Mani
The Invisible Conductor of Morning Chaos
Mani
The mornings are still chilly. Mani pulled her blanket closer.
Her Naga shawl on the chair was a step away from the bed. She swiftly picked it up and snuggled back into bed. Ahh, so much better.
It was only seven, another hour to cosy up, but fragments of conversations floated in through the door.
Is everyone okay?
She got up with a jump. The heavy shawl, half wrapped around her neck, dragged behind as she walked into her parents’ conversation.
After setting the electric kettle to boil, she headed to freshen up.
Mani was cupping her hand under the running tap when the doorbell rang. She splashed water on her face and half-ran towards the keyholder.
While tossing the key from the window to her maid, she noticed the garbage collector waiting by the neighbour’s door.
Mani quickly set the tea to brew and collected the dry flowers from the vases to throw in the wastebasket.
“Ruku, don’t forget to ask if he’ll collect the cartons tomorrow,” Mani reminded her maid.
Mani served tea to her elderly parents.
“Where is your tea?” her mother asked.
“Coming, coming… putting the milk to boil.”
No sooner had Mani returned to the kitchen than the doorbell went off again.
“Ruku, see who it is,” she yelled, sliding the ladle into the milk vessel.
“Didi, Mustafa is here,” Ruku came running in, grabbing a few cane baskets.
Mani switched off the gas stove to see what her vendor had brought.
“Take back the cauliflower, Mustafa. Why did you bring such a big one?”
“He he, I’ll take it back.”
“Mani, I can’t find my glasses. Check the dresser.” Rumbled her father.
Mani continued to stand at the doorway, discussing the veggie prices. Finally, she fetched a 500 note from the locker.
“Mani, my glasses.”
“Here,” handing the money to Mustafa, Mani went inside to fetch her father’s glasses.
“Let me also give you the eye drops,” she told her father.
“At least have your tea,” her mother coaxed.
The doorbell rang.
The cook had arrived.
Mani began sorting the fresh vegetables for lunch, estimating proportions, when the bell went off again.
“Where is Ruku?” her mother grumbled as Mani peeped out of the window to see the visitor.
It was Satyan.
“Ah, Didi, please come down. I am trimming the bougainvillaea bush.”
Mani poured a cup of tea and put it in the microwave. “Ok, give me a minute.”
Her father looked at Mani absentmindedly as he struggled to manage the newspaper pages.
Mani dashed down the stairs. In the background, her mother was asking for something.
By the time she returned, the tea had grown cold. She reset the microwave timer.
“Oh Mani, give me the peas. I’ll shell them and have your tea,” her mother said.
“Yes, okay.”
The doorbell rang.
Mani picked up the key but saw Ruku with the dusting cloth.
“Did you clean with Colin? Go, bring the snack boxes; the Muri lady is here.”
“Didi,” the cook called.
“I am coming. Curdle the milk. It’s time for breakfast,” Mani shouted back.
Soon, she served breakfast to her parents.
Her mother, taking the fruit platter, said, “At least have your tea now.”
“Yes, Ma. First, try this new prebiotic drink.”
Mani placed the glasses of hot drinks on the table.
“I am taking tomorrow’s appointment with Dr Rishab,” she said.
Her father nodded as she picked up her phone.
The microwave beeped, signalling the end of the reheat.
Mani finally took her tea and slumped onto the sofa beside her father, with phone in one hand, steaming cup in the other.
She took her first sip.
“Ahh.”
The doorbell rang.
Mani rolled her eyes. Of course.
Her mother called out, “Ruku…”
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In most Indian families, there is someone like Mani, on whom the rhythm of the home depends on…even before she’s had her first sip of tea.