"I'm fine, thanks."

A few more minutes to 7 o’clock. The guests would start arriving soon. I went in the kitchen to check up on the food again. Jamuna was tidying the kitchen up after our cooking marathon. I once again explained her the order in which the food was to be served. She had been zealously helping me with the preparations since morning as she was quite delighted that her ‘didi’ had been honoured with a literary award. It wasn’t known to many but nowadays Jamuna was usually the first person to whom I would narrate my work. She would be busy doing the housework and I would call her over and ask her to sit while I would read out my story to her. At times she understood the story and yet at other times she would just say “I didn’t understand much of it but it sounded quite good to me”. Perhaps she was a simple soul and understood only simple words. The world of metaphors and idioms was unknown to her.

The doorbell rang and sure enough the guests started arriving. Guests – a few close relatives and close friends who insisted on being a part of my achievement and celebrating it. Relatives included elders who always wished success for me and gave their blessings wholeheartedly. And as for friends ... well, they deserved to be thanked for being my sounding board and research team. It meant receiving my calls at odd hours of the day or night and having to answer my questions such as ‘is there really such a place in Mumbai as I am describing in my story?’, ‘do auto-rickshaws in Jaipur charge according to the meter?’, ‘since you are from South India, could you tell me if people there drink more of coffee than tea?’. I was hardly to blame as the thought of a story would come to me at any time of the day and hence my calls didn’t adhere to etiquette of socially acceptable times. I don’t know if my friends cursed me after hanging up my call for disturbing them but they always answered them for sure. Speak of the devil and ... Ranveer came.

While most of the guests had brought gifts and bouquets, Ranveer asked me where was his gift.

“Your gift! Whatever for? Is it your birthday or have you finally cracked your kindergarten exams?”

“The way you use our conversations in your stories, your unearthly-timed calls ... I demand to be compensated and hence want a gift.”

“Sure Ranveer. I’ll gift you one of my old pens and you may keep it as a memento”. I smiled cheekily at him.

And these chitchats and conversations, ranging from formal to silly and mundane to witty, continued over dinner with other friends and relatives too. Time somehow tends to run along during happy occasions, while crawling during untoward events. Nearing 11 0’clock, the guests bade their goodbyes and left after appropriately complimenting the food and congratulating me again for my achievement. Everyone, except Ranveer. He stayed back to help me and Jamuna clear up and tidy the place. It was a help that though I hadn’t requested for, I was very much grateful for. I then opened a bottle of wine and poured out 2 glasses for us, while Jamuna decided to call it a night and went to sleep.

“I am really thankful Ranveer for helping us tidy up. I hope you won’t ask for a tip or a gift for this too.”

“We’ll come to that later. First tell me this - what’s on your mind? Why are you sad?”

“Sad? Me? No Ranveer, I am not sad.”

“Yes you are and you better not lie to me. I can see through you and sense you very well.”

My eyes became moist and I said, “Ranveer, my mother had always prayed and wished for my success and now that I have achieved it, she isn’t here to see it. These celebrations seem incomplete without her. She used to listen to my stories and lovingly point out mistakes and make suggestions that would enhance my writings. Whenever any of my work got published in a reputed newspaper or magazine, she would happily announce it to our relatives and all those who stood by to have a word with her. She used to cook my favourite sweet for me and also distribute sweets among the neighbours. Today all these celebrations, merriments, awards and gifts are nothing compared to the sweets that she would make for me". With these words my eyes now let go of the carefully contained tears.

Ranveer offered me his handkerchief and said “You silly girl, you’ll make your mom sad by crying like this. I am sure she is happy to see your achievement from whichever world that she is in now. Just think of it, you are lucky enough to make her happy and proud even after her death. And keeping in mind her habit of sharing happiness, why don’t we buy sweets tomorrow and distribute them among your neighbours and also an old-age home perhaps? That is what your mom would have done, yes?”

A faint smile crawled on my lips and I said “Yes, she would have done that and that is what we will do tomorrow.” Then it struck me. “Ranveer, how did you know I was sad? I was happily chatting to everyone with what I thought was a believable smile on my face.”

“You yourself told me so.”

“I did? I don’t think so.”

“Yes you did. Whenever I have asked you ‘How are you?’, you have never given me a straight reply. Rather you have usually replied with ‘Oh I am beautiful’ or ‘I am a literate witch’ or ‘I am much more insane than you think I am’ ... But today when I asked you ‘How are you?’, you said ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ And hence I knew you weren’t fine.”

Friend!!!