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1

Prose

2166 B

Vaidehi Nanivadekar

In our home, the main door never had a door stopper. Instead, Baba kept a small pebble in the corner to hold it open and let the breeze flow through. Summers in Karveer were always happening, except for the slothful afternoons, when we would sprawl on the cool marble floor, sipping kokum sherbet and solving crosswords from the newspaper. Those times taught me lessons I could never learn in school and gave me fixes that I never knew I needed. Once, when I lost my pencil sharpener, Baba quickly came to my rescue. With a shiny silver blade, he transformed my dull Nataraj pencil into the sharpest weapon I ever knew. When I wanted a sketchbook to draw fairies and mermaids, he bought a stack of crisp paper from the mill and spent hours measuring, cutting, and stitching those sheets into my very first drawing book. When I craved something sweet, he journeyed to a faraway store to buy some fresh rice puffs, melted the sweetest jaggery on the stove, and combined them into the crunchiest and most delicious laddoos I've ever had. I had a phase when I was confused about which pet I wanted to keep. He took me to the sheds to meet the cows and buffaloes, to the stables to see the horses, to the forest to greet Bharadwaj, and to the Tungabhadra River to observe the playful crabs. I used to be quite lazy, so to help me be punctual, he set the clock 15 minutes ahead of the actual time.
In the evenings, we would go for walks with our pockets stuffed with peanuts, munching as we strolled. If we encountered someone along the way, we’d gladly share our treats. There was a friendly family of mongooses living near our house, and Baba would always keep an eye out for them. Whenever he spotted them, he would call me, and we’d both wave and laugh at that small army of furry beings. My summers were filled with pretty frocks adorned with butterflies, songs by Kishore Kumar and Lucky Ali, countless hours on the swing, good food in my stomach, dreamy nights, and the warmth of Baba's presence. When June dawned, we would shake hands like two smart officers off duty, ready for another season of adventures. As I left for school, he would stand at the window, always in his white vest and brown shorts, smiling—sometimes without his dentures—waving goodbye and eagerly awaiting my next sojourn.
Today, a handyman was called to the house. He installed a door stopper on the main door of 2166 B. An air conditioner now hums softly in the background, and there is no one to sit on the cool marble floor anymore. It doesn't feel right to me, so I continue to set the clock 15 minutes ahead-–a little rebellion to keep my adventures with Baba alive.

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