The Mending ( A short story)

The problem with phones in not that they ring. But that they ring again after you hang up. Deb cursed under his breath. Sudeepta focused on parting her hair. The air was thick with ignored expectations.

“Na!” Sudeepta’s sharp command startled the lizard on the wall. Deb lowered his hand from the phone. Sudeepta drew a rich red line in her parting. A quick pranaam and she was ready to leave. Just before exiting, she cast a meaningful glare at Deb. Then the door shut and it was Deb by himself.

‘Deb by himself’ would have answered the phone. He had no bones to pick with his parents. They were a mildly annoying but irrefutable fact of life. But Deb with Sudeepta was a beast of a different nature. Within three months of marriage, as his wife washed off the alta from her pretty feet, untied keys knotted at the end of her sari and walked out of his parents’ house, Deb had decided his best interests lay in quietly following suit.

Now Baba was sick. At seventy, he was a senile mess. Maa faithfully blew the conch shell every evening, beseeching her Thakur’s mercy. She could not bear the burden of an ailing husband nor fathom the cruelty of an estranged son.

Deb felt restless. Pulling on his customary white kurta and brown trousers, he thrust his feet into an old pair of slippers and let himself out. It had been only two weeks since they moved into this new neighborhood and there were plenty of chores demanding his attention.

He walked fast. He would have walked faster but for his slipper that gave way with a moody snap. Deb stopped mid-stride. Now what? With habitual impatience he shook his foot free. Better to get rid of this old nuisance and get a new one. Fortunately he knew of a shoe shop very close by. He would have to walk barefoot, but not too far. Deb headed for the ditch across the road to throw away the useless slipper.

“Kyaa kar rahe ho baba? Hum abhi mare nahi.” (What are you doing son? I am not dead yet).

Deb was startled to find an old man standing by his side. Where had he come from? Did he know him? He racked his brains but no memory answered.

“Humein nahi pehechana shaayad. Hum yahan ke mochi hain.” (You did not recognize me perhaps. I am the neighborhood cobbler.)

“Lao yeh chappal humein de do.” (Come. Give me this slipper)

And before Deb could say yea, nay or hey, the old man had seized the slipper and scurried back to the dusty sidewalk where a mat was spread under the ponderous peepal tree.

There was no way to refuse without making a fuss. Deb did not fancy having an argument hopping on one leg. He trailed behind and sat down on an old aluminum trunk.

The old man studied the leather slipper minutely. He turned it over and over. He peered at it at eye level, then flexed it, then stretched the torn ligament and let it go with a snap. Deb could have sworn at one point he even talked to it under his breath.

Bored by the mochi’s antics, Deb leaned against the tree trunk. His thoughts drifted idly over the day’s work and inevitably to the ignored phone call. It was unlike Maa to call back a second time. Was there really some emergency? Heck at that age, every day was an emergency. How much longer were they going to be around?

“Boodhi ho gayee hai par abhi jaan hai” (She is old, but still has life left in her).

Deb jerked up straight. Had the mochi divined his thoughts?

But the old man was still absorbed by the silly slipper. He looked up with a delighted grin, displaying stained, broken teeth.

“Abhi jaan hai baba. Hum isko abhi theek kar dete hain” (It still has life son. Let me fix it right away). Even as Deb wondered at the man’s excitement, the mochi took out some rusty tools and ran on with his monologue. “Ab bacha lo to bhagwaan samjho. Phekne ka kaam to koi bhi kar sakta hai” (If you are able to preserve something, that’s close to God. Anyone can perform the act of destruction). “Bechari ne bade saal aapke saath guzara hai. Thodi si sewa karni padi to phek denge kyaa.” (This one has spent so many years serving you. Now when its time to tend to her a bit, will you throw her away).

Unbidden there came into Deb’s mind the day he had left his parent’s house. His mother had stood by the door quietly. Baba had helped them load their car with the same taciturn silence. For the first time Deb wondered: what did they do after we left? Who shut off the lights in the stairwell after they went to bed that night? Neither of his parents could walk up the stairs in the dark. And they had never installed another switch at the top because there was always going to be Deb.

Unsettled, Deb opened his mouth but the mochi was waiting for no one.

