway, jumping over two puddles. I can smell freshly plucked tea leaves. They are piled in a heap outside the godown and covered with jute bags. I slow down as I reach the cemented courtyard leading  towards the portico.  A duck sits still in the garden patch, just under the Camellia bush.

   ‘’Appa, see there is a duck here,”  I shout.

    My dad is  in the driveway treading carefully. “Yes, it came there the day you left to Madurai. Do you remember it was flying around here? I think she  was laying eggs. Now she’s hatching them.”

    “I never knew she was building a nest. The Camelia bushes were hiding it.” I notice the bush is now trimmed. My dad usually has the Camellia, hibiscus, and rose bushes trimmed. My sister and I  cut the flowers when they do this and put them in the vase.   

    “Does she sit there the entire time, Appa?”

    “Looks like she flies away for a very short time.”Appa answers. “But she returns soon.”

    “Ducks are intelligent. She knows the place is safe from our dogs since we have a fence,” I comment. “I want  her eggs to be safe. I am excited about the ducklings.”

    “How long will it take for the eggs to hatch?” I ask Appa.

     “Around four weeks after the last egg is laid, I think.”

     My mom comes out of the house and hugs me. “How was your trip?”

     “It was good. But Madurai is very hot. We went to the Meenakshi temple. It was beautiful but very crowded.  We visited the Thirumalai Nayak Mahal at night. I loved the light and sound show. The palace has magnificent pillars. The Vaigai Dam was gushing with water. I was afraid to even walk on the bridge and look down. The day we were leaving  they took us to the Agriculture Research Center, and the rice and cotton fields on the banks of the Vaigai river. The teachers also let us shop at the cotton dress stores.”

     “Did you get to hear the story of Kannagi who burned Madurai?” Mummy asks.

     “Yes, it was interesting. Kannagi  knows her husband, who is punished and killed by the king, is innocent. Furious, she burns the city. Wonder if it’s a true story?”

     Even before my mother responds, I walk close to the duck.

     The duck  gives me a  stern look, warning me to keep away, and turns toward the garden pond.

    “I’m going to name her after my Madurai trip, Kannagi,” I tell my Mummy and Appa.     Mummy  smiles. Just then, Kannagi gets up from her nest. She is petite with a black beak and a yellow tip. Her feathers are grey and brown. She walks towards the white garden fence, fearless, and has the I don’t like you look.

    I count the eggs. There are eight. They are larger than hen eggs and are cream in color.  She walks back and sits on her nest.

    “Why did she walk up and down?” I ask my parents.

    “Maybe she wants to let us know why she is here. So we can see her eggs,” answers Appa.

     My mother takes the bag from me, “Go have a bath, and I’ll have lunch ready.”

    “I bought a cotton sari for Mummy, a cotton top for Shyla and a cotton shirt for Appa. I hope you  like them. I missed you three.” I kiss them both.

    “Where is Shyla?” I ask Mom.

    “She is upstairs completing applications that need to be mailed in tomorrow.”

    Shyla is older than me by five years. She helps me with my homework and projects. When my friends are not nice to me, she stands up for me. We both go to the same school. This year she has finished her 10th and she will have go to another school as our school has no 11th or 12th standard. She has finished her 10th ICSE exams and is now filling in applications for her 11th admissions.

      “I hope she gets into a good school in Ooty,” I tell Mummy we walk into the house.

       “We will know in a month’s time. It also depends on how well a school coaches  her to get into a good college.”

     I nod my head.

    “Shyla! Shyla!I am home. See what I have bought for you.”

     My sister comes out of her room. “You’re back! I didn't hear the car.” My sister runs down the stairs and she hugs me.

    I take the top I bought for Shyla, from my bag which Mummy  has placed in the living room, and give it to her. It’s a dark green long cotton top with a gray border with little white triangles. I know green is her favorite color.

   “It’s beautiful. I like it.” She hugs me again. “I love you.”

    I am thrilled  she likes it.

   “So how was your trip?” Shyla asks me.

    We both sit on the stairs, and I tell her.

    “Do you have to do a project on the trip? I had to do one when I had been to Madras in my 5th standard.”

    “Yes, but I have two weeks to finish. Will you help me? I have bought a photo book and taken some pictures as well.”

     “Sure, I will be done with my applications by tomorrow, and then we can sit together and do it.”

    “Thanks. I will have my bath, and then we can have lunch together. I have named the duck hatching her eggs in the Camellia garden Kannagi,”  I tell my sister.

