wishful drink

She is a woman in her early sixties.

Haughty, without apology. She made sure that her house is clean, spic and span, her kitchen immaculate and she will have no excuse for her (now grand)children’s sloppiness. She believes in discipline, as her years enduring the toughest nursing career had shaped her.

I was having lunch with her when I brought the bowl of rice to her plate, while she demanded her glass of water She wasn’t even beginning to eat when she scowled. “You know my son Joe will never forget my drink.”

“How do you expect me to eat if there’s no drink?”

“Do you want me to choke?”  

I felt clumsy . And inefficient.

She continued to  fuss about it, threatening to not eat at all. I had no notion of hinting to her that I was just a visitor, just finalizing some legal documents and still I was subjected to her wrath. But I said nothing and brought her glass of water. Then she began telling me years of good upbringing had weaved her Joe to become a gentleman that he is, forever putting her as his first priority. I sat, listening and slowly munching my lunch. It felt like a stale bread.

Then dinner came.

Her four children joined us for dinner. Being a guest, and with that I afforded myself with not doing anything, while her children busied themselves manning the dining room. They helped themselves with curry, salads and then they sat down for dinner. We were beginning to eat when the old lady raised her voice the first time in the evening “Where’s my glass of water?”-

No one remembered her. Not even Joe.

Joe studied his mother, hesitantly motioned her sister to pass the jug of water to the matriarch. She sat still, unknowing of what to do with her own expectation of her children. Still she had to take her own glass from the kitchen cabinet.

I saw the hurt in her eye, for her belief had shattered right before us. Before the guest for the evening, especially.