Tag Archives: Short Story

Short Story: The Yellow Umbrella

Posted on by
2
Source

The sun had just begun its ascent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Baga Beach in North Goa came alive with the arrival of tourists eager to soak in its beauty. Amongst the bustling crowd was Ramesh, a cheerful middle-aged man with a ready smile, running a small seafood stall near the shoreline. Besides selling mouth-watering delicacies, he had another source of income – renting out his prized possession, the vibrant yellow umbrella adorned with intricate embroidery and playful tassels.

“Welcome, welcome! Come try the best seafood on the beach,” Ramesh called out, his voice filled with warmth. “And for those looking to sunbathe, I have the most beautiful umbrellas to keep you shaded.”

Ramesh had many beautiful umbrellas from which tourists could choose, but the yellow umbrella stood out amongst the regular ones. It had become a symbol of delight and an Instagram-worthy prop for tourists. Its bright and cheerful appearance brought joy to anyone sitting underneath it.

Aria and Marco were a young couple, in Goa for their honeymoon. As they approached Ramesh’s stall, Aria’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the yellow umbrella. “Marco, look at that beautiful umbrella! Let’s rent it for the day,” she suggested, excitement lacing her voice. Marco couldn’t resist his wife’s enthusiasm and agreed. They settled under the yellow umbrella, sipping coconut water and holding hands as they watched the waves playfully dance along the shore. They shared their dreams, and fears, and promised to love each other through thick and thin.

Later that day, a group of college friends from different cities decided to spend their summer break in Goa. Among them was Kabir, a reserved but charming young man. As they explored the beach, they stumbled upon Ramesh’s stall and the magnificent yellow umbrella. “Hey, guys! Let’s get this umbrella. It’s so cool!” Kabir suggested, hoping it might help break the ice among the friends. They agreed, and soon laughter filled the air as they played games, sang songs, and created unforgettable memories under the yellow umbrella. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they knew that this trip would strengthen their bond, and the yellow umbrella would forever hold a special place in their hearts.

The next morning, a solo traveller named Emily, an artist from a far-off country, arrived at Baga Beach with her sketchbook and paints. The yellow umbrella caught her eye like a beacon of inspiration. “Could I possibly rent that marvellous umbrella?” she asked Ramesh, her eyes wide with excitement. “Of course, my dear! It’s yours for the day,” Ramesh replied with a smile. Emily spent the day capturing the essence of Goa in her artwork. The rhythmic sound of the waves and the laughter of children playing in the sand infused life into her creations. The yellow umbrella became the focal point of her painting, representing the joy and vibrancy she had experienced that day.

The next day brought a sudden change in the weather. Dark clouds loomed over the horizon, threatening to rain on everyone’s parade. However, it was also the day that Ramesh received a call from his son, who was studying in a different state. “Baba, I’ll be coming home soon. I can’t wait to see you and Aai,” his son said, his voice filled with affection.

Ramesh’s heart leapt with joy upon hearing this news. He decided to celebrate by offering a free rental of the yellow umbrella for the rest of the day. Tourists and locals alike huddled under the umbrella as the rain poured down, creating an impromptu community of strangers brought together by their shared desire to stay dry.

Among them was Sofia, an elderly woman with a gentle smile, who had been visiting Goa for years. She had seen the yellow umbrella before and felt its magic drawing her towards it. “May I sit here, young man?” she asked Ramesh, her eyes gleaming with gratitude. “Of course, Aunty! It’s all yours,” Ramesh replied, touched by her sweetness.

As they sat together, Sofia shared stories of her adventures and the beautiful memories she had made on this very beach. Her tales spanned decades and touched the hearts of everyone sitting under the yellow umbrella that day. They listened, captivated by her words, and realized that life was about embracing every moment, just like Sofia had done throughout her life.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the rain ceased, leaving behind a sense of tranquillity. Sofia bid farewell to the yellow umbrella, and Ramesh knew that this day had been a gift not just for him but for everyone present.

The tourist season continued, and more stories unfolded under the yellow umbrella. Each person who rented it left a piece of their heart behind, and Ramesh cherished every interaction. From newfound friendships to profound realizations and rekindled love, the yellow umbrella was a witness to it all.

As the season drew to a close, Ramesh felt a sense of bittersweet happiness. The yellow umbrella had brought him joy, new friends, and a deeper appreciation for the beauty of life. It had become more than just a means of income; it was now a symbol of hope, love, and human connection.

With a grateful heart, Ramesh carefully folded the yellow umbrella, ready to store it away until the next tourist season. As he looked out at the sea, he knew that its magic would live on forever, etched in the hearts of those who had shared their stories under its bright and colourful canopy.

Short Story: The Purple Balloon

Posted on by
Reply
Source

Rohan
I have always loved Ganesh Chaturthi. The noise, music, and dhol, all add to the excitement and even though it’s school time, I always try to visit as many pandals as possible. I am a big boy now and after pestering Mukesh chachu for almost a year, he finally agreed to take me to see the Ganesh visarjan at Chowpatty. We will be taking a train and then walking to the beach. Ma and Baba are angry with chachu, and dada and dadi also don’t want us to go, but I am bih now, so this year I will go, come what may.

Today is Anantchaturdashi, so after having a hearty lunch, we set off for Chowpatty, the air buzzing with anticipation. My heart raced with excitement as we navigated through the crowded streets of Mumbai. Chachu held my hand tightly, guiding me through the sea of people, each one carrying a Ganesh idol towards the sea for immersion. On the way, we also saw some big idols, including Lalbaghcha Raja.

As we reached Chowpatty, the sight was breathtaking. Hundreds of colourful Ganesh idols lined the beach, surrounded by eager devotees singing and dancing in devotion. The scent of incense and the rhythmic beat of drums filled the air, creating an electrifying atmosphere.

“Look, Rohan!” Chachu exclaimed, pointing to the sky. “See those kites flying high? It’s like a festival in the sky too!”

I grinned and pointed to a group of children trying to fly their kites. Chachu, always playful, bought me a beautiful purple balloon from a vendor nearby. “Here, hold onto this, Rohan,” he said, tying it to my wrist. “This way, I’ll always find you, no matter what.”

The purple balloon floated above me, like a guardian angel watching over, as we continued our journey through the chaotic crowd. I felt safe and happy, knowing Chachu was with me and that the balloon would lead him to me if we got separated.

Mukesh
Being the youngest of my siblings, I felt a special bond with Rohan. He was born when I was in school and because the age gap is not too much between us, so we behave more like friends rather than uncle and nephew. When he pleaded with me to take him to Chowpatty for Ganesh visarjan, I couldn’t resist. I knew bhai and bhabhi and ma and baba wouldn’t approve, but I wanted to give him an unforgettable experience.

As we reached Chowpatty, I marvelled at the vibrant spectacle before us. The sea of colours, the sounds of devotion, and the spirit of unity overwhelmed me. Rohan’s eyes lit up with wonder, and I couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. I was so glad I was able to give him this experience he will not forget in a hurry.

To add to the magic of the moment, I bought him a purple balloon. His joy knew no bounds as he clutched it tightly. “Thank you, Chachu! This is the best day ever!” he said, his eyes sparkling like stars.

With Rohan holding my hand, we manoeuvred through the bustling crowd. But as the immersion rituals began, the chaos intensified. Chants of “Ganpati Bappa Morya, Pudchyavarshi Loukar Ya” filled the air as people bid farewell to their beloved elephant-headed God by carrying them into the sea and bid him goodbye.

Someone pushed me from behind and I felt a tug on my hand. My heart skipped a beat and I looked down, but Rohan wasn’t there! Panic surged through me as I frantically searched the surrounding crowd, calling out his name. But the noise of the festival drowned my voice.

Source

Rohan
Suddenly my hand was torn from chachu and I found myself alone in the crowd. My heart raced as I realized I had lost Chachu. I tightened the balloon in my hand and started crying. I was scared, surrounded by strangers, and unsure of what to do. I walked a while, pushed and prodded by people who were eager to immerse their idols and get home.

After a while, I noticed a group of men and they, on seeing me crying came up to me. They knelt at my level and smiled reassuringly. One of them patted my shoulder gently and said, “Don’t worry, beta, tell us why you are crying”. When I told them my chachu was lost and I was missing my ma and baba, they laughed and told me “We’ll keep you safe until we find your chachu.”

They formed a protective circle around me, like guardian angels. One of the men lifted me and put me on his shoulders so that I could look out for chachu. He also took the purple balloon, which had become my lifeline and held it up as a beacon to signal Chachu where I was. With their reassuring presence, my fear subsided, and I felt a glimmer of hope.

Mukesh
My heart pounded in my chest as I continued searching for Rohan frantically. The festival seemed to have swallowed him whole, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for bringing him here against his parents’ wishes. I knew I had to find him before anything happened. I started thinking of all the worst things that can happen. An image flashed across my eyes of Rohan in the clutches of a gang which made children stand in the road and beg and I shuddered with anguish. I ran here and there trying to find Rohan, but could not see anyone resembling him in the crowd.

As I ran, my eyes caught a glimpse of a purple balloon floating above the crowd. It looked like the balloon I brought for Rohan and I was relieved to see it. “Was it Rohan’s balloon?” I didn’t know, but ran towards it because it gave me some hope. I followed its trail to a group of men, one of whom was holding the balloon like a beacon and another holding Rohan on his shoulder. I rushed to his side, my heart swelling with gratitude for these kind strangers.

“Chachu!” Rohan cried out, tears of relief streaming down his cheeks. I hugged him tightly, whispering words of reassurance. “I’m here, Rohan. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” The men smiled warmly, patting Rohan’s back. “He’s a brave boy, and the balloon helped us find you,” one of them said.

Rohan
With chachu’s reassuring presence, the purple balloon back in my hand, and the group of kind men by our side, I felt safe once again. We continued to witness the visarjan of the Ganesh idols and I said a little prayer for bringing my chachu back to me, tightly holding chachu’s hand, not wanting to let go. As the sun set and the festival came to a close, we made our way back home, weaving through the now calmer streets of Mumbai.

I knew I had experienced something extraordinary that day, and it wouldn’t have been the same without the purple balloon and the caring strangers who protected me. I looked up at Chachu, grateful for his love and for keeping his promise to me.

ukesh
The experience of losing Rohan and finding him again had been a rollercoaster of emotions. I knew now, more than ever, that my duty as his uncle was to protect and cherish him. The purple balloon had played a crucial role in reuniting us, and I couldn’t help but smile at its significance.

As we walked back home, I held Rohan’s hand tightly in mine, vowing to never let go. The chaotic festival reminded me of the fragility of life and the importance of treasuring our loved ones. I sent a small prayer to Vignaharta, the remover of obstacles who brought my nephew back to me. Though we returned to the safety of our home, the memories of the festival and the purple balloon would forever remain etched in our hearts. I recounted this experience to my brother, bhabhi and parents and we all hugged Rohan once again, knowing that without the kindness of these strangers, our little boy may have been lost to us forever. The city of Mumbai, one again, showed us what it is made of. Exhausted, as I went to bed, the strains of the songs “Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yahan, Zara hatke zara bachke yeh hai Bombay meri jaan” came through the television of our neighbour and I smiled at the expansiveness of the city of my birth as sleep claimed me.

Short Story: The Silent Murder

Posted on by
3
Source

As the plane started its descent into Fuzhou, Mei Li peered excitedly out of the window. “Almost home now”, she muttered to herself. Her seatmate, an older man, smiled at her and asked her if she was back from a holiday in Singapore or if she was working there. “Working”, Mei Li smiled. “I am going back home after two years”. She tried to curb her impatience as she cleared immigration and customs and walked outside to get into a bus for the next part of her journey home. She slipped into the seat, suddenly exhausted as she thought of her life, both past and present, as the bus hurtled through the Chinese countryside, the bus, her home for the next six hours until her village.

Leaning back in her seat, Mei Li tried to sleep but found that sleep eluded her. She smiled and whispered, “I did it. That woman is dead, and no one knows I did it!”. As she said this, a wave of sadness hit her, and tears started streaming down her eyes. Unbidden, her mind went back 20 years when she first saw her husband Ah Fu. They were matchmade, and she saw him the day they were wed. She was a shy girl of 18, and he was a strapping man of 20 when they wed. The first two years were sheer bliss, but soon the reality of life hit them in the form of two miscarriages. When they saw a doctor, they were told Mei Li’s womb was weak and treatment for this required money they did not have. So Ah Fu took the difficult decision to work for a few years in the bustling metropolis of Singapore.

Ah Fu and Mei Li were apart for more than a decade while Ah Fu tried to earn money so that Mei Li could get the treatment she needed. But unfortunately, even with treatment, Ah Fu and Mei Li were unable to have children, and after a few years, Mei Li decided to live with this fact. She spent her days looking after Ah Fu’s parents and lived for the one month every year when he would spend a month with her. She looked forward to the time when Ah Fu would earn the money they needed for the rest of their lives, and they will start living together again.

Life moved, the seasons changed, and Ah Fu’s parents soon passed away. One day, Mei Li suddenly realised something. “It’s been a month since Ah Fu has called or sent money. I wonder why he does not pick up my phone. I hope everything is fine”. Six months soon passed with no contact with her husband, and Mei Li was sick with worry. As time passed, her worry turned into fear and fear into grief. Her worry was confirmed one day when Ah Fu’s friend Li Wei came to her house. She was happy to meet him and wanted to ask him about her husband, but stopped as soon as she saw him. Li Wei’s eyes were red with tears, and he had an urn in his hands. “No, no, Li Wei, please tell me what I am thinking is not true” Mei Li was almost prostrate with grief, but she was not to be comforted. Her worst fears came true. Ah Fu was dead, and Li Wei had brought her husband’s remains with him. But this was not all that was what was giving her grief.

Ah Fu stopped sending her money because he was involved with another woman, Jenny. Jenny was a domestic helper from the Philippines, and both of them were involved in a raging affair. The money that Ah Fu used to send to Mei Li was now used to wine and dine Jenny. He also started dipping into his savings until he had no money and debts of over $100,000. Once Jenny realised that there was nothing more to get from Ah Fu, she dumped him like yesterday’s leftovers.

Distraught, Ah Fu tried everything in his control to win over Jenny but could not. He also lost his job, and the thought that he would have to go back to China, a broken and bankrupt man, made him take his life because he could not face Mei Li. With these words, Li Wei passed Mei Li Ah Fu’s belongings along with a diary and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Mei Li bewildered and desperate for answers. She knew deep within her soul that the truth had been whispered into her ears, but it remained just out of reach. Questions swirled in her mind, each one intertwining with the next. She saw his diary and started to read, hoping the questions in her head would have some answers. As she read the diary, Mei Li’s sorrow turned into anger. The woman who had taken her husband away from her, who had shattered their lives, needed to face the consequences of her actions.

She learnt more about Jenny, along with a photo that Ah Fu had taken sneakily. Shattered, she threw the diary away and tried to move on with her life. But Mei Li could not forget either the photo or Jenny and tried as much as she could; she wanted answers, and she wanted to know what was so special about Jenny that her Ah Fu was unfaithful. A plan began to form in Mei Li’s mind, fueled by a burning desire for revenge. She decided to find out for herself and made plans to move to Singapore. She had one very useful skill – she belonged to a small clan that was famous as masseurs. She knew acupressure and could massage any point in the body to relieve aches and pains. Soon, Mei Li was in Singapore.

She used the knowledge she had gleaned from Ah Fu’s dairy to stalk Jenny and find out about her. She came to know that Jenny went to a church near Chinatown on Sundays, and after service and before she went back to her employer’s home, she frequented a reflexology parlour to get rid of the aches and pains of the week. After a couple of months, Mei Li started working in the same massage parlour that Jenny frequented and tried hard to make sure she was the one who gave Jenny her massages. She would go overboard with her and give her more than she paid for. Slowly, over the next few months, Jenny came more frequently to the parlour to get massaged by Mei Li, who now had become a friend.

Mei Li now started to put her plan into action. With her knowledge of acupressure, she slowly started pressing a point in the sole of her feet as well as another point at the base of her neck, which, if pressed in a certain way, would put pressure on the spleen and slowly, over time, would cause the spleen to rupture. At the same time, while making conversation, Mei Li would recommend certain Chinese herbs to Jenny for strength. She was careful not to recommend overtly poisonous herbs but a combination which, with the massage, would be fatal.

This carried on for about a year, and while massaging Jenny, Mei Li knew her end was near. She soon stepped up her massages and, at the same time, resigned from her job, citing the need to go back home to look after an ailing mother. Jenny was sad that her friend was leaving, but this was the life of a migrant worker, and there was nothing that could be done. On her last weekend, Mei Li was waiting for Jenny to come to the massage parlour for her usual massage but didn’t see her. She tried calling her, but her calls went unanswered. Finally, someone picked up the phone, and when she asked about Jenny, she was told Jenny had passed away two days back from a ruptured spleen, and they were too late in taking her to the hospital. Her wake was being conducted in a nearby funeral parlour, and Mei Li decided to make her way there just to ensure that the woman she hated with every fibre of her being was where she put her beloved Ah Fu.

The bus suddenly jolted, and Mei Li came back to the present. She smiled a small smile of satisfaction and knew somewhere up there, Ah Fu probably approved. She knew she would never have a good night’s sleep because she had knowingly and willingly taken a life, but that was a trade-off she was willing to make. The bus had stopped, and when she looked out of the window, she realised she had reached her destination. As she got down and started walking home, she walked with a newfound sense of peace. The weight of her grief had lessened, and the wounds in her heart had begun to heal. Ah Fu will always remain in her heart, and the memories of the man she loved and married will be enough to live on as a beacon of love and resilience.

Short Story: The Green Bangle

Posted on by
2
Source

Aishah sat alone on the Klebang beach, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the waves. Tears streamed down her face, her heart heavy with sorrow. Just hours ago, she had received the devastating news that her fiance, Nasrul’s family had called off their engagement. The suddenness of it all left her bewildered and hurt.

“Why?” Aishah whispered to the sea, her voice carried away by the gentle breeze. “Why would they do this without any explanation?”

As she aimlessly sifted through the sand, her fingers brushed against something solid. Intrigued, she dug deeper, revealing a small, intricately carved jade bangle. The sunlight reflected off its smooth surface, casting an ethereal green glow. Without thinking, Aishah slipped the bangle onto her wrist.

In that instant, the world around her transformed. Aishah found herself standing in a bustling street, surrounded by buildings that at once seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar. She looked down at herself and realised that she was no longer Aishah but a young Chinese woman. Floundering, Aishah tried to walk down the street when someone called for Su-Yen behind her. She didn’t stop until someone poked her with an umbrella. “Su-Yen, can’t you see I am calling you? Where are you?” Aishah realised that she was a Chinese woman named Su-Yen and this was Malacca, but from what she knew of her history, she had been transported to 17th-century Malacca. Fear and confusion gripped Su-Yen as she tried to make sense of her new reality and glanced at the jade bangle on her wrist, now pulsating with otherworldly energy.

As Su-Yen navigated the crowded streets, fragments of memories flooded her mind. She recalled being the daughter of a wealthy Chinese merchant and a beautiful Eurasian woman. Her parents’ marriage had been a union of two worlds, a testament to the cosmopolitan nature of Malacca. But her blissful existence had come to an abrupt end when her father’s business faltered, and their fortune vanished.

Stripped of their opulence, Su-Yen’s family struggled to make ends meet. In a desperate attempt to secure a better future, her father arranged a marriage between Su-Yen and a powerful but cruel man named Li Wei. Desperate to escape her fate, Su-Yen sought solace in the arms of her secret love, a kind-hearted Malay sailor named Rizal. The same soulmate who had presented her soon with the bangle which adorned her hand right now.

Through the haze of memory, Su-Yen recalled the fateful night that would forever change her life. Li Wei had discovered her illicit romance and confronted them with rage in his eyes. In a fit of jealousy, he had drawn his sword, and before Su-Yen could react, Rizal leapt in front of her, sacrificing his life to protect her.

Tears welled up in Su-Yen’s eyes as she relived the grief and guilt that had consumed her at that moment. She had blamed herself for Rizal’s death and had made a desperate plea to the heavens for a chance to right her wrongs. Su-Yen made up her mind. She started running and did not stop until she reached the beach. She was panting, and collapsed in the fine sand, tears running down her face. She reached for the jade bangle, the symbol of Rizal’s love and flung it before getting up and walking determinedly towards the sea, to be with her love, her soulmate, Rizal.

