Chapter 1: Happy Birthday.
It was two minutes to midnight.
Pranati smiled as she lit the candle that said 8. She quickly set aside the matchbox and tiptoed to her room.
She placed the birthday cake on the table and quickly closed the door before sitting down on a chair and taking out her phone. Within a few seconds, the clock said 12:00.
"Happy Birthday to you...
Happy Birthday to you...
Happy Birthday my baby...
Happy Birthday to you.. !"
She cut the cake, wiping tears with her other hand. She took a piece of the cake and bit into it. It was a Pista cake. She hated anything pista-flavoured but in her pregnancy, her little girl had made her crave everything pista! She hated it but she had no other way than to eat it because her baby wouldn't let her sleep until she got it.
If she was alive, she would be eight today and she would have gone crazy over the cake.
.
.
.
Jugnu stared at the pistachio shells she had saved from the time she lived with a couple in Sweden. They used to beat her up like anything but once the neighbour auntie had called her over when her foster parents were at a party and had fed her pistachios. That was the first and last time she ate them and she hadn't liked anything as much as she liked them. The kind woman had realised she loved the treat and packed some for her. Jugnu had ate the nut one a day or two to savour it and make it last as long as possible. And she had saved the shells.
She felt her mouth water thinking about it.
The Matron had denied her food that night and caned her really bad and she was forced to sleep on the open ground, in the dirt. She didn't mind because it was because she had cut through every saree of hers. And the look of pure anger and exasperation on the Matron's face was worth the pain and hunger.
She drew a cake on the dirt and a few candles. She placed the pistachio shells on top of the candles as if they were the flames.
She whispered a happy birthday to herself and tried to blew the shells off but ended up blowing the cake away.
She giggled, sounding like an eight year old for a brief moment. She rarely did. She pocketed the shells and went to sleep, wishing for nothing but freedom from this place and some meagre livelihood.
