Mild Mistakes
Today I bought some groceries for Aai. I was tired, hadn’t bathed for 24 consecutive hours, and needed some self-care, but I craved the sandwich more, so I went, so I listened to Aai. ‘Butter, bread, 4 cubes of cheese, mayonnaise, Schezwan chutney, a quick stop at the dairy, 250 grams of paneer and then back home’, I revised for my mom and also myself. I was leaving the house for the first time in two months (I guess). It’s been so long that I’ve lost track of time. It’s time to sharpen your public skills. Let’s not make a mistake today. I thought to myself. I gathered my umbrella, folded my cloth bag into one hand, and began my voyage towards the shop. All aboard. The rain was quite quiet, not the behemoth that pounds on my window every day. I climbed down the lift, departed through my building’s entrance gate, opened my umbrella, and began sailing into my quiet rain. My umbrella dodged several heads as I lifted her to prevent her from hitting a stranger as irresponsible people without masks strolled around the footpath, not even bothering to open their umbrellas. These are the people responsible for the pandemic, I need the government to punish them. A lady who was standing near the photo studio without a mask, flirting with her husband, while the rain caressed her already moist hair and skin, caught my eye and I didn’t lose my opportunity to glare at her. Go home, bitch, this ain’t no time to go out on random dates with your husband; that mask in your hand isn’t an accessory, wear it damn right now! I tried to convey this all with my eyes. Moving on, I finally reached the crossing.
Don’t get me wrong, I know how to cross, I just sometimes have trouble doing it. The cars in my lane were halted due to the signal and instead of crossing at the actual zebra crossing which was only a few meters away, I decided to cross through the cars right in front of me, my first mild mistake since leaving my house. Mild mistake! … ayy I’ve coined a new term, but is it even legal? ‘A mistake is a mistake, no excuses Madhura’, I am sure Aai would say this. With that, I crossed half my lane. It took me another entire minute to cross the second half of it. I could have crossed in 20 seconds if I had made the effort to spend 5 seconds getting to the zebra crossing. No more mild mistakes, I promised myself mildly as I reached the other end of the road. I started walking towards the shop. ‘New Vijay Store’. Seriously, what’s up with the ‘new’ man? The shop is as old as time.
‘A bread packet’, I informed the lady shopkeeper.
‘Which one?’, the old ajoba (grandfather) on the steel chair addressed me.
‘Wibs,’ I said, referring to the brand I required.
‘Pardon?’ he asked, ‘Wibs,’ I repeated.
‘Whleat or dite?’ he inquired, to which I replied, ‘What?’ Ugh, this is getting really embarrassing.
Before he could repeat it, I deciphered his slurred audio, ‘White bread, dada,’ I said.
‘Grab it from there’, he said pointing to a low-lying counter directly beside me.
‘Ok’, I muttered as I turned to the lady on the counter, ‘Amul butter, mayonnaise, Schezwan chutney, and four cheese uuhhh…’, what is it called? packet? pack? bag? square? Oh my god, Madhura!!…Congratulations on your second mild mistake! I drew a square mid-air. ‘Cubes!’, both ajoba and the counter lady exclaimed (or at least my brain thought they did). How could you be so dumb?! The lady then started gathering everything. I picked up a Britannia bread slab from the bread counter, check the date, my mind said, and I did. ‘The shopkeepers say the shop never has expired products, but you should always double-check the expiry date baala, especially for bread,’ I remembered Aai’s advice. Avoided another mild mistake. Progress! ‘How many do you need?’ the lady asked holding numerous sachets of Schezwan chutney in her hand.
‘Single…’, I stared at the lady, wondering what my next words should be. Should I buy 2 sachets? I could’ve bought the entire can but I use the chutney only for dipping nachos in it. I don’t want money to fall short, I don’t know how much the paneer is going to cost. But every time Aai buys nachos she forgets to bring Schezwan chutney man, which is unforgivable and there is only one way to avoid that mistake.
‘How much does a single sachet cost?’, I enquired, ’10 Rs’, she said.
‘Give me two of them’, I replied after a 10-second-debate with myself. Possible Nachos crisis averted. Wow, except for my career, I do think about my future.
I opened my bag and started putting everything in it. Meanwhile, the counter lady gathered some parchment and started scribbling and calculating the cost.
Should I double-check the total cost too? Never mind let’s just trust the counter lady.