     She smiles.

    Mummy and Appa like the gifts I got for them. I watch Kannagi daily  and count her eggs whenever she leaves the nest.  The monsoons keep the tea plantations and garden wet, and I  can hardly play outdoors. Shyla helps me with my project, and I get a perfect score on it. She also helps me with my advanced math problems. It is almost four weeks since I return from Madurai, and the ducklings will soon hatch, and we will know where Shyla  will  go.

    It is a Wednesday  morning, and my math exam day. I finish my breakfast and as I head out to the driveway, I see Kannagi with four ducklings.

     I am so thrilled that I run back and shout out, “Kannagi’s ducklings are here. They are black. They are walking around her.” I am getting late to school so I hurry to the car and watch the ducklings. I wonder why the other four have not hatched.

    In school, I tell all my friends about the ducklings. I can’t wait to get back home and see them again. I have to think of names for each of them.

    That evening when I return, Kannagi  and her ducklings  are not in the garden. The nest is empty.

    “Where are they?” I ask Mummy and Shyla.

    “They went to the pond after you left in the afternoon and were there for sometime,” Shyla said. “I watched them, but after that we never saw them. They may return in the evening. Let’s hope they do.”

   “ Where could they  have gone? I hope  they are safe. I was sure they would stay back in our pond and garden. I miss them.” I  have a lot of homework, and it’s drizzling too, so I can't  go in search of them. And I also have dance lessons.

        Next day, as soon as I wake up, I run  to the portico to check if Kannagi or her ducklings are there. The nest is empty, and they are not at the pond.

       I walk back slowly to Shyla’s room. She is fast asleep. I walk up to her bed and ask, “Shyla, can  I snuggle with you?”

    “Sure,” Shyla opens one eye with a scowl on her face and  pushes a little to the edge of her bed to make space for me.

    We can hear the rattling of the milk can. Appa  and Mummy are talking to  the milkman,

   “Why are you up so early?” Shyla looks at the clock with half closed eyes. “It is only 6:10. You have twenty more minutes before you need to wake up and get ready for school. It’s okay to sleep for a bit.”

    I am not able to sleep. “Shyla do you think Kannagi  will come back?”

   “Not sure, but she may come to the same spot next year.”

   “Do ducks do that?”

     “I think so.”

    “Why did she take away her ducklings?

    “She may have sensed danger. There are cats and dogs on the farm. She may have taken them to a safer place.”

    What Shyla says makes sense. It is  important for them to be safe.

    “I will go and get ready.” I get out of bed. Shyla does not have school since her final exams are done.

    That evening after school Appa, Mummy, Shyla, and I listen to music and play chess. I love Friday evenings when we do this. Usually Appa and Shyla win. Mummy too is good. I never win. They sometimes let me win, and I know it.

     “Shall  we play Scrabble? I enjoy it more.”

    “Fine, get the  board,” Appa says as he and Shyla put away the chess board.                 

   Mummy goes in to check the dinner. I know we are having fish curry and rice.

    I walk across the family room to the TV cabinet to get the Scrabble board. There I see a letter from Kovai International School lying open.

    “What is this?” I wave it to Appa and Shyla.

    “Oh! That is a  letter  from Kovai International School.  They have very good coaching for college entrance and pretty difficult to get into. It is a letter stating they received my application.”

    “You applied to Coimbatore as well? Will you go there if you get accepted?”

    “Of course!” Shyla seems determined.

    “Oh!” I pout. “I'll miss you.”

    “I will miss you all, but I really wish I get accepted.”

    “Dinner is ready,” Mummy calls out “Please come. We can play after.”

    As we eat dinner, I have an uneasy feeling at the  thought of Shyla leaving.  After dinner, I don't want to play Scrabble. I brush my teeth, and watch TV with  my family, then I  go to bed.

    Next morning, as I am having my  breakfast, I hear the doorbell ring. I run and open the door. It's the postman.

    He is wearing a white shirt and pants with long black rain boots and is holding an umbrella. It’s drizzling. He cannot bike because the countryside is  very hilly. He walks to the houses spread across the tea estates. He is the only postman who has been coming to this area of the hill side for the last two years. The previous postman left because his wife did not like constant rain.

    “How are you, little one? I have a registered post. Is any elder at home who can sign?”

    “Just a minute. I'll call either Mummy or Appa.”

     I run to the dining room and bring Mummy.

