It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and loