Little mistakes

I was tidying my stuff on another Sunday when my eyes went searching for the third red blob on the bed. Now where is it? No, it’s not on the sidelines of the bed or underneath the cot. I checked them both. Believe them, they are a disciplined lot, their geometrically distorted spherical shape is not designed for rolling.

I had got the three of them when I went on my Saturday’s routine walk , this time to the vegetable market. These Saturday strolls are something I look forward to in the entire week. It is there that I spotted them , all decked up in a cane basket. I handpicked 5 of them and reluctantly gave back 2, when I heard the prevailing market rate. So my count can’t be incorrect. Now, I always have a fascination for these red balls: the pomegranates and not so much to them as to their mother : the tree that produces this wonderful fruit. If I was one from the flora family , I would have definitely married one from their breed. The lovely, slender leaves shine in the morning sun as if generously oiled. They look their sunday best on the day after a substantially heavy rain , the droplets clinging on to the plant as a lover reluctant to leave his sweetheart after a memorable night. Once upon a time, my only aim in life was to grow a pomegranate tree , see it growing from childhood to womanhood and then I want it to live forever: for all the coming generations to see right before their eyes, that there are other better living objects than humans < I still carry the dream. A word of caution for my employers here: Now, this's the lighter side of me, please don't be fooled by all this. I still want salary hikes and promotions >

Coming back to reality I am sure that someone has stooped low enough to steal it. Now this is not something that I can forgive, kidnapping a helpless ball of seeds. On the breakfast table, I brought the matter to Madhu , who is the housekeeper of this place < whereas Khadoos cooks >, that someone is cultivating this hobby of thieving. As is expected from her, she enquired about the matter and shamefully though , I said what I lost. I was honest when I said that I lost only one of them. She looked at me with surprise and an undecipherable mix of some other emotion, which I am yet to learn. She might not be having a record of a girl from a well-to-do family who keeps count of her fruits. As scoffed by Khadoos, I came back and checked my Poms for ‘sprouted legs’. No, they haven’t

A few minutes later, Madhu came hurriedly and kept the abducted fruit on the table. “ Did I not tell you that it might have rolled into the curtains that I have unbuttoned for cleaning..?” , came the gingerly explanation.

I would have loved the Poms more if they could indeed sprout legs to run away from my abundance to her paucity.