A Light in the Cold

Representative Image. / Courtesy Photo

A drop of tea leaped over the thin wall of the china cup and onto her walnut coffee table as she knelt to sit on her couch. “Crap,” she uttered softly. She placed the teacup securely on her mandala coaster and walked back to her kitchen to grab a paper towel, shaking her right hand to relieve the heat it had absorbed. As she returned to the cup of homemade masala chai, notes of cardamom and ginger entered her nostrils. She picked the teacup up gently, turned it around so the Rumi quote embossed on the rim was visible, and created ripples in the brown liquid as she heaved her breath to cool it down. “Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you,” the quote read. She took in the sweet reminder embedded in the gift her mother had given her as her back sunk into a maroon, ragged couch. She expertly crossed her fleece legging-clad legs and nestled herself in.

Outside her Georgian windows snow poured down on the road, and she caught her own reflection made visible by her bamboo lamp and yellow Christmas lights she had strung along the ceiling of her apartment. She observed herself carefully, dressed in a thick grandpa sweater and woolen socks. She ran very, very cold. Her gaze shifted to the broader reflection of her apartment through the unsolicited mirror her window had become. It was cozy, full of wooden and earthy tones, which was an intentional design choice to mimic the decor she had grown up with. She pulled her lips back into a faint, disappointed smile. No matter how many wooden benches, known as diwans, jute rugs, or block-print quilts she filled her apartment up with, she was still 7,500 kilometers away from home in a foreign land where the sun was now setting at 4 pm and cold was permeating through the poorly insulated stone buildings. The chai was warm on her lips, and she closed her eyes to savor the taste of home.

Next to her, an iPhone 13 phone buzzed and the signature blue icon of Microsoft Outlook lit up her screen with, “Thanks for this, Ramani! Please find my feedback attached.” Annoyed by the interruption, she flipped it over. The time was 5:48 pm. She had signed off for the day, which had been so difficult to get through in the first place. Why was Angela bothering her now? She shook her head in irritation and pressed her eyelids tightly shut. Without being fully aware of what she was doing, she edged her phone off the sofa, onto the carpet. It hit the ground with a light thud and she opened her eyes, a colorless tear making its way lightly down her left cheek. At the very least, her company could have been aware that it was the biggest holiday of the year for most Indian employees. A small acknowledgment, even a small wish would have made a world of difference. But it was a small firm, and not very diverse.

An image of Angela crept into Ramani’s periphery of thought. She allowed her mind to develop it into a more fulsome picture of Angela sitting at her boring desk, inside her probably mundane apartment, with an evil grin as her nails click-clacked away red-lining Ramani’s draft proposal, blond hair bobbing along intensely in the process. “Angela, would you kindly leave me alone and go away?” Ramani imagined herself writing back. “If you were more culturally aware, you would have at least had the decency to wish me a Happy Diwali,” she carried on in her mind. “Oh, but what would you know about that. You’ve never bothered to ask me a single thing about myself, just question my slightly accented words that you pretend not to understand.” A small smile began to appear on Ramani’s face. Oh, how satisfying it would have been to give Angela a piece of her mind. But she shook her head quickly, attempting to dislodge the negative thoughts she was allowing to consume her. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but today was not the day for negativity, no matter what. After all, she had begun the day with a virtual prayer, a pooja, to honor the Diwali celebrations and pay respect to Goddess Lakshmi, the harbinger of wealth and prosperity.

Her entire family had joined the Zoom call on their end in Bhilai, India, while the second box presented Ramani’s lone silhouette on the other. This was the first time, in her 28 years of life, that she was spending Diwali away from Bhilai. As she sat there cross-legged on the ground, donning a cotton tunic known as a kurti, with her Lululemon leggings underneath and woolen socks featuring Golden Retrievers in Christmas hats, she felt sorry for herself and battled with the guilt of knowing she shouldn’t. The sound of her grandmother’s voice reciting bhajans (prayers) filled up her small studio apartment, so radiant and rich that even her MacBook Pro speakers couldn’t dilute it. Ramani sang along softly, her heart heavy in her chest. After the pooja was over, each of her family members took turns shoving their faces in front of the webcam, giving Ramani their blessings, and asking
 
her questions about whether she’s been eating and sleeping well. The barometer of well-being for Indian parents. She nodded politely, pretending everything was wonderful and dandy, waiting for her grandmother, her family’s matriarch, to come back on the screen.

