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Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni starts us off! Chapter 1 | #WriteWithChitra #StoriesConnectUs

CHAPTER 1

The bright light streaming from the window on to Manorama’s face woke her. She blinked, disoriented, because she was usually up long before the sun was this high. Her phone alarm must have not rung. She was surprised that Vinod or the children had not woken her, either. Maybe he’d said to them, Mom was working late last night. Let her sleep in. I’ll drop you at school today on my way to work.  He was sweet like that. Sometimes.

Rubbing her face, she made her way to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she could hear the birds chirping. Having washed up, she went into the dining area and sat at the table. Everything looked very tidy this morning, the chairs pushed back, the breakfast dishes cleared away, the table wiped. Finally, she thought, I’ve managed to train the maid!

‘Nima,’ she called. ‘Can you make me a cup of tea. Strong, with ginger in it. I have a headache. Don’t know why. And I have all these student tests to correct.’

She expected the young maid to come hurrying into the room, wiping her hands on her sari, though Manorama had told her a hundred times to use the kitchen towel instead. She would be full of drama—what had happened at her home last night, for instance, with her mother-in-law, a real witch according to Nima, whose goal in life was to destroy Nima’s relationship with her husband. Sometimes she annoyed Manorama with her chatter, but usually Manorama was amused by the latest episode of this real-life soap opera.

But there was no answer.

‘Nima?’ she called again. There was no sound. No clattering of pots and pans. No pressure-cooker whistle. It was strange. Had the girl gone downstairs to chat with the other maids, though she had expressly been forbidden to do so?

With an exasperated sigh, Manorama made her way into the kitchen to see what was going on.

The kitchen was empty. There was no sign of the children’s breakfast.  The dishes in the sink were those that she had put there herself, last night after dinner. Had Nima not come in this morning before Vinod left?

Her head was pounding. She needed that cup of tea. She opened the fridge to get the milk and was startled to see the children’s lunchboxes still sitting inside. Had Vinod forgotten to give them their lunches when he took them to school? Or had they cajoled him into giving them money to buy food from the canteen? He was a softie that way.  She sighed again. She’d have to have a talk with the children when they came back.

She put on the kettle for tea, then made her way to the bedroom for her phone. She checked for a message from Nima, but there were no messages at all. Not even one from her mother, who lived across the city and usually left her a cheerful hello each morning.

Manorama dialed Vinod’s number. She wanted to ask him, Did he get the children to the school on time? Had Nima called him, by any chance, to explain what had happened? How was his new project going this morning? What time did he think he would get off? Could he stop at the vegetable shop on the way back and pick up some tindora? That way, she could come straight back home from her school. Final exams were going on, and she would have another fat stack of papers to grade.

She heard a distinctive ring tone close by. She recognized it: it was Vinod’s phone. She followed the sound. She didn’t have to go far. There it was, on his almirah shelf, along with his wallet.

Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. Vinod would never, never leave the house without his wallet and phone. What could have happened to him? To the children?

As she often did when she was distressed, Manorama called her mother’s number. Just hearing Ma’s no-nonsense voice would calm her down. But there was no answer. She called again. And again. Maybe Ma just needed more time to get to her phone. Still nothing.  It was very strange.

Manorama rushed to the door. She’d talk to Bajpayee auntie, who lived in the flat across from her. Maybe she knew what kind of emergency had caused Vinod to leave without phone and wallet. But when she reached the door, she was shocked to see that it was double-locked from the inside, the safety chain still attached. No one had left the flat!

Manorama ran around the three-bedroom flat. Were her family playing a trick on her? Some kind of strange hide-and-seek game? She looked in the bathroom, under the unmade beds, even inside the closets. No one.

Her hands shaking, she hurried to the balcony. The sound of the chirping birds was louder here. She looked down at the street and realized why. There were no other sounds. There were no cars or buses or even three-wheelers, no vendors calling their wares, no pedestrians. Nothing. It was as though she was the only person left in the city. Maybe even in the world.

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