    “Namaste, Ramanna,”she greets the postman. He greets her back as Mummy signs the form. She takes the registered post and other mail and thanks the postman. He leaves.

    “I wonder what the special mail is,” I ask her.

    She looks at it. “It is a letter from Kovai International School,” she tells me.

    Then she calls out for my sister, “Shyla, you have a letter from Kovai International School.”

  Shyla comes running. Mummy hands the letter to her. She opens the letter, reads it and jumps up and down.

    “They have accepted me!” She hugs Mummy and me. Mummy is smiling and happy. She kisses Shyla.

    Just then Appa walks in. He has been out in the tea estates with the workers. He was also supervising the farm hand. Gowri, our cow, has given birth to another calf. Appa and Mummy are very passionate about their estate and farm animals.  Shyla hands him the letter.  He reads it and hugs Shyla.

    “I’m proud of you,” he tells her.

    Looks like I am the only one who is sad.

    I look at the smiling faces and walk out. I see Kannagi’s empty nest. I go and sit on the parapet wall looking out into the garden. I feel a lump in my throat. Tears fill my eyes.

    Shyla will be leaving.  Mummy and Appa think she can get into a good college if she goes to this school. The ducklings  I was waiting for have left. Kannagi has taken them away to safety.

    I look up top. A flock of birds are flying in a V formation above my head. They all are of the same size. Maybe flying to safety.

    Tears flow down my cheeks. I sob. I don’t want anyone to see my tears, so I get up and walk towards the walnut tree  near the pond. I can hear Mummy, Appa, and Shyla talking.

    A squirrel scurries up the walnut tree. The crows are cawing for the morning breakfast Mummy gives them.  Jaya, our other cow, is grazing across in the meadow.  Just last month we gave  away her three-month-old calf.  

     I named the calf Chandri. She was light brown and had a large white spot on her forehead. The calf got sick, and if she stayed in the farm barn, she could have become even more ill. Also the farmhand could only take care of the two cows. Mummy told me they were giving Chandri away to  the dairy farm where they were better equipped to handle her. I had missed Chandri too.  Today, we have another calf.

    I  wipe my tears.

    Kannagi moves  her ducks to safety, Jaya’s calf is  given away so she can survive. Shyla is moving so she can get into a better college.

     Kannagi  may come back.  I can always visit Jaya’s calf at  the dairy farm, and Shyla will return home often. She would have been sad if she did not get into this school. I have seen her work very hard. Though it will  be hard for me to see Shyla  leave I know  this is how it will be .

    It suddenly seems that even if loved ones move away, but are safe and happier, I should be happy for them, even if I miss them. We move on so we do  better.

     I cheer up with the thought.

     The crows have stopped cawing and fighting. They are flying away with breakfast in their beaks. The chipmunk has a walnut in its mouth. And the flock of birds are resting on the high stone wall. Gowri looks up at me with the kindest eyes I have seen. She is grazing alone since Jaya is in the barn.

     I pluck purple wild flowers and ferns, tie them  with a tendril, and run home. Shyla is in the dining room with Mummy and Appa. I give Shyla the bouquet I’ve made.

       ”I’ll miss you, but I am happy for you.” I hug Shyla, and she kisses me on my cheek.

      I sit down and finish my breakfast.

      She will always be there for me. It doesn’t matter where she moves.

    

JUST TELL ME

                                                        JUST TELL ME

    “Now you’ve got to finish your breakfast.” Mama takes a spoonful of the upma and  curd and feeds me.

     “When will Papa be back?" Tears fill my eyes.

      I look out at the large walnut tree. A chipmunk scoots along one of it’s branches. Sprinklers water the potato fields. I love the sprinklers and the terraced fields. Yet I feel sad. Papa left early in the morning for London without a goodbye. He will not be back for a week. I miss him.

    I run to the bathroom sink. He should have told me he was leaving. I wrinkle my eyebrows, pout and gag.

     Mama runs in and holds my head with one hand while she gathers back my long, black hair with the other.

    “Kala, get the towel,” Mama shouts out to the maid.

     “Oh my God.  Are you done? Now there is nothing in your stomach, and it's time for the bus.” Mama looks worried.

     I do this every time I miss my dad.

     Kala wipes my face with a white cotton towel. Mama hands me water in a steel cup.

    “Drink the water.” After I drink Mama wipes my mouth again.

    “She hasn't messed up her school uniform,” Kala says as she gives Mama the comb.