“Ab socho to ek din yeh bhi nai thi. Bade maje main isko pehena hoga. Bahut acchi lagti hogi na? Aur kitni jageh tumko leg gayee hogi. Purani dost hai baba.” (Now if you think of it, one day even she was brand new. You must have donned her with great pleasure. Must have looked really good. And she must have taken you to so many new places! She is an old friend son).

All at once Deb remembered the time when his mother had come with him to school because the seventh grade teacher had slapped Deb without reason. She had swept into his classroom looking almost regal with her black hair caught up in a jeweled bun. With scant regard to the giggling students or school protocols she had rebuked the poor teacher soundly. Deb still remembered the look of awe on his friends’ faces. No one messed with Mrs. Chatterjee’s son.

Deb’s mind became a whirlwind. Countless memories sprang alive: the bustle in the kitchen everyday at dawn since the school where she taught (for 13 years) required Maa to come in by 6:30 AM. The terrible day when Baba taught him his first trigonometry lesson. His parents clapping proudly at his first (and only) guitar recital in high school. His father consoling him when he did not pass the Civil exams. His mother adding that extra spoon of sugar is his evening tea that made it just perfect.

He even recalled the day his father retired as the head teller in the local bank. His father had come home early and Maa had prepared a special celebratory dinner. Deb cringed remembering his harsh refusal to dine with them despite repeated requests.

And then, finally, his marriage to Sudeepta. His parents had chosen her for him. A ‘beautiful Bengali girl’ they had called her. What did they think of her now? Did they ever look regretfully at the photo of the other girl they had rejected because she was ‘too dark’?

“Haan matlab nayee cheez zaroori hai. Par pair kaat thi hai babu. Isliye purani ko bhi paas rehene do….thoda araam miega.” ( I know that new things are also necessary. But new (slippers) are bound to bruise your feet. So let the old ones stay on. Use them to ease your feet).

“He could say that again!” Deb thought wryly. While he adored Sudeepta, his sometimes felt life could be more pleasant if she could be just a tad more laidback. She was a perfectionist and a staunch feminist. The result, Deb had to do his share of housework and do it right i.e. her way. And there was not much she let him get away with either. Just two days ago their water heater broke down. It meant nothing to Sudeepta who loved cold-water showers but to Deb it was a catastrophe. Hurrying to get dressed for his job interview, he had requested her to heat some water for him on the stove so he could at least bathe in lukewarm water. The response had been a curt “I am not Maa. Grow up.”

“Hum zyaada bol rahein hain kyaa?” Deb’s attention was caught by the change in the mochi’s voice.

Even as Deb tried to find words to explain the impression the old man was making on him, the mochi gave him a shy smile and said “Darasal hum itna bolte nahin hai. Par humare bete ne kal hamein bahut daanta. Keheta hai babuji, aajkal koi chappal theek karaane nahi jaata hai. Tumko thoda aur dum laga ke graahak ko bulana hoga. Kuch baat karo, graahak ko samjhaao purani chappal theek ho sakti hai.. thabhi tum kuch kamayee karoge. Bas hum wohi koshish kar rahe the. Warna humein kyaa hai babuji ki hum tumhe itni baatein sunaaye Lo ye theek ho gayee. Kaam ho gaya.” (Actually I don’t always talk so much. But yesterday my son scolded me a lot. He said no one is interested in getting their shoes mended nowadays. So I need to be more aggressive in soliciting clients. I should talk to them, entertain them. Convince them about the value of mending old shoes. Only then I will be able to earn some better money. So that’s all I was trying to do. Otherwise why would I rattle on lecturing you so. oh! Look the slipper is ready. You are all set.”)

Deb could only stare dumbfounded. So this had all been a sales pitch? This old man was good!! What a spiel he had spun! Deb did not know whether to thank him or wring his old neck. Then the humor of it struck him and he burst out laughing. He assured the old man he had enjoyed their chat, paid him generously and left chuckling to himself.

A few steps down the street Deb’s pace slowed down. He checked his watch and looked pensive. With sudden resolve he spun around and headed back home. There was just time enough to make a call to his parents before Sudeepta came home for lunch.


THE (M)END