The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze as the birds chirped happily, gathering in their usual huddle to catch up and plan their day. Morning slowly descended upon Mumbai’s skyline, the sun playing hide and seek with the horizon.
As the day progressed, the birds’ cheerful chirps gave way to the cacophony of honking traffic and the angry shouts of passengers hanging from buses and trains, all rushing to make it to work on time.
From her windowsill, Kaveri sipped her coffee, watching the morning chaos unfold. This was her favorite part of the day—a moment of calm before the relentless demands of her household took over.
A loud voice shattered her tranquility.
“What nonsense is this, Kaveri? Why isn’t breakfast ready yet?” boomed her mother.
Kaveri gulped down the last of her coffee, stole a final glance at the world outside, and hurried to the kitchen. Her mother, Mrs. Sanyal, was already muttering complaints at lightning speed—her voice loud enough to overpower even the rumbling snores of Kaveri’s brother.
Kaveri swept her long hair into a bun and sat on the cold kitchen floor, a large plate of dry flour and a jug of water before her. Today’s breakfast was steaming hot aloo parathas, her favorite dish. As she began kneading the dough, a sharp slap stung her thigh.
“Ouch! Maa!” she winced, looking up to meet her mother’s icy stare.
“Have I taught you nothing?” her mother snapped, pinching her ear. “Not a single speck of flour must drop on the ground! Look at the mess you’ve made. Don’t call yourself a woman if you can’t keep the kitchen clean!”
A silent tear escaped 18-year-old Kaveri’s eye. In her fury, Mrs. Sanyal had forgotten that today was her daughter’s birthday.
The day had started just like any other.
After venting her anger, Mrs. Sanyal left to get ready for work, oblivious to her daughter’s quiet pain. Soon, Kaveri’s father and brother woke up. Dutifully, she handed them steaming cups of chai, laid out their towels and clothes, and set the table for breakfast.
“What’s this?” her brother exclaimed, his tone mocking.
“I told you, I want egg whites in the morning, cooked with minimal oil and salt. You’re just useless, Kaveri—always ruining my diet plan.”
Kaveri shuffled her feet, shame and sadness weighing her down. Aloo parathas were her favorite, and she had made them to mark her special day. But it seemed no one remembered.
She mumbled an apology and rushed to the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with an egg-white omelette and sautéed mushrooms, which her brother devoured like a hungry monster.
Her family left for their day, leaving Kaveri to tidy up the remnants of breakfast. Mrs. Sanyal, a senior manager at a multinational company, Kaveri’s stoic father, a vice president in an Indian firm, and her self-absorbed brother, busy with his final year of college, were all engrossed in their lives. Kaveri, meanwhile, was left behind, her dreams of studying law sacrificed for a degree in Home Science to prepare her for marriage.
Once the front door slammed shut, Kaveri let out a long sigh of relief. But just as she began to relish the quiet, the doorbell rang.
Her heart leaped. Flowers? Maybe a cake? Did someone remember?
She hurried to open the door.
“Gosh! How much time to open the door?”
It was Vimal bai, the maid, barreling in like a superfast train. Kaveri sighed, stepping aside to avoid a collision.
Vimal got to work, banging pots and pans as she cleaned. Her chatter filled the silence, a stream of gossip and commentary that Kaveri had grown used to. While Vimal worked, Kaveri got ready for college, donning her new white top and blue jeans, accessorized with minimal oxidized jewelry and a spritz of her favorite perfume.
Just as she slipped into her kolhapuri chappals, Vimal appeared in front of her, startling her.
“Vimal tai! You scared me!”
Vimal grinned. “I would’ve been heartbroken if you left without letting me talk to you.”
“What happened?” Kaveri asked, concerned.
“Take off your chappals and sit on the sofa for just one minute,” Vimal said, her voice low but insistent.
Confused but compliant, Kaveri obeyed. A few moments later, Vimal emerged with a pooja thali, complete with a lit diya, sindoor, turmeric, and raw rice. She performed aarti for Kaveri, marking her forehead with haldi, sindoor, and rice before planting a wet kiss on her forehead.
“Happy birthday, beta,” Vimal said warmly. “How could I let you leave without blessings? You’ve done so much for my family and me. This is the least I could do.”
Tears welled up in Kaveri’s eyes as Vimal placed her favorite malai peda in her mouth. The sweet melted on her tongue, taking her sadness with it.
She hugged Vimal tightly before stepping out into the world, her heart lighter, knowing that she mattered—to someone.
It was, at last, a happy birthday.
Penned by:
Mayura Amarkant
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