     “I’ve put the apple juice, your sandwich and grapes in your lunch box. Eat them, okay, Shanthi dear?” Kala says.

     I nod my head.  

     Mama walks me to the bus stop. I know she is not happy. She usually tells me  the names of the flowers or talks  about the weather, or asks me  what I  want for dinner.  But today she is quiet.

     Just as I reach the bus stop Mama tells me, “You know sometimes Papa leaves in a hurry and is not able to tell you goodbye. He loves you. Now be a good girl.” She kisses me.

    There are four other girls standing at the bus stop.  They all are wearing grey pleated skirts and I can see their brown shoes are shining. The two girls wearing black blazers are seniors. Our stop has no awning or benches.

    “I miss Daddy.”

     “I miss him, too, but he will be back Friday so it's okay.” Mama uses the voice  that she uses when she wants me to sit down and do my homework.

     The school bus comes. I wave to Mama and get on. I go to to a school with only girls. The only man is Mr. Murthy, the old bus driver. He wears a khakhi colored uniform.

    During the day I do my schoolwork.  At lunch I don’t like the cucumber sandwich. I enjoy the butterfly farm during Mrs. Jaya’s class. During recess, I play tag with my friends.

    When the bell rings for dismissal in the evening, all the girls run to the bus or to the cars with either drivers or parents waiting. Raja, our driver, has been on leave. I have to take the bus since Papa is not there to pick me up. I walk slowly over to the bus.

    “What’s up, Shanthi? You look sad.” Mr. Murthy smiles at me. He has a big mustache he twirls at the corners.

    “My daddy has gone to London. I miss him.”

    “He’ll be back soon. I think he’ll bring you a big Bobby doll from London.”He laughs loudly. “Cheer up little one.”

    “Everyone in? Are all your friends who are taking the bus today in?” Mr. Murthy shouts.

     All the girls shout back, “Yes, Mr. Murthy.”

    “Good. Here we go.” The bus starts off slowly towards the school gate.

      Some of the teachers talk near their cars. A few children who are waiting for their cars play on the swings. Murali,the cook, is walking towards the principal's office. He carries a  big basket full of vegetables. I can see bottle gourds. They are Papa’s favorite vegetable.

     I sit behind the driver's seat. The bus bumps up and down. Those are  speed bumps. I love it when the car goes up and down when I drive with Papa to my grandparents’ farm.

     I look out the window. The old man, who I see everyday , is sitting on his veranda in front of his house. He waves, and all the girls wave back. His dogs bark. They are Dobermans. Papa told me their tails were cut.

     We drive past the Toda huts. I know they are the tribes of Ooty.

     I see a few buffaloes grazing in the meadows. Todas raise buffalos for their milk. They use the butter to moisturize their skin.

    “My daddy has gone to London,” I tell Mary, who sits next to me. Mary  is also looking out the window.

    “Nice. I have never been to London. I am sure he will get you something very nice in London when he returns. Are you excited?” Mary asks.

   “I miss him.” I feel a lump in my throat.

    The bus reaches my stop. I slowly pick up my bag and head towards the door.

    “It's a nice evening. Smile and be happy,” hollers Murthy. I nod but cannot smile. I walk down the steps and don’t turn around.

   My mom waits with the other mothers. Behind me my neighbors get off the bus and run towards their moms.  Asha jumps as her mother kisses her. Maya hops and runs and gives her mother her bag , and holds her mother’s hand. I walk slowly.

    “Hello, Shanthi, Are you feeling well?” Maya's mom asks me.

     I nod.

    Mama walks towards me and asks, “How was your day? Was it fun?”

     I shake my head, indicating no.

   “Is she not feeling well, Mona?” Maya’s mom asks

    “Papa is coming on Friday, right?” I ask before Mama answers.

     Maya's mom's  eyebrows raise and she smiles. “Now I know why our little girl is sad.”

    “Yes, he’ll be back Friday,” Mama tells me

     Mama turns towards them. “Bye Maya. See you Bama.”

     They wave and walk towards their house.

    I put my backpack in the study, change into my home dress, and go to lie on the couch.

    The phone rings. Mama answers.

    It’s my grandma. Mama talks to her about Papa having gone to London and how the driver hasn't come to work since his wife had a baby.

    “Its getting very difficult for me,” I hear Mama tell Grandma. “She has not been eating anything.” I know they are talking about me.

    Friday evening, I am excited to get back home. Papa is coming back today.

