“Ma, I’m getting bored. I think I’ll read some of Shakespeare’s plays. I really enjoyed Julius Caesar in the tenth,” were the words spoken aloud one bright, sunny morning.
“Good”, I thought “that will keep her out of my hair”. The ‘her’ in question was my fifteen year old daughter, Bela, at a loose end just after having finished her board exams. With short curly hair and flashing eyes, she was a perfect example of tempestuous teens. Bela could complicate a simple situation beyond imagination and then extricate herself neatly with a winning smile.
“A wonderful idea”, I enthused “we have the complete works of Shakespeare. You can get started right away”.
The next morning I was busy in the kitchen, preparing for the arrival of my nephew and niece from Bombay
“Oh Ma, Ma, wherefore art thou Ma?” a soulful voice trilled melodiously. ‘So it’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at the moment’ I thought.
“In the kitchen” I answered. She appeared in a second.
“When doth my kin arrive?”
“Now wait a moment, where’s that from?” I asked suspiciously.
“Oh Ma, you think I can’t speak old English?” she sniffed, tossed her head and flounced out. She seemed to have been well and truly bitten by the Shakespearean bug.
The much awaited guests arrived in the evening. After a joyous reunion of cousins, the children disappeared into their room. Suddenly Bela appeared in the drawing room followed by her cousin Antara. There was an exquisite cut-glass figurine in her hand.
“Masi, I got this for didi”, said Antara. While I was admiring the gift and trying to see the light break up into rainbow colours as it passed through, Antara caught her foot in the floor rug and slipped. Her elbow jostled my hand; the figurine fell on the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.
“You block, you stone, you worse than senseless thing”, stormed Bela as enraged as Flavius at the common citizens of Rome
“Hush, hush child, it was an accident. Antara, don’t cry. Bela tell her it’s all right” I tried to make peace.
“The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven above upon the place beneath. It is twice blest. It
blesseth him that gives and him that takes. I Forgive Thee,” with a flourish and a suitable exit, Bela left as regally as Portia from the court of Venice, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
“Let’s go for a picnic”, the kids clamoured the next day. “Where would like to go? To the adventure park? Trekking? Boating?” I asked.
Bela was not participating in the discussion. She was sitting dreamily on the settee with a far away look in her eyes.
“I know a bank where the wild thyme grows, where oxslips and the nodding violet grows….” she said lost in visions of midsummer nights.
“Shut up Bela, we want to go for a picnic, not the HDFC bank round the corner and let me also tell you that there are no oxen within city limits” said my son Sumit in a scathing tone.
Just then the doorbell rang. Akshay opened the door. An elderly couple stood outside.
“I am Mr. Patel and this is my wife. We are your next door neighbours. We’re just moving in”, they introduced themselves.
“Welcome to our housing society. Please come in. Children, meet Aunty and Uncle” I said.
“What are your names?” the gentleman asked in kindly tones. The kids answered in a kind of roll-call.
“Sumit”
“Akshay”
“Antara”
And then “What’s in a name? A rose by any name would smell as sweet. Thou canst address me as Bella”.
“What is this now? Does she think she’s Isabella or Arabella?” I wondered. Sumit gave the guests a significant look and tapped his forehead.
“Boys go and help Aunty and Uncle, girls come and help me prepare a snack for them”, I broke up the uneasy gathering.
“Thou art not just; thou art biased against the fairer sex, however, thy will shall be done”, delivering these words in a raging tone, Bela stormed into the kitchen.
Later on in the day we went for a picnic to a water park nearby. The children enjoyed themselves tremendously. Thankfully Bela even forget Shakespeare, except for the time when she asked for wine cakes and ale for refreshment.
“Ma, I’m getting tired of Shakespeare. I think I’ll read Daphne Du Maurier now”, she said the next day.
“Thank God for that”, I thought. But wait a minute, what’s this?
Bela sat on her bed, hugging her pillow, staring dreamily into space. “I can just visualize it, the never ending Cornish shore, waves on the horizon, the stormy seas, the lashing rain, daring smugglers, casks of whiskey, Jamaica Inn ….” she trailed off.
“Oh heavens” I thought in a panic, “how will we cope with that?”
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