“Mera beta,” her grandmother said lovingly once she finally appeared. “Hi, Nani.”
“How have you been, my child? I know things might feel tough, but today is a day to be grateful and ask Goddess Lakshmi to fill you up with strength.” If there was one person in the world who could make Ramani feel seen, it was her grandmother. Ramani nodded, and understanding that her favorite grandchild was likely on the verge of tears despite the video quality focusing in and out, her grandmother carried on, “You are doing so well, my child. We will always be here for you back home, but for now, you remember the love and support you’re made of - that is inside you. Today is about the triumph of good over evil. Remember the goodness that consumes you and makes you special.”

“Yes Nani, I will. Thank you, Nani. I love you.”

Once the Zoom call ended, Ramani replaced her tunic with a meeting-appropriate turtleneck sweater and logged on for the day. She was working from home and hours passed with emails stacking up in her inbox, Microsoft Teams messages dinging away, but not a single one contained the slightest acknowledgment that it was, essentially, Indian Christmas today. Now that the day was finally over, Ramani had prepared for a cozy night in, watching Bollywood movies, drinking chai, and delighting in dahl makhani, roti, and butter paneer she had ordered from Mughal Empire down the road. Her apartment was decorated with yellow Christmas lights to follow the tradition of lighting up one’s house during Diwali season. It was a symbol of light over darkness, good over evil, knowledge over ignorance - a lot of which Angela could use. The exterior of each bungalow on her street in Bhilai would be lit up right now, along with colorful patterns made out of powder decorating people’s doorsteps, complemented by candles. All to welcome Goddess Lakshmi to their home that night.

Would she even bother visiting the UK? Ramani thought to herself jokingly, once all remnants of Angela’s image had dissipated from her mind. Nevertheless, her family had taught her well. Leaving her phone on the ground, Ramani got up and tore open the plastic in which diyas, Indian-style clay candles, were encased. She spread blue, green, red, and gold candles evenly across her TV stand and lit them up. Turning off the overhead lights, she embraced the warm glow her Christmas lights and diyas provided, feeling lighter and happier. Not even Angela could ruin her mood now. Ramani returned to her couch and turned on her all-time favorite Bollywood classic, Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, aptly meaning Sometimes Happy Sometimes Sad. But it didn’t take long before the movie started for Ramani to fall into a deep slumber, leaving her dahl and roti cold, chai unfinished, and diyas burning.

Ramani’s front door unlocked and a tall feminine figure entered her apartment, the blackest shade of hair trailing behind her waist. A woman in a red sari, clad with heavy, solid gold jewelry walked towards Ramani, each step resonating with the sound of small bells wrapped around her ankles. Her henna-covered arms stroked Ramani’s face gently, awakening her. Calmly opening her eyes, Ramani sleepily smiled at the beautiful face peering down at her. Warmth suddenly engulfed Ramani’s body, which had stiffened from the cold. She felt herself relax and studied the woman’s face. The thick, perfectly drawn eyeliner, the big red dot on her forehead, the soft glow emanating from her skin. Ramani felt a sense of stillness overcome her, peacefulness and serenity cleans ing her insides of the sad, destructive feelings she experienced during the day as this stunning stranger continued to stare at her and caress her head in complete silence. Then, she bent down to plant a kiss on Ramani’s forehead, right in between her eyebrows where the third eye sits. Ramani felt her forehead tingle, her body reverberating with the supernatural power of the kiss. The woman turned away and slowly walked back to the front door, her ankle bells jingling with each precise step. She opened the front door and let herself out. Once the door clicked shut, Ramani closed her eyes and fell back asleep, smile unmoved.
 
Bzzzz… went Ramani’s phone, vibrating violently on her carpet. Discombobulated, she rubbed her eyes as she struggled to pry them open. Once she oriented herself she noticed her diyas were blown out. This is odd, she thought, considering the time on her phone the time said only fifteen minutes had passed. Her chai was still steaming… also bizarre, she thought, considering how frigid her apartment was. Suddenly…she remembered.

Was that a dream? It had to be a dream, she thought to herself. The beautiful woman in red who woke her up…was it? Could it be? “Wait, what?” she said aloud, highly puzzled, just to confirm that she was, indeed, in reality. She immediately picked up her phone and rang her mom on WhatsApp. “Mumma? Please put Nani on…Ok, yes, thanks… Nani? Nani! I need to tell you something… promise you’ll believe me?”

“Of course, beta.”

“Thank you, I knew you would.” “Go on, my sweet girl.”
Ramani took a deep breath, “Goddess Lakshmi does come to the UK.”

A pause passed, “I know, my child, I know. And don’t you forget, she hasn’t gone far. She will always live inside you.”

 

This short story was shortlisted as a top entry for a contest organized by a website called Reedsy. The prompt was "Center your story around a character spending their first holiday alone."

 

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of New India Abroad.)