“Mamma…. Mamma…” Rupali was surprised by the faint tugging at her kurta. She turned around to find a little girl, about four years old, standing behind her. She couldn’t spot anyone else in the aisle of the supermarket she was shopping in.

“Oh Lord! Meenal… Come here, baby,” a woman in her late thirties, clad in a green, chiffon saree, appeared there and addressed the girl. But she made no attempt at picking or dragging the child away. Rupali assumed it was her mother. “Paritosh. She has wandered away. Please come here.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man, also in his late thirties, appeared hurriedly from the adjoining aisle.

“Mamma…. Mamma…” the girl rocked as she repeated. Her face was abnormally expressionless.

Rupali looked up, but before her eyes reached the man’s face, they fell on his hands. In one of them, he was holding a packet of condoms.  Flushing at the sight, she looked away. In trying to rest them somewhere else, she ended up looking directly into his eyes. A flicker of recognition lit up both their eyes. But it died in the awkwardness on the situation. He, too, became aware of the packet and hastily dropped it in the shopping basket his companion was carrying.

“Meenu,” he turned his attention to the girl and spoke very softly. His voice was deep, soothing, but also firm.  He held out his hand, “Come here. We have to go.” The girl took his hand and silently followed him.

“Please don’t mind,” the woman apologized before leaving, “She is autistic.”

“It’s okay,” Rupali smiled at her. Autistic? Of course. She should have realized that. That explained her odd behavior. Poor thing!

“Why would she call her Mamma?” she heard the woman’s irritated, hushed voice from the nearby aisle. Rupali was also curious; so she decided to eavesdrop.

“I think she looked a bit like that character… In the show Meenu watches. The actress who plays the mother of the kids…” the man explained patiently.

“But that actress looks beautiful…”

“She is an actress. It’s her job to look beautiful.”

“Well–”

“Hush now. She might hear you. She in in the next aisle”

Rupali sighed. She didn’t need to hear them to know that she could look nothing like an actress. She couldn’t fathom what the child saw in her. At twenty-four she looked older than the saree-clad woman. When she looked in the mirror, she could see the lines, patches and everything that those anti-ageing cream ads talked about controlling. The creams were expensive though. As she made to pick up the 5 Kg pack of dal on sale, she noticed her hands. The dry broken skin was visible around the nails.  She would really have liked to get a manicure done, but… She looked at the bottle of cheap moisturizer in her basket. That would have to do for now.

“Meenu. Stay with Papa.” She heard the now familiar voice through a stack of cereals. Paritosh is what the woman had called him, hadn’t she? Dr. Paritosh Khanna?

“She would go to a stranger in the supermarket. But she won’t come to me.” The woman was complaining.

“It was a stray incident. Don’t take it personally, please!” he sounded helpless and desperate. The child wouldn’t go to her mother? Asking her not to take it personally was harsh and insensitive, Rupali thought. But nothing in his voice was either harsh, or insensitive. Strange world!

—

“What are you doing?” Rupali found Soumitra in the kitchen.

“Just thought of making some khichdi–”

“Are you already hungry?”

“For dinner, Didi.”

“I will cook before leaving. Why are you–”

“We can help.”

“What about your tuition?”

“We had a day off today. Sir is not well–”

“Hmm. Listen, Piku. Can you go to Pintu’s cricket match, tomorrow?” Piku and Pintu were the pet names of her twin younger brothers, Soumitra and Sugata.

“I can. But what happened? You don’t have an extra shift tomorrow at the clinic, do you?” he frowned.

“No. I have just…” she sighed, “I have promised Mihir to meet him.”

“Okay! Do you want some tea?”

“I’m making it. Did you have any snacks?”

“No. I was going to take some.”

“Take it. I will bring tea. And wake Pintu up. Why is he sleeping at this hour?”

“He had a practice session. He is tired after that.”

“Whatever! This is not the time to sleep.”

—

“I’m sorry, Dr. Khanna. But we have tried three different counsellors. They are all highly qualified. Unfortunately, your daughter is just not getting comfortable with anyone. Unless someone who she is comfortable with is around, it doesn’t look like any of the counsellors can do much…”

Paritosh wasn’t looking at the manager of the clinic even as she continued her endless apologies and explanations. Ever since Meenal’s nanny had left, he had been in a fix. She wouldn’t stay with anyone other than himself. He had approached the clinic because they worked with autistic children and others with special needs. It was the most reputed institution in the city. Will he have to take a work sabbatical? Or leave his job altogether. Financially, he could afford to do that. But… He did love teaching.

The manager’s monologue and Paritosh’ reverie were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” The manager was relieved at the interruption. For how long could she continue explaining the hopeless situation to this handsome, but miserable, professor?

“Ma’am. I am really sorry to interrupt, but the accountant is waiting. Today is the last day for depositing advance tax. Needed your signature on the check…”

“Mamma… Mamma…” Paritosh hadn’t looked at the intruder until he heard Meenal’s voice.

Then he turned with a start to find herself looking at the embarrassed “supermarket girl”. Manager’s open stare, and his own, made her flush.

“Do you know them?” The manager asked.

“No… Not really,” she replied and looked from Paritosh to the manager and then at the girl.

“Just see if she comes to you,” the manager asked her.

“Excuse me?”

“For some reason, she seems to identify you with her mother. Just see if she comes to you. You might be able to help us.”

Hesitatingly, Rupali made to pick the girl up in her arms.

“Don’t,” Paritosh interrupted almost rudely. Then he realized that he had sounded harsh and spoke apologetically, “She doesn’t like being picked up. Just… give her your hands and see if…”

Rupali did as instructed and Meenal happily held her outstretched hand.

“That’s good, isn’t it, Dr. Khanna? Rupali. Give me ten minutes. I will come out and sign the check.”

—

To be continued