Back on the Klebang beach, Aishah’s surroundings began to shift. She found herself back in the present day, the jade bangle still snugly adorning her wrist. She knew now that Su-Yen’s story was not just a figment of her imagination but a connection to her struggles.

A newfound determination surged within Aishah. She would not let the pain of heartbreak consume her. Like Su-Yen, she would fight for her happiness. Aishah sought answers, determined to uncover the reason behind Nasrul’s family’s decision.

Days turned into weeks, and Aishah soon learned why Nasrul’s family broke their engagement. One of his relatives had launched a whisper campaign against her, assassinating her character and poisoning their ears against her and her family. The relative wanted Nasrul to marry her daughter and so started this negativity. The revelation filled Aishah with a mix of anger and sadness. She had hoped that love would conquer all, but it seemed that prejudice still held sway.

Armed with newfound resolve, Aishah confronted Nasrul’s family and challenged their decision. She reminded them that her and Nasrul’s love was the forever kind and that their happiness was worth fighting for. Her heartfelt plea touched Nasrul and he stood up against his family and the relative who poisoned their hearts against Aishah and her family. Seeing Nasrul’s steely determination, his family realised the depth of their son’s love for Aishah and relented, understanding that their happiness lay in accepting her as their daughter-in-law.

Aishah and Nasrul’s love triumphed over the prejudices that had once threatened to tear them apart. As they exchanged vows on their wedding day, the jade bangle served as a reminder of the strength and resilience they had found within themselves. And as Aishah glanced at her reflection, she couldn’t help but wonder if Su-Yen was looking back at her, sharing in her joy and celebrating the victory over the trials of the past. The jade bangle, once a catalyst for their connection, now stood as a symbol of the intertwined destinies of two women separated by time but united by love and the indomitable spirit of Malaysia’s rich history.

Short Story: The Blue Dupatta

Posted on by
Reply
Source

Jayanti took out a package from her cupboard and caressed it gently before handing it over to her daughter, Ritu. Ritu was surprised to receive the package as she had seen it in her mother’s cupboard growing up and had never been allowed to even touch it. The package was wrapped in tissue and then wrapped with a cotton cloth. In wonder, she opened the precious package and looked in wonder. “Mummy, is this for me?”, she asked in wonder as she opened the package and found a beautiful blue silk dupatta, embroidered in Kashmiri embroidery with flowers all around. “This is gorgeous, mummy! I didn’t know you owned something so beautiful. If I had known, I would have borrowed it from you a long time back.” “And that’s exactly why I hid it from your greedy eyes all these years”, Jayanti lovingly chided Ritu and she packed it back and kept it in her suitcase. Mother and daughter were packing for Ritu’s imminent travel to Mumbai from their hometown of Guwahati in Assam. Ritu had been offered the position of management trainee at a prestigious organisation after her MBA.

“This dupatta is very special to me and holds so many memories. It was part of a set of two that my best friend, Rituparna, and I got made when we were growing up in Kolkata”. We had promised to always be there for each other, but after I married your father and moved to Guwahati, I lost touch with her. In our days, there was no internet and WhatsApp that you people have today. STD phone calls were expensive and only used in an emergency, so all we could do to keep in touch is write letters to each other. Rituparna and I wrote to each other for a few years, and then the letters stopped. I even went to see her one year when I was in Kolkata, but they had moved. I heard from their neighbours that uncle had passed away and Aunty and Ritu moved to stay with Aunty’s brother in Bangalore. They had not left any forwarding address, so all I have today to remember my friend is a photo and this dupatta”. Jayanti wiped her eyes as she extracted a small, faded photo from her bedside table. The photo showed two girls about 17 years old, with their arms around each other, smiling broadly at the camera.

