Simi's Mum's Diary: The Daughter of all Battles

Couldn’t get the image of Simi’s tear-drenched eyelashes out of my head last night. Hated the fact that I was responsible for bringing about those tears by shooing her irritating ex-boyfriend into another girl’s arms.

Didn’t want to disturb Rohit with all that tossing and turning, so I crept out of our bedroom, collapsed on Simi’s bed, and did some badly-needed soul searching.

Had I always been one of those creepy control-freakish mums? God, no! I hadn’t banned her from wearing those god-awful, low-waisted, butt-exposing jeans — I had sneakily shamed her into not wearing them instead by warmly informing her that her ass looked real hot apart from the fact that she desperately needed laser hair-removal. Mothers have to protect their babies, after all.

Sighing, I adjusted the pillow and discovered a notebook under it. It was filled with doodles of hearts, and poems to Manav as well. I couldn’t resist glancing at one.

‘We are like rusty bathroom taps.

I am still running hot,

You are cold and running scared.

Why can’t I turn you on anymore?’

I felt a lump in my throat the size of a frog and wept uncontrollably till dawn broke. All my dreams of Simi writing lyrics crashed! I mean, this was rubbish. It was more cheap pop than cool rock. Had to face harsh reality — Simi was never going to make it as a musician. Unless, of course, she hired a good song writer.

Went for a walk in the building’s hanky-sized park in the evening and saw Imran, the boyfriend I wish Simi had, on a bench, immersed in a medical text book. 

Passed him on each of my rounds and was very impressed that he didn’t look up while reading. Not even when pretty little things wearing pretty little nothings jogged past. Ten rounds later I parked myself on the same bench to catch my breath. He still hadn’t noticed me, so I faked a cough. He looked up with a slight frown and formally wished me a good evening.

 ‘You must come over for dinner one of these days,’ I said pleasantly.

Imran looked alarmed – heck, he thought I was hitting on him! I blushed and hastily told him I had a daughter about his age and they probably had a lot in common.

 ‘Is she also studying medicine?’ His eyes looked dead bored but his voice sounded polite.

‘Nope, pol science. But she’s got psychology too, so I guess you guys can have deep and meaningful chats about wacko people till the cows come home,’ I said with a weak laugh.

Then I heard him gasp. ‘Talk about wackos — hell, the building is swarming with crazies!’

I looked up and gasped as well. I had to clutch my heart too. Simi had had a haircut. Well, all of it was cut. She was bald! So were the Gigglies! And they were all wearing maroon kurtas! Simi was holding her head up high like a proud princess, but the others looked extremely bashful.

I turned my back to them and crouched on the bench, fervently hoping that Simi and gang wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. I saw Imran staring at me strangely and pretended to tie my shoe-laces. When I looked up after 5 minutes they were gone. I got up to leave and muttered goodbye to Imran.

‘So when would you like me to come over? ’ he asked politely.

I did a quick mental calculation.

‘Um, in a year or so?’ I mumbled vaguely, guesstimating how long it would take for Simi’s hair to grow to a decent length, and practically fled to the lift.

The Gigglies left our house wearing floppy beach hats. They refused to look me in the eye. Particularly the Gigglie who had confidently assured me that they were going to talk Simi out of religion and vegetarianism.

I called Rohit and warned him about Simi’s hairless head and maroon garb in advance since the poor man has a weak heart. I must say he took it rather well.
‘I suppose this means we’re stuck with veg food,’ he groaned.

‘Even worse – we’re stuck with a wacko daughter.’ I muttered.
-THE END