A Sheepish Grin: Part One
This is the first of five memoir-in-essays dictated by Guest Writer and International Journalist, Ramarao Malladi, and recorded by Prema Camp. Read more from Ramarao at his website, South Asian Tribune.
Long years ago, I walked into my house one evening. I had just completed my day’s routine for my newspaper, and I was in high spirits. I wanted to share my happiness with my wife, Vani. I knocked at the door and was waiting for her to open the door. When I did not hear her footsteps, I thought probably the door was not locked, and simply pushed it open. There was no Vani in the corridor. I heard some noise in the kitchen. Expecting her to be in the kitchen so I walked in. She was not there either. I was puzzled. Where did she go? I know Vani generally does not go anywhere. She also shuns the gossip sessions next door. So where did she go at five o’clock in the evening? Had she gone to her parents’ house she would have at least telephoned me, and if she had gone to my parents’ house, also, she would have telephoned me. Mind is a Devil’s workshop even when you are in an overdrive. My imagination was running amuck. I picked up the phone and dialed the police commissioner. He was sympathetic and assured me of a quick response which never came that day. I made a thorough search of the house, did not find anything amiss, and I was sure that there was no burglary attempt either. I walked out of the house. I was on the road not knowing what to do. I slowly started walking on the pavement. I was wondering what to do, where I should go. Could I alert my family members, colleagues, and friends? Then I would become the talk of the town. This very thought made me angry and curse Vani. Unconsciously, I almost reached my office and climbed up the staircase and entered my office room.
Lo and behold, Vani was there, sitting cross-legged in the chair with the apple of her eye at her feet and playing with some toys. Controlling my anger at her vanishing act and suppressing my curiosity as to where and why she had gone, I said, “Welcome back home!” She smiled and quietly said, “Where did you disappear, my dear?” I came to your office with the little child in tow since you promised me that you would take me for shopping. Suddenly it struck me that I made the promise yesterday only to forget today. This was not the first time. It is a repeat act. Only a fortnight ago, Vani came to the office with our little child. Immediately I closed my office, and I took out my scooter and asked to Vani to be the rider. My daughter, Sheila, jumped on the scooter and comfortably she said, “Just behind me.” I started the scooter, and drove at my normal speed all the way talking to Vani. She did not respond to any of my observations. I thought she was sulking and did not ask her why she is keeping quiet. I found that we were approaching a street red light, turned back and demanded in a high pitch, “Why are you not talking?” Sheila started crying, and I started trembling because Vani was not there on the back seat. Did she fall from the scooter? I couldn’t imagine so I turned back, started driving slowly, looking at either side of the road for any telltale signs of Vani and reached my office. There she was standing laughing heartily, and thundered, “Bloody hell, you are always like this. I know you’ll come back.” My friends and colleagues, who had gathered by then, started clapping and laughing. I sported a sheepish grin.
~ Ramarao Malladi