‘192’, the lady said, I handed over my 500-rupee-note to her.
‘Do you have a 2-rupee-change?’ she asked.
‘Tch’, I made a sound with my tongue and un-nodded my head. When did I start making the tch sound? Feels so rude. Sorry counter lady. She handed me the change, I counted it, I rechecked it, opened my umbrella and I left.
It was time to cross the ocean again. I reached the zebra crossing and this time I decided to obey the traffic rules as I waited for the pedestrian signal, instead of crossing midway and risking it all just because I am too bored to actually wait for my cue. The pedestrian signal lasts for about 10 seconds. My turn finally came. That’s your ramp, Madhura, strut with grace. I started crossing and got halfway with six seconds left; I could have crossed in another three, but life just couldn’t stop throwing lemons at me. The dumbass truck driver in my lane couldn’t take it anymore. He broke the traffic rules and so did all the rickshaws around him. He rode right past me as I was trying to reach my footpath. Damnit government, where are you? Stop these offenders! The driver should at least have thought about the innocent little 18-year-old (that’s me) trying to cross the road while minding her own business. After fumbling here and flustering there, I finally crossed the street. Onto the shores at last.
I started walking towards my last stop before going home, the dairy. The annoying lady was still standing near the photo studio with her husband, but this time she had a mask on. My glare paid off, I guess. I smiled to myself. Actually, I smiled pretty broadly, but thanks to my mask, I couldn’t share my light of happiness with the world. The dairy was right beside the studio; a weird combination of stores. I entered my dairy, Saurashtra Dugdhaalaya. That name is something I should think about someday. Saurashtra, a compound, means a group of 100 countries. Why would they have chosen such a name for the dairy? Never mind, so when I arrived at the dairy, there was an empty carton left on the floor, which I assumed was left to hold people’s umbrellas while they shopped, so I placed mine in it. The scent of sweet and tempting dairy products entered my nostrils as I walked towards the paneer stand. People might hate that smell, but I find it weirdly comforting. ‘250-gram paneer,’ I said to a man near the paneer stack. He cut the paneer according to his judgment and placed it on the weighing counter; my eyes were distracted by the Gulab Jamun and Malai counters placed right beside me. The man made some adjustments to the weighing scale as my mouth continued to water. My heart was about to tell me to buy one when I saw the Rs. 25 per piece tag on the board.
He took the paneer, wrapped it in plastic, and handed it to me along with the bill. I paid 100 Rs at the billing counter and was about to leave, but it was raining hard, and, thank God, it was, or I would’ve forgotten my umbrella. I grabbed and opened it with one hand as I held my paneer and carry bag in the other. I somehow shunted the paneer into my cloth bag while holding my umbrella, only to realize I was still standing in the shade of the dairy and didn’t need to open my umbrella in the first place. Ding Dong! Third one, what is even happening to you Madhura! How long are you going to continue being absent-minded in public? I left the dairy hoping that nobody noticed me acting dumb in public. At long last, I finally reached my building entrance, I entered my gate, and walked into the building. ‘Madam!’, the watchman’s loud words blurred behind me as I walked towards the elevator. The elevator door opened; people walked past me, showering me with intimidating gazes as they left the elevator. What’s up with them? I wondered as I observed myself in the elevator’s mirror, and there it was, wide and bright, right above my head. My umbrella was still open, still protecting me from the rain that could not even reach me. I cringed in embarrassment as I entered the elevator along with my stranger companion who had just witnessed everything. Fourth mild mistake, although can this be called mild? I think that’s enough embarrassment for the day. I reached my floor as I continued to procrastinate about my public life. To every mild mistake, I made and to the 1000 more I’m going to make, Cheers! I hope I make them and I hope I learn something every time, I thought as I rang the doorbell. Aai opened the door for me with a smile on her face. The aroma of my house entered my nostrils; Aai had made my favorite dish for lunch. All my help had paid off, I guess. Embarrassing moments continue to plague my life, but what is life if I don’t feel every emotion possible, including shame? That won’t stop me from living and I think it shouldn’t stop anybody else. I had lunch, Aai made sandwiches and paneer-wraps for evening snacks. At the end of the day, it was a happy ending and that’s because I stopped constantly hammering myself and let go of all my embarrassment. After all, you can’t let a “mild” mistake affect the rest of your day.