Mother Brings Home a Rocking Chair
She wanted to have one since forever. She used to eye the mahogany polished chair glistening in the display window of a furniture shop whenever she ran errands in the bazaar.
One day she opened her steel almirah, the one whose hinges creak, in the afternoon when the household was napping. She drew out a small aluminium box from underneath a pile of crisp starched cotton sarees and the key from her jewellery chest. Unlocking the box, she sat on the bed and emptied the money stuffed in a paper envelope on to the floral bed sheet.
the low hiss
of boiling milk
Every day now she serves the morning chai to her husband who sits reading the newspaper in the rocking chair, watches her son read storybooks sitting in it, and gently coaxes her sleeping daughter out of the chair to get her to bed.