The Sharee

“Babu, finish up your milk first, then go to play”—the weird looking fat maid servant most perfunctorily instructed the kid; who was by no means in a mood to concentrate to the food-plate or the glass of milk supplied to him.

He has just arrived from school and there is nobody in the house to receive him than the maid servant. He is yet to change his school uniform, engaged in dropping a tennis ball on the floor. The maid servant is eager to go back home. She has the contract of staying in the house till the kid arrives from school and then she is free to go back home after supplying him some refreshment.

Some minutes later the kid is seen all alone in the house. He is the only child of a Govt. employee parents—who are duty bound to attend office 10-5’o clock—so, through out the week he has to stay all alone in the house till the parents come.

And presently the child is all-alone in the house.

He bounces the ball on the floor for some times, and then suddenly, impatient, he throws it away. He ransacks the pages of some books and magazines, but finally all these fail to keep him busy for long. Hesitant legs move him through the cozy rooms, an inexpressible agony of being lonely is pinning constantly in his heart. Impatiently he looks here and there, definitely in search for something attractive. Nothing in the house seems to attract him. He is brooding for his working mother. His heart is metal-heavy for his absent mother. He remembers the faces of his classmates—they all are probably sitting by the side of their mothers—having the Tiffin prepared by their moms. But he is all alone in the house.

He is all alone in the house. He looks around, gently makes his way to the dressing table, he touches all the cosmetics his mother uses one after another. His face gradually becomes pale and his eyes gather tears. Slowly he turns towards the bed and sees The Sharee onto it. That was the sharee his mother was wearing in the morning—he identifies. Slowly he lolls on the bed crushing and holding the sharee near his breast. He takes a deep breath—evidently wanting to inhale all the smell of his mother that is enfolded into the folds of that crushed sharee. Some moments of utterly suffocating silence pass through, then he cries out loudly—he only wants his mother to be beside him—like all others—nothing else.

His sobs echoes in the silent house—his tears falls upon the speechless sharee.

Silently The Sharee soaks up all his agony like a fond mother. The kid falls asleep.