DORA COMES HOME - A SHORT STORY - ZorbaBooks

DORA COMES HOME – A SHORT STORY

I

“Mom, I want a scootie.” It was Twinkle on the phone.

We were in the midst of our regular conversation. “How are you? Eating properly, I hope.” The usual a parent talks with a child living in a hostel.

Twinkle was not a child now. As an adult, she wanted to be treated and looked upon as a responsible young lady. A young lady who deserved a scootie.

“OK”, I said, trying to buy time. “We will have to do some research. We will have to talk more about it.”

“Moreover, your dad must agree to it too.”

“Hmmm”, she replied. “Fair enough”, but scootie I will have.”

The conversation was left hanging there. I was not sure how to carry this forward.

A scootie is a good means of transportation for a college-going youngster. But, Twinkle was living alone in another city. It would mean more freedom to travel and young people can be more than callous.

Good and convenient, but light in weight and exposed to the elements. Simply put, that is a scootie.

Days went by. Twinkle got busy with her studies, friends, and the daily humdrum of a footloose and fancy-free life.

Unbeknown to us, she had learned to ride. Her friends’ were her mentors. She had already become an expert.

All the while we spoke, she did not mention scootie again. I almost came to believe that it was a passing fancy. In reality, all ground preparations were going on.

During early spring, Twinkle had a week’s vacation from college. She travelled light. After all, she was going to be home only for a week. Why bother to bring many clothes. And, anyway, there were always some at home.

The tide was to turn soon.

The Coronavirus pandemic struck. Lockdowns became the norm. Life was rapidly changing. Colleges and other educational institutes were shifting to a new model. Twinkle’s hostel too shut down and classes shifted online. The girl got stuck. At home. Much to her chagrin.

Books had to be ordered, notebooks bought. The laptop was finally being used for some good purpose. Gaming and chatting got reduced. But I would find Twinkle snoozing on her study table several times. It was exasperating.

The cycle of seasons went on incessantly, untouched by the pandemic. Spring came followed by hot and dry summers. Coronavirus raged on.

The country was facing a serious problem of reverse migration. Newspapers and media were full of economic experts and half-baked panelists expressing their opinions. While, on the roads and highways of the country, lakhs of men, women, and children were trudging along on foot, carrying their worldly possessions. It was a tragedy unfolding in front of our eyes. On many days, while standing in our verandah, we would see large and small groups of people walking. Some held babies in hand, others were cajoling the older children to walk along. Their dogged sense of determination and sense of being betrayed was for all to see.

II

One afternoon, as Twinkle was attending her class and I was napping, the sky burst into thunder. Ignoring it, I tried to sleep anyway.

Within minutes the rain was pouring. Beginning a pitter-patter, the crescendo shifted to heavy lashes. Accompanied by strong winds, the rains beat on the windows. It was a sight to see. And celebrate. The monsoons had arrived.

“Wake up mom, what fun”, Twinkle said while jostling me. “Yeah, yeah”, I muttered.

Finally, a bit groggily, I crawled out of bed. By the time, I made a cup of coffee for myself, Twinkle had gone up to the terrace. She was dancing in the rain. Oh! The life of the young. They know how to find small happiness’.

I smiled while sipping the coffee. It was a perfect afternoon.

With great persuasion and when the raindrops slowed, Twinkle came inside the house, and promptly slipped on the stairs. She was too excited, however, to feel the pain.

Later, while sipping tea and nursing her wounds, she brought up the topic again. “What about my scootie?” she queried.

“Do you need it, asked her father. “Yes Pops, I do”, replied the young lady. “All my friends have their scooties. They whizz by everywhere. They are free. I am not”, she said, her eyes threatening to well any moment. This was getting emotional.

I melted. Her father did not. “Don’t you think, you should concentrate on college and studies? Isn’t that priority?” And so it went on. Arguments and counterarguments.

III

Time flitted by, some days, lethargically and others with a little more energy. Long periods of being home-bound were getting on everyone’s nerves. It was quite obvious. The father was spending more time at his home office, the child of the house was ‘enjoying’ the solitariness of her room. We were becoming a family of individuals, the common thread uniting us was weakening.

A change was desperately needed. A day picnic to Anoop Shehar was decided upon.

Anoop Shehar?

The prospect was not at all interesting to the young lady. Whoever went to a place like that! Finally agreeing though, she pondered philosophically, “Something is better than nothing”. So, with a picnic basket packed, off we drove.

Anoop Shehar, a quiet little town turned out to be more interesting than anticipated. We visited a private university, walked along the River Ganges, and met a devotee who had driven 200 km to pay salutations to the great river.

While walking around the neighbouring fields, we met a farmer family toiling under the hot sun. They were excited to see city people in their fields. A little ahead were some men catching fish in a pond. “There’s no Corona here”, they shouted to us across the pond, laughing and perhaps, a little carelessly.

While driving back, the father had an ‘intense’ conversation with the daughter.

“Have you done some research on scooties? Which model are you interested in?”

The daughter took a moment to sink this in. Reddening in the cheeks, she finally blurted, “Thanks Pops.”

Discussion over.

IV

And so began the search for the perfect scootie. The internet was explored, friends were asked recommendations, and several showrooms were contacted.

Twinkle had decided her choice a long time ago. She went through the charade, possibly to humour us.

Finally, she proposed her choice. “This is the one I want”, she gleefully announced pointing to a prototype model on screen.

Next was a visit to the showroom. The wide array of scooties, motorbikes in different make and colours made for a fascinating afternoon. While we admired the showroom, observing the goings-on, Twinkle took over and asked all the difficult questions to the salesman.

