Senses

My nose is wrinkling up and down, attempting to verify the stinking smell. I recognise it in a matter of seconds thanks to my keen sense of smell. The smell of cigarette, most likely from my uncle’s acquaintance. But it’s about twilight now, and he typically comes after dinner.

I climbed onto a chair, peering out the window at the vast sky. The orange hue in the sky is attempting to take control of the silver clouds by merging with them. None of the leaves are chatting with each other; the wind feels like it’s about to hit.

I turned my head, Mom is dressed like a bride, with a new saree and jasmine flowers in her hair. “Are you going to attend any wedding, Mom?” She normally took me along, so I asked.

My mom, Anita is of normal height, looked incredibly beautiful, especially with those deep, sparkling eyes that seemed to carry whole stories.

My mother reminded me, “I asked you not to move from this lounge until dinner time.”

“And we are all going to the circus tomorrow.” I reminded her of the commitments as well.

Uncle Raghu, my mother’s younger brother, entered the lounge, still engaged in a conversation from the front of the house. His words trailed behind him as he crossed the threshold, his attention momentarily divided between his unseen interlocutor and my mother. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them, conveyed in a simple nod.

He reliably takes Mom and me to school each day. Ever since I lost my dad when I was just one, Uncle Raghu has been like a father figure to me. My mom works as a teacher in the very same school I attend. Thankfully, her domain is limited to the realm of kindergarten, a world away from my own academic struggles. Still, the division between her roles as mother and teacher isn’t always clear-cut, especially when we both find ourselves within the same school walls.

“Suguna, come quick,” Uncle Raghu said, calling his wife, taking a seat beside me. I could hear the suggestive sounds of Aunt Suguna’s bustling activity in the kitchen, the clinking of pots and pans growing louder with each passing moment.

“Coming,” she called out in response to Uncle Raghu’s summons, but she remained unseen, her presence only hinted at by the tantalizing aromas that wafted from the kitchen, stirring my own hunger pangs.

Unusually, he turned on the TV for me to watch. I even have a TV remote that he left with me. He provided me with some sweets, Laddus. Laddu is a beautiful, yellow sweet, often spherical like a cricket ball, though homemade ones can be uneven. The enticing aroma of cardamom makes it irresistible, and the raisin embedded within resembles a watchful eye. Today I feel so pampered that I’m not sure which to delight in more, my thoughts or the TV box.

After a bit, as I was flipping between the networks, I heard my name from the waiting room, in the front. In that instantaneous pause, Uncle Raghu’s voice came from the front of the home, “He turned nine recently.”

The new uncle, remarked, “That’s okay for me.”

Why was he so interested in my age? My birthday was last month, was it too late for gifts? I could see his figure, but the dim light made it hard to tell who it was. Uncle Raghu had closed the curtains earlier, and the door was only slightly open.

“He’s a pleasant youngster to be around” Aunt Suguna reassured the others who are occupied with consuming food and beverages, “You won’t be having any issues with him.”

Not just me, but also my mother, are the object of her intense affection. My mom and I have lived with my uncle and aunt for at least five years. I can’t recall where we were before that, definitely not with my dad. I can’t even picture his face.

The actors on TV are moving so quickly that I strive to catch the moves. The scent of Queen of the Night is drawing my attention once more. Mother rushed to the bedroom.

Aunt Suguna entered the room, balancing a stack of plates in her hands. However, in stark contrast to the overflowing platter my mother had carried earlier, these plates held only the remnants of the feast. The sight of the empty plates served as a poignant reminder that the ‘show that I was not allowed’ was nearing its end.

Aunt Suguna left them on the dining table. “You’re going to Bangalore, a big city, soon,” Aunt Suguna murmured, putting her hands on each of my cheeks.

“Are you also coming?” Excitedly, I asked her.

She put her four fingers deep into my hair, making it messy, and said, “Probably just you and your mom. We might come visit you over the holidays.” My hair is short yet thick and powerful, making it the envy of many young girls.

