Game of Blogs
BlogAdda’s newest initiative is to #CelebrateBlogging with a series of contests, starting with one called a Game of Blogs. Teams of bloggers take turns creating a round robin story of sorts that they post to their individual blogs.
Read the previous part of the story Here
Nowadays Dad always calls me ‘kiddo’.
I am a big girl now! I am not a kiddo! ‘Princess’ sounds still better. Why can't Dad call me Rhea ? That is the name which he said would suit me better than my previous name Roohi . Rooi, Rui, the friends of my previous school used to tease me.
‘Your name is Rui - cotton - white and fluffy - just like you!’
I hated it.
Jenny aunty calls me Rhea. I like the way she says ‘Rrrhea..’ It sounds so stylish when she rolls her tongue and calls my name.
Jennifer aunty is so smart! When I grow up, I’ll also wear shorts and tee shirts like her. I love those big round earrings she wears. And she has so many big rings! I like the red one the best. She has promised me that she will give it to me if I write an essay and it does not have a single spelling mistake.
I don’t understand why Dad doesn’t like Jenny aunty. Whenever she calls him from her balcony, he hurries away and does not even smile at her.
I think Dad misses Mom. Whenever they weren’t fighting, and Mom used to call him ‘Shekhar...’ in her sweet voice, Dad looked so happy.
‘Tara, I love you,’ he used to reply.
As if I did not understand. A boy and a girl say ‘I love you’ when they are married or they want to marry each other. The other day, when I was playing basket ball, and I scored 5 goals, my sports teacher said, ‘I love you’ to me. But I don't want to marry him. He is too dark skinned for me.
I’ll marry someone like dad - fair, with a stylish beard. Even though he grew his hair now, I prefer the way he used to look.
And I will never fight with my husband . I have seen tears in my Dad's eyes when Mom used to quarrel with him. So what if he did not go to office and earn lots of money like my friends dads. He is the bestest dad in this whole world ! He too will become rich and famous when he writes about someone like Harry Potter. Just like J K Rowling.
You just wait and see !
Mom was also so smart and intelligent. When she wore trousers and white fitting shirts with matching heels and kissed me before leaving for office, I loved her flowery perfume. Dad used to tell me about the important meetings she attends and how she was the best performer in the office and both of us used to feel so proud of her. We always talked about Mom when dad dropped me and picked me up from school.
I miss my Mom. Dad says that she has gone far away to a land from where it is very difficult to come back. He says that there is no telephone there. She is doing some very important work for which she has to stay away from me. That is the reason why Dad brought me here and also changed my name so that she cannot find me. If she finds me, then she will get disturbed and will not be able to complete her work. And this is a BIG secret. I have promised dad that I will never tell this to anyone.
But I miss her.
Sometimes, I want to cuddle her, listen to the stories she used to tell me during bedtime , eat with her, go to the movies with her and Dad and laugh together as we used to do three years back. The pink frilled frock which she had gifted me on my 9th birthday does not fit me anymore. But that is still my favourite dress.
Nowadays, I just wear jeans. I know Dad does not like my short hair, but I do not want to wear pigtails anymore. I am a big girl now.
Today, when Dad comes back, I will again ask him when Mom is coming back. I can’t help myself. I know he feels sad whenever I ask him this question. His face becomes tight and strained.
But I have to know, don’t I?
There he comes. I can hear his footsteps. The bell rings twice. I know it is Dad, but I will first peep in through the eye-hole before opening the door. My teacher has told me never to open the door without checking who it is.
And I just know he’ll call me ‘kiddo’ again. He should call me Rhea more often. I feel he does not like my new name.
But I like my dad's new name - Ravi - and I think Jenny aunty also likes it.
"Hey, Ravi!" She calls him from her balcony , waving the camera in her hand and showing off the tattoo of the cross on her right arm.
Her red ring flashes in the sunlight. My eyes follow it as she waves her hand. I really want to win it as a prize.
I’ll write an essay on ‘My Mom’. That’s sure to win me that ring.
Read the next part of the story: Here