Madhuri stared at her mother and tried to remember the last time she had seen a smile on her face. She thought it probably might have been when they had all gone out to the beach almost a year back. Her mother had worn a beautiful blue saree, one that she saved for only the good occasions, and her father had bought her a kite. He had also tried teaching her how to fly it, but she could never get it to float off the ground. She remembered her throwing the kite and crying after a couple of failed attempts, and remembered her father picking her up and consoling her. He had also bought her and her mother ice creams from one of the beach-side stalls. He had not bought one for himself because he said it was bad for him.
In the humid waiting area outside, Madhuri’s mother looked nothing like she had looked on that beach. Her eyes looked tired, her cheeks were wet, and strands of her messy hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead and masked most of her wrinkles. One of her hands held onto Madhuri’s wrist, and the other tapped on the metal rail of the bench she was sitting on. The bottom part of her worn-out grey saree fluttered as her left leg twitched nervously against the rusty bench.
The scratched-up door next to the bench creaked open, and a lady clad in white approached Madhuri’s mother. Her mother’s grip on her wrist loosened, and Madhuri made a run for the door. She heard the nurse whisper something and heard her mother’s wails from behind her as she entered the room where her father lay.
Her father rested on the metal hospital bed, only a thin layer of foam protecting his back from the rust below. Tubes and wires wrapped around his body. Madhuri cringed when she saw the tubes that protruded out of his nose, hesitated for a moment, and inched towards the frail body of her father. She rested her small arm on his cold, bare chest and leaned in closer to his face.
‘Appa?’ she whispered and waited hopefully for his reply.
