Maa
She had eagerly waited for this time of the year. It was time to meet her Maa.
She didn't have a name, or maybe she did ; it was tough to say, for people never really called out to her. They would communicate with her by the means of hand gestures. It was something she had grown up with, and had found it quite admirable. Her Baba had probably left her when she was very young, as she never saw a protective male figure in the shack where she used to live with an elderly woman, who she had been seeing since a long time. She couldn't call out to people either, try as hard as she may. Her lips could form the syllables but there was no sound emitted along with them. This was often very frustrating ; her inability to speak or hear, and she would often sob in misery.
Nevertheless, Maa loved her.
She woke up early and showered in the ice cold water which the village's well had to offer. She didn't have the money to buy new clothes, so she had gestured, in a very appealing manner to her mistress for some cloth. Mrs. Bakshi didn't have any children of her own and she pitied her deaf and dumb maid of barely fifteen years. Without any hesitation, she handed her some colourful cloth, and some extra money for Pujo.
She had stitched out a peacock blue kurti for herself out of the cloth and had paired it with a black salwar. She donned the garments on and stood in front of the cracked and dusty mirror. She adjusted the pleats of the salwar and combed her hair thoroughly. She had scrubbed herself in such a manner that there was not a single smudge on her body. She adjusted her bindi and set out to meet her Maa.
She didn't have a name, or maybe she did ; it was tough to say, for people never really called out to her. They would communicate with her by the means of hand gestures. It was something she had grown up with, and had found it quite admirable. Her Baba had probably left her when she was very young, as she never saw a protective male figure in the shack where she used to live with an elderly woman, who she had been seeing since a long time. She couldn't call out to people either, try as hard as she may. Her lips could form the syllables but there was no sound emitted along with them. This was often very frustrating ; her inability to speak or hear, and she would often sob in misery.
Nevertheless, Maa loved her.
She woke up early and showered in the ice cold water which the village's well had to offer. She didn't have the money to buy new clothes, so she had gestured, in a very appealing manner to her mistress for some cloth. Mrs. Bakshi didn't have any children of her own and she pitied her deaf and dumb maid of barely fifteen years. Without any hesitation, she handed her some colourful cloth, and some extra money for Pujo.
She had stitched out a peacock blue kurti for herself out of the cloth and had paired it with a black salwar. She donned the garments on and stood in front of the cracked and dusty mirror. She adjusted the pleats of the salwar and combed her hair thoroughly. She had scrubbed herself in such a manner that there was not a single smudge on her body. She adjusted her bindi and set out to meet her Maa.
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