Rajjo wanted to dive inside the tape recorder and hide from Rani Maa’s keen gaze.

Rajjo shook her head.

‘It’s a habit. Once we become habituated to despise what is terrible, we become courageous. I could become one, but there is time yet’.

‘Well said.’ Rani Maa sighed deeply. ‘True, there is time indeed’.

They settled into the silence once again only to be interrupted by Sukhmani hurriedly announcing the arrival of a few patrons, special guests of Mehtaab. Sukhmani waited with an expectant smile. Rani Maa waved her hand like a queen and sent Sukhmani scurrying back to bring the patrons through. Rani Maa was ready for her devotees as Rajjo quietly walked away, leaving the queen to her throne with a burning desire to sit under that tree herself.

Rajjo noted it was a thick old mango tree with a gnarled trunk, roots spread out far and wide, leaves and branches spreading endlessly, obliterating the sky. She wanted to be lost in it briefly. Then, without any prior notice or thunder, somewhere a cloud burst open with an angry grunt, soaking everything within minutes.

Rajjo hurriedly gathered her things, ready to scamper off and escape the thunderous shower, but was surprised to see Rani Maa sitting in her chair, her face tilted up towards the sky. Her arms spread out like a bird’s wing all set to take flight.

She sat there endlessly as Rajjo scuttled under the tree and waited for her to move, muttering and complaining about the crazy woman.

Finally, when she’d had her fill of the rain, Rani Maa walked away slowly, towards her room with Rajjo in tow, her clothes drenched, soaked and shivering to the core.,

September 1993

September brought grief, mourning and music as Rani Maa had been quiet and withdrawn. It was common knowledge that lately Sukhmani was Mehtaab’s favoured one, travelling more often with him than Rani Maa who filled her hours listening to records of Kishore Kumar and Mohd Rafi. Bob Dylan gave them company intermittently.

However, Rajjo noticed that Rani Maa, with her glass of whisky, always preferred to listen to her old records on her prized antique record player than the mini audiotapes. In Rani Maa’s grief, Rajjo discovered various artists and singers. As Rani Maa crooned songs nursing a whisky, sharing anecdotes about the rich and famous artist and their lives, Rajjo lapped them up and wanted to know more about these magical people who lived beautiful lives in fantasy lands. Perhaps their pin codes were closer to where the Gods resided hence they got a ‘friendly neighbour’ treatment. Who knew! Rajjo voiced her thoughts and Rani Maa chuckled.

Before the grief-filled afternoons, Rajjo had no opinion or interest in music, but thanks to Rani Maa’s turmoil, Rajjo had entered a new world. She wanted to understand rhythms that soothed her nerves. Earlier earmarked as unbearable in her head, now the best part of the day for her was sitting in the afternoon with a plate of fruit, enjoying the warm sun greedily while the velvety voices crooned behind her, sparrows pottered about, and the flowers bloomed. Rajjo was in bliss. She hoped she could help ease the pain and heartache Rani Maa was in, and apologized for the pain she was going to cause her.