PART 2: THE TALE OF THE BROKEN POTTERY
______________________________
.
.
.
“Mommy!” Sahiba yelled as she ducked, dodging the sandbag flying her way by a mere inch. “If I did something, let’s talk it out like two civil people! Jeez, we don’t have the money for a funeral right now!”
Keerat chuckled as she clutched her sandbag while Sahiba stood there, her hand on her chest.
“Aapko yeh shabd ka matlab pata hai?-” She asked, changing the topic only to have been cut off by her smartass sister.
“Rest? Nahi.” Sahiba winked at her as she picked up the glass of black tea sitting on the coffee table.
She did not drink milk tea, or to put it more accurately, she had to leave drinking it when she was seventeen because milk was expensive and they could not afford it for everyone. So Taiji, Ajeet, and Sahiba had to quit it. Santosh needed her chai to function, Seerat was not ready to compromise on her beauty regimen and Keerat was an athlete – she needed her proteins and Sahiba was never going to compromise on that.
Sahiba brought the family back to the point where they could afford at least milk for everyone, but she had gotten used to black tea by then.
“Even you know you need rest.” Keerat sat down next to her. “Di, just sleep. I will handle the shop today.”
“And scare away my poor assistant? No thanks.” She put butter on her paratha and rolled it up, taking a huge bite as she made her way to her small working station in the house, where the earthen water dispenser for the gurudwara was ready and waiting. “Mommy aur Seerat di kaha hai?”
“Seerat di apni friend se milne gayi hai aur Mommy-”
“Haan Brar saab! Of course, we will come! Has it ever happened that you called and we didn’t come?” Santosh walked in holding her phone.
Keerat and Sahiba looked at each other.
“She got the passes?” Keerat asked.
“Fifty rupees say she is pretending.” Sahiba snorted as she stuffed the rest of the paratha in.
“Nice bet. Except all the money involved will come from your pocket only.” Keerat winked at her.
Santosh peeked outside and closed the door, throwing her phone onto the couch and turning to Sahiba.
“Sahiba, ab toh tumhein passes le aana hi hoga.”
“Sahiba, ab toh tumhein meri pheli hui raayta sametna hi hoga.” Keerat mimicked.
“Sawaash hai teri jamman waale de!” Santosh glared at Keerat. “Why are you always mocking your own mother?”
“Because all your khands are mock-worthy, meri jaan.”Sahiba pulled her cheek and quickly grabbed the pot and ran out of there.
"Sahiba passes!"
“Dekhti hoon!” She yelled as she left the house, but honestly, she had no plan of running behind it.
.
.
.
“Ooff!” She dodged the car door, wondering why one or the other thing was trying to take her life today. She got out of it unscratched but her pot was not that lucky.
Her hard work of last night lay on the floor, shattered into a hundred pieces.
“Here, the remuneration for your loss.”
Sahiba looked up at the man, a few inches taller than her, staring at his phone and not even sparing her a glance or an apology as he held out the five-hundred rupees note.
She raised a brow.
The tempo, the pitch, the audacity of this bitch!
She folded her hands in front of her and tilted her head as she waited for him to look at her.
And he did. As soon as he realized that she was not taking the money or saying anything.
He looked at her and asked with a raised brow, “Is it not enough?”
“The clay that was used to make that pot alone caused thousand rupees.” It was a lie. Of course, it was a lie. But who cared?
Clearly, no one here was interested in basic principles, morals, or manners.
“Wow!”
The two turned to the new voice, Veer Singh Brar, who was staring admiringly at the broken pieces of fine pottery. “It’s beautiful!”
“And broken.”
“What’s its price?” Angad Singh Brar asked, his jaw flexing.
Angad was not a bad guy. He was just stressed with the three-hour deadline he had on his hands. He needed a miracle in these three hours to make sure that his grandfather was not disappointed in him.
No, he could not disappoint him. Or anyone.
Nothing was more important to this man than perfection.
He was a perfectionist and for that, he needed to be pure perfection himself.
Exception, this man did not know at this point that the miracle that he was praying for was standing right in front of him, with her hands folded across her chest.
“Five thousand rupees.”
“WHAT?” Veer knew that it was not the price. It could not be.
“That or a simple sorry.” Sahiba shrugged.
Angad didn’t think twice as he whipped out his wallet and added the money and held it out to her.
"Paaji-" Veer started but was silenced by the firm look his elder brother gave him.
“Thanks.” Sahiba chuckled as she took it and without another glance back, went her way while Angad took the opposite route.
Veer stood there, staring at the backs of the retreating figures and then at the broken pot.
“Did she just put a price tag on Angad Paaji’s sorry? The Angad Paaji who put a price tag on everything?”
.
.
.
____________________________________
Edited by ShivaShumbo - 2 years ago
CID
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
