Narratives of Hope: a short story

Just the other day, one of my father’s closest friends, who happens to live in Bangalore, called my roommate and me over for dinner. Amidst all fun, frolic and discussions on how the PCM stream sucks the life out of twelfthies (Uncle has a son, Jai, in the said stream and class), I went to help in the kitchen. There I met their housekeeper, Kalavathi, a 40 year old, who was shredding coconut. I greeted Didi and asked her what work can I help with. She very sweetly said in broken Hindi “How can I give you work when you are our guest?” My roommate came in by then and Didi recognized and said “Wasn’t she the one who came for Ganesh Chaturthi?” This made me more comfortable and we started chatting around while doing menial tasks. That's when my roommate noticed a big stack of books on the corner of the kitchen counter. She asked if they were Jai’s when Didi said that they were for her daughter, Prathima. She was in class 8th and Aunty had bought those books for her. I asked Didi how she was in her studies and I am not exaggerating when I say this but her head went up with pride while she answered “She wants to join the Army like Sir and Madam.” Her daughter had had a setback in her studies due to the pandemic. Her father, a watchman for a bank, lost his job too. When she said he left drinking for his daughter, that’s when I realised how children of the economically weak become their hope for life. Not only hope for a better future but hope for not letting the children face the struggles they had. Living the dreams they could not live due to their situation and finally gaining respect in society. It is imperative that these children, especially get access to proper education due to the aforementioned reasons because Nelson Mandela once said “Depths of oppression create heights of character.” After dinner, when I went to say goodbye to Didi she said laughing “Do come next on Ugadi. I will keep some work for the both of you.”