Why must we leave? Since my uncle is like a father figure to me, I don’t want to leave him. Being a man of regularity, Raghu’s life is similar to his work at the state power board in that it is stable, predictable, and pleasantly moderate. He is the perfect example of a middle-class person, neither a high achiever nor a struggling one.

My mother dashed out, donning her usual saree, and gave me an instruction, saying, “Enough talking; time for your homework.” To give them privacy, I strolled out of the room. Mom is aware that I have finished all of my schoolwork.

#

The very next day, just two of us, uncle Raghu and myself made it to the circus show. Aunt Suguna said she is unwell and my mum stayed to look after her. But uncle Raghu took a long time to come out of the house to come to the show.

“Stay here, I forgot my valet and will be back in a minute.”

I played with the bike handles as if I was driving it. I can hear vaguely that they are busy whispering. Uncle Raghu rushed out and didn’t say a word to me. He seems a bit worried!

The “famous circus show” was filled with both adults and children, perhaps proving that everyone needs a bit of escape. The makeshift seating, some chairs missing legs or rusted, reminded me of life’s unpredictable balance. The cheers and commands of the ringmaster echoed, a stark contrast to the captive animals performing for the crowd’s amusement.

During the intermission, Uncle Raghu approached me with a generous offering of savouries and a refreshing soft drink. As I eagerly accepted the treats, he leaned in and said, “You must listen to me, you know that I love you.” His words carried a weight that made me pause, but I simply nodded in response, my mind still preoccupied with the anticipation of the remaining show.

I looked at him and asked, “When are the tigers coming out?”

“Soon,” he said with a big gasp, “They want the audience to sit in until the end of the show, to keep the excitement.”

“They should have shown just one tiger first and two tigers after the break,” I told him, ‘how to run a circus company.’ Uncle Raghu gave a strange smile and turned his head back to the stage.

My father died in a workplace accident. I overheard when other uncle and aunt discussing about it, few days ago. A distant relative, who also worked at the factory, sided with management, claiming my dad was at fault for the electrical shock. They said he ignored the rules. It felt like most of our family just accepted this without question at that time.

“It’s a wonderful city, Bangalore. You’ll be enrolled in a large, highly regarded school.” Uncle Raghu splatters his lava loudly. A drizzle fell on me alone.

Our Hero Honda motorcycle was producing a lot of smoke. Even with my handkerchief covering my mouth and nose, I could smell it. I coughed.

“Are you alright?” Uncle pulled over to see how I was doing. I played up the cough once more, turning into a stage actor. Uncle kicked the bike in frustration and said, “we’ll be home soon.”  The smoke grew thicker, clouding my thoughts, but a welcome breeze cooled the sweat on my neck.

When we arrived home, Aunt Suguna had already set the table. “Go wash your hands first,” she reminded me. I couldn’t detect my mom’s presence; she was likely asleep or reading in the bedroom. I moved towards the sink, oblivious to the silent communication happening behind me. Aunt and uncle exchanged meaningful glances, their reflections caught in the corner of the cracked mirror above the hand wash.

“How was the circus?” Aunt Suguna asked. My mouth was full of food, and my head was full of questions. I didn’t want to have this conversation; I knew exactly where it was headed

My mum entered the room suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she demanded in a tone that brooked no argument, “Answer your aunt.”

“It’s alright,” I said with a shoulder shrug.

The TV is still on, and those conversations are running over into ours. “What did you like?” Aunt enquired once again, either out of curiosity or an attempt to subdue me—I’m not sure!

“The Ringmaster” I answered, not scowling.

The adults exchanged glances. The TV droned on, its drama a pale imitation of our own lives.

Uncle Raghu offered me more chicken, trying to bridge the distance between us. “Your mother is going to marry the uncle who visited yesterday. He’ll be your new Dad.”

“I don’t like him,” I blurted out.

“Why?” Mom asked, her voice sharp.

I focused on my food, refusing to elaborate. She left the room, defeated.

I excused myself to wash up. Aunt Suguna embraced me tightly, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness settling in my heart.

My hands were dry, but my eyes overflowed with tears.

*