Finally, the decision was made. A smart blue scootie it would be. We all liked it. Its headlights were bright and the scootie seemed to have adequate storing space too. The formalities were completed, and a cup of sweet tea later, we headed back.

Now the wait began. Wait for the scootie to arrive from Chennai, wait for the registration, and wait to ride.

Everything else took a back seat for Twinkle. She was anxious, worried, and impatient. “Where is my scootie? When will it arrive? I hope nothing has gone wrong.”

She repeatedly called the showroom representative, exasperating him to no end.

“Ma’am, thoda time deejeye.” Please have patience. These things take time.

Patience was no longer a word in her dictionary. Life would not move ahead until the scootie arrived. The wait meanwhile continued.

One day the phone call came. Right in the middle of Twinkle’s class. I was in the kitchen and vaguely looked up from the dish I was cooking. “It’s arrived. Yoo-hoo. My scootie has made a difficult journey. Let’s go to pick it up right now.

“Right now”, I blurted. “Complete your classes, at least.”

An auspicious day was chosen to pick up the scootie. Sunday seemed the most suitable.

The coming Sunday, after a quick breakfast, and dressed in our best, off we started for the showroom.

V

There it was. A most beautiful shade of navy blue. Standing quietly, as if waiting. Twinkle’s scootie had arrived.

Paperwork completed, it was time for a trial run. Just a very short one as complimentary fuel was only enough to reach the nearest fuel station.

It truly was the happiest day for Twinkle. How smartly and confidently she rode. Once the fuel was filled and the serviceman duly tipped, it was back home.

After that, it was the scootie and Twinkle. Any task, big or small, one only had to tell her. And she would whizz. Whether it was grocery here or posting a letter there, going to the seamstress, or bringing back from the dry cleaners, Twinkle and her scootie were always at service.

VI

One morning, Twinkle showed the message she received from the Dean. Her college was reopening. It was time to return.

While I was out of sorts on hearing the news, Twinkle was mighty excited. She immediately got down to planning how the scootie would be transported.

After a lot of deliberation, it was decided Twinkle’s new friend would traverse by truck. It would be picked up from home, taken to the loading centre and then complete the voyage by road.

It was distressing for Twinkle to think her beloved scootie crisscrossing the country on a truck. Suspicions arose in her mind. Anyone could break it, hurt it, roughly handle it, the list of horrors endlessly went on. I too almost got convinced. The world was against Twinkle’s scootie. Something dreadful would definitely happen.

“Pops, help me choose the best transport service ever”, she announced to her father later in the evening.

And so the ‘best transport service ever’ was selected.

Next morning, the phone rang. It was the head guard from the guard room. Chintuji from the transport company had arrived. The scootie’s new journey was about to begin.

Chintuji turned out to be his younger brother Montyji. It seems Chintuji was too busy to come. Twinkle’s face darkened. Her doubts about this being the ‘best transport service ever’ increased further.

By now money had been transferred, a slot in the truck been booked. It was too late to change. The ball had been set rolling. Chintuji or Montyji, notwithstanding.

Meanwhile, Montyji comfortably sat on the front seat of the scootie. His wide grin was saying ‘relax, this is easy work for me’. Twinkle’s facial expression said it all. If she could, she would have ridden her scootie to the hostel. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. It was a somber moment for me too.

It reminded me of the afternoon I bid adieu to Twinkle in her hostel the first time. I vividly remember I kept turning back in the taxi to wave her bye. My wet eyes couldn’t see her. I cried to the airport. The driver had offered me his bottle of water. It must have been awkward for him too.

“Cheer up Twinkle”, I said, clearing away my thoughts, though in a hoarse voice. “See it this way, you will soon meet your scootie. Whereas, it will be a long while before I get to see it. So, things are better for you. And you will be already in the city to welcome it.”

This seemed to cheer her up. She immediately began packing for her travel.

“Pops, need money. I am booking my return ticket.” Announcing this, the next day on the breakfast table, Twinkle immediately began tracking her scootie. It showed Noida as the location.

“What”, she exclaimed exasperatedly,” It hasn’t even moved an inch. What’s happening?”

Frantic calls to very unresponsive people irritated her further. Finally, when the connection got through, it was the elusive Chintuji.

“Don’t worry. Your scootie is all packed and ready. As soon as a driver is found for the truck, we will be on the move.”

“Driver will be found? What does that mean?” asked the very upset young lady.

I had to take over from there. To cool things down.

                                                                                                    VII

The coming weekend saw Twinkle fly back. She constantly tracked the truck. By sheer luck, a driver had been found. The onward journey was well underway.

About five days later, Twinkle called. The truck had arrived.

Of course, the young lady could not wait for the scootie to be delivered. She had to pick it up at the earliest.

The contact person there seemed to be in sync with Chintuji and Montyji.

“We will complete the paperwork, and time permitting, it will be delivered at your hostel.”

The best time was now, the young lady thought. Why wait. Pillion riding on a friend’s bike, the two girls reached the godown. There was no one in sight. It was a holiday.

Some frantic calls later, begrudgingly, the manager came. “We would have delivered. What was the hurry?” he mumbled.

“Mom”, meanwhile she phoned me excitedly, “I can see my scootie. It’s looking fine.”

The two girls and the manager carefully unpacked the scootie. Shining blue, it proudly stood, as if saying, “I am here.”

The journey was over.

Later that evening, after having securely parked the scootie in the hostel premise, Twinkle called again.

She was sounding very happy. “Mom”, she said, “Dora is now home.”

Yes, I thought. Like her childhood adventure heroine, Dora the Explorer, Twinkle and her Dora would spend many happy times together.

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gitanjali khanduri