When the Courtyard Contemplates
Little Meena, oblivious of her circumambient, was twirling, dancing, and hopping around her mother, firmly clenching the pallu of her saree. The teeny-sized frock and the two bunches of hair tied securely near the scalp, symmetrically on either side of her round head, also accompanied this whirlwind. The frock was gifted to her by her aunt just a few months ago during Durga Puja and she has already outgrown its length, evincing her fast growth. She was giggling and shrieking in joy. The mother would now and then reprimand her softly with a buzzing sound while she unreservedly toppled over her head. ‘Ma.. ma.., what are you plepaling?’ The three-year-old enquired with a lisping and sputtering voice while her eyes scrutinized the ingredients that her mother had kept aside to prepare her famous mango pickles. Some of these were introduced for the first time to her eyes. The only element known to her was the mangoes because of her excessive affinity towards these delicious drupe...