Spilt Milk

As a child, I used to think a lot. I thought before I spoke to most people, even ones I met on a daily basis. Often the milkman would ask me how much milk we wanted before dipping his lightly dented measuring cup into his can and pouring it into my bowl. I would think, “Did Mummy actually say we wanted just half a litre? Should I say something after he pours the milk or just walk away to indicate that I didn't want more? Should I say half a litre or 1 cup? Should I thank him?” And by the time I was done making a decision, the milkman would partly dip his measuring cup into his can again and ask if I wanted some more, so I would scurry away without saying anything. With friends, I coped differently. I copied words and phrases that I picked up from their conversations with others. Often, I would be asked a question and I found it easier to repeat something I’d heard before than tell people the truth. Once I was asked what my father worked as and I instinctively said doctor because I’d heard my friend say the same. I found it easier to dodge questions than sincerely answer them; it seemed better that way.

My mind was my sanctuary; I liked to think about a hundred different things and had a thousand different questions. I mostly kept them all to myself. They labelled me a quiet child, even though I had thoughts that could fill a thousand conversations.

One incident stands out from the rest of them. It was the day I spilt my milk.

—-----

I was bathed and powdered and fed extra early one day. We were setting out to visit a friend of my father’s for a couple of days. We reached Uncle’s house and met him and his wife. Uncle delighted in pinching my cheek but that was the extent of my interaction with him. His wife was kind and liked to take me into her kitchen and give me sweets even as I clung on to my mothers dress tightly the whole time.

Plans for the next day were already made. They were contemplating taking me along, but Uncle felt differently.

“It's too hot today, not ideal for children. We can leave her with Manju, she took holidays last month anyway. She can look after her.”

I’d seen Manju didi on our visits before. She’d stand near the wall sipping tea or doing her work but it was always hard to ignore her because she towered over most people in the house. When she looked at you, it felt like she was running an assessment. It was possibly her height but I never met her eyes or lifted my head high enough to know what she looked like.

My father debated the proposition in his head and then relented. But not before warning me.

”Behave yourself, don't open your mouth unnecessarily. You know what will happen if you talk too much. Understood?”

I nodded vigorously.

Aunty chided my father for being so harsh but I kept my mouth shut and rejoiced silently. I remember going to sleep at night and waking up in the morning to a silent house. I knew they’d left.

—-----

I opened my eyes and a pair of kohl rimmed ones stared back at me. It was didi. I shut my eyes and pretended to drift back to sleep but focused on listening to the rustle of her saree and the swishing of the mop slowly drift farther and farther away from me. I didn't want to face her right away.

Swish swish, slide

When I couldn't hear it any longer, I opened my eyes and then proceeded to stretch and convulse till each of my limbs was out of the blanket and then I sat up hunched and groggy eyed. She suddenly entered the room and I looked at her. She smiled, so I smiled back weakly. She asked me if I slept well and I said I did. I got up and stretched again.

“What would you like to drink?”

I thought for a while

“Horlicks?” she asked

“Yes, I’ll drink Horlicks”

“But you don't like it”

“No I do”

“You didn't finish your milk yesterday. Its okay if you don't like Horlicks, there is Bournvita if you want”

“I’ll have the Bournvita”

“Are you sure?”

I nod

“I can also give you plain milk if you want”

“I want the Bournvita”

“Okay then”

I turn to leave but she called after me

“Come sit here, what will you do there?”

I went inside the kitchen and sat on the little stool. She gave me a bowl of biscuits and I munched on them slowly as I truly looked at her for the first time. She was too tall for the kitchen counter. Her hair was wavy in the back, and thin, but not thin enough to leave it untied, like I'd seen my grandmother do. She had practically hairless arms but palms that looked parched. She moved about the kitchen quickly placing 2 deep vessels on each of the burners. One had milk for me and the other was for tea. She strained it and poured it into cups.

We sat in silence holding the mugs in our hands, me on the couch and her on the floor beside me. I felt uneasy seeing her sit on the ground but didn't say anything.

“What class are you in?”

“4th standard”

She nodded slowly

“Do you study well?”

I didn’t know how to answer that so I kept quiet

“Do you have any siblings?”

I nodded. A brother I thought.

“Is he older than you?”

“Yes”

I could tell that she was exasperated, but I still kept my mouth shut.

“You don't talk much no? You should talk more. Nothing works these days if you don't ask for it. Do you know what happens if you are not bold?”

I kept quiet, so she kept going

“If you are shy and can't stand up for yourself, someone else will come and push you aside. Girls should be bold these days. Your mother won't always be around.”

I clenched my teeth

“You should learn how to talk to people. Otherwise people will assume you can't talk.”

“I know how to talk”

“You do know how, but you are so shy. I barely heard you converse at all. You can’t let your Amma speak for you, you need to start talking more”

“I can speak! I know how to talk!”

And the next thing I knew, my mug of milk was on the floor, shattered into pieces and the milk was all over the floor. Didi got up very quickly with a confused look on her face as I crouched on the sofa, with my face over my knees and my hands shielding my head. 2 minutes passed and nothing happened, so I got out of my position slowly and looked around. Didi was looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“Why?”

‘What do you mean?’

“Why did you do that? Did you think I was going to hurt you?”

“I don't know”

“Okay sit up. Let me clean this”

I sat up and looked down the entire time, afraid to meet her eye.

—-----

My parents came home late at night, but I was unable to sleep that day. The glass breaking had me worried.

“Did she give you a lot of trouble? Did she pester you with questions?” my father asked Manju didi while he looked at me sternly

“No, in fact she is the quietest child I’ve seen in a long time. I have absolutely no complaints, other than the fact that she talks too less”

“It took us a while to get there. All the incessant chatter and unnecessary questions. You wouldn't believe what a rascal she was. Now she is so much better” he says.

I look at didi

She looks at me

And I look down again.

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