Soon, Ritu departed for Mumbai and life went back to its usual routine. Ritu used to call her mother daily to update her on what she was up to. She had been allocated a shared house and the icing was that Ritu got along like a house on fire. The two girls had many things in common and it was not unheard of that Jayanti would also speak with Jaya. Jayanti loved speaking with Jaya and felt some connection with her, though she could not pinpoint what. She kept asking her questions because she seemed very familiar, as though she knew her from somewhere, though it was the first time both were meeting each other.

Soon, it was time for the festival of Diwali. The girls, both very excited to celebrate the festival of lights alone for the first time were planning very hard on the celebrations. After discussing on what they would prepare for the festival, the planning soon moved to what they will wear. Both had something they wanted to show the other and ran to their rooms to bring it out.

“Tadah! This is what I am going to wear” Ritu exclaimed, thrusting the blue dupatta towards Jaya only to see Jaya showing her the same dupatta. “How, how is this possible?” stuttered Jaya. “How do we both have the same dupatta? Amma told me that this is one of a kind”? Ritu was equally flabergastted. “Mummy also told me that this was a one-of-a-kind dupatta and she and her best friend had gotten them specially made to celebrate their friendship”.

Both Jaya and Ritu were so surprised to see them have identical dupattas. Soon they started comparing stories. “Ritu, did you notice something else?” Jaya pondered. “My name is a derivative of your mummy’s name and your name is very similar to Amma’s”. “You are correct Jaya” Ritu concurred. “Let me tell you a story” and Ritu told Jaya the story of her mother’s and Rituparna’s friendship.

“My mother was from Kolkata, originally. They moved to Bangalore to Amma’s mama’s place after my nana’s death. Amma must be around 20-21 and she got married to Baba there and settled down in Bangalore where I also grew up.” This, from Jaya who was trying to put the pieces together. “We must solve this mystery once and for all.” Ritu stood up and started making plans. “Let’s call both of them here for Diwali and get them in one place. If they are best friends who have lost touch with each other, then this Diwali will reunite them. And if we are completely wrong, then it’s a Diwali we will celebrate with our families.” “Correct” Jaya concurred and started making calls.

Both Ritu and Jaya called their parents and made arrangements for them to fly down to Mumbai. For Jayanti, it was her first flight and she was very apprehensive and excited to take the long flight from Guwahati to Mumbai. Rituparna had a relatively shorter flight and so reached Mumbai first. Jaya had gone to the airport to pick her parents up and brought them back to the apartment. By the time they returned home, Ritu had left for the airport to pick her parents up.

On returning home, Ritu quickly messaged Jaya who then ensured that her parents were inside the room when Ritu brought her parents inside the house. She welcomed Jayanti and her husband and both Jaya and Ritu stood in front of Jayanti and told her they had a surprise for her and that she had to close her eyes. They blindfolded her and made her stand in the centre of the room. Once that was done, they did the same to Rituparna and brought her into the room where Jayanti was standing. Both Ritu and Jaya went and stood behind their mothers and in a move that was coordinated, removed the blindfolds simultaneously while shouting, “Surprise”.

Jayanti and Rituparna stood in shock and did not understand what was going on. They were here to meet their roommate’s parents to celebrate Diwali. Then as if a bulb went off simultaneously in each other’s heads, both recognised their best friend and then they couldn’t wait to be in each other arms. Tears flowed copiously as both friends tried to put the last 25 years into this hug. Finally, they stepped away from each other and turned to their husbands who were looking at this scene bemusedly as they had no idea what just happened. They introduced their friends to their spouses and the two friends sat down to catch up on each other’s lives that they had missed all these years.

“How did you know that Ritu was Jayanti’s daughter?” Rituparna asked her daughter while Jayanti looked at Ritu with the same question in her eyes. Both Jaya and Ritu looked at each other and dashed out of the room, returning with the blue dupatta that had made this reunion possible. “The blue dupatta” sighed Rituparna and Jayanti and caressed the heirloom. “Without this, we would have never made the connection and found that you both were best friends who had lost contact for all these years” Ritu explained the story of how the girls figured out the connection between the blue dupatta and their’s mother’s friendship.

The next day, as Jayanti and Rituparna lit the lamps to start the Diwali pooja, they had a special prayer for their friendship. As they lit the diyas and fireworks, they looked at each other and their families and thanked the blue dupatta for bringing their friendship back to them after a quarter of a century.