    When he arrives, I run to him, and he carries me.  He kisses me, and I throw my arms around him.

    “I missed you, Papa.”

    Papa has the proud look. He seems happy to know I miss him. “I missed you and Mama too.”

     Mama is standing near us.

    I stretch over to Mama and kiss her.  She kisses me back and smiles, shaking her head from side to side.

    That night, I snuggle into bed. I missed Papa, but I made Mama feel sad. I troubled her. I don’t want Mama to have the sad face.

    I drift off to sleep.

    The weekend is fun.  

    I enjoy  the days with my friends at school.

    For the spring break Papa takes my family, my aunts and uncles, and cousins on a three-day trip to Mysore.

    After the break, I have some homework to finish. I am in the study reading my English book when I hear Papa’s cell phone beep.

      I see  a text message.  It reads “Are you leaving to China on the 1st of May? If so, we need to complete the documentation for the existing project.” It is from Ganesh.

    I take the phone and run to Papa, who is reading a paper in the sun-room.

   “Papa, here . Your phone. Are you going to China?” I give him his phone.

   “I may. How do you know?”

    I give him the phone, and he reads the message.

    I jump onto his lap. “Can you get me paper fans from China?”

     Papa looks at me. Mama is watering the hanging pots. The fuchsias have some dried leaves. I go over and climb the stool and pluck the dried leaves.

   “Did you know Papa is going to China?”

    “I didn’t.”

    “Yes, he is leaving on the 1st of May.” I nod my head and smile.

     Mama continues to water the plants.

     I run off to finish my homework.

    I look up the calendar. The first of May is a Friday. It is this Friday.

    Before I leave for school on Friday, I want to make sure I tell Papa bye bye.

    He is at the dining table pouring out his coffee.

    “So Papa, when are you leaving for China?”

     “My flight is at 3:00, Shanthi, but I am leaving now to the office and going straight from there to the airport.”

    “So you won’t be there when I come back, right?”

    “No.”

    “When will you be back?”

    “Next Friday.”

    “Shall we go to the circus when you return?”

    “Sure. We will. I will have Mama buy the tickets now.”

     He kisses me. “Will miss you. Eat your food, and be happy and helpful to Mama. Okay?” he says.

   “ I will, Papa.”

    “I’ll wait for us to go to the circus.”

    “Okay, time for the bus,” Mama says.

      I drink my milk and have my idlis fast. Papa kisses me again. I hold Mama’s hand and we walk towards the door.

    “Don’t forget my fans. Have a nice time, Papa.”

     I wave Mama good-bye as I climb into the bus.

     I see a look of surprise on Mama’s face. But I know it is not the sad face.

     It is Friday show and tell at school.

    My turn is next Friday. I will show the fans from China.

     That evening I tell the bus driver that Papa has gone to China.

    “Do you miss him?” he asks.

    “My mom will be at home. She helps me with homework. We are going to the park.”

    As soon as I reach my stop, I run out of the bus to my mother.

    “Mama, I finished my lunch. The cucumber sandwich was good, but I am hungry now. What are we having for dinner?”

    “I have made horse gram curry with ragi roti and Kala made carrot payasam.”

    “Yum. Shall we go to the playground for sometime,  Mama?”

    “We will.”

     I change my clothes and sit down at the dining table to eat grapes.

     “You are being a good girl this time, Shanthi.  Whenever Papa traveled, you gave me lots of trouble. Do you know how sad Mama used to be? But this time you are happy and Mama is happy too.”

    “Yes ,Mama. This time I knew Papa was going. I feel sad when he doesn't tell and go.

    Mama smiles. We spend the evening in the park.

     Next Friday, when Papa returns, I hear Mama say, “Shanthi was no trouble at all. She was very happy. She didn’t seem to miss you at all.” Now Mama has a proud look similar to what I have seen in Papa.

     I stop drawing and look up at my parents.  Papa looks surprised.

    “I just need to know where Papa is going and when he will be back.”

      Papa laughs, and picks me up and hugs me. “I’m proud of you, dear. My little girl is growing up.”

      “Just tell me when you are traveling.” I cling to my dad.

     I look up. Both Papa and Mama have a proud look. They are smiling.

Upma – a dish made of cracked wheat and seasoned with onions and vegetables

Curd – home made yogurt

Idlis – steamed rice and lentil cakes

ragi - is a cereal black in color ususally powdered

Todas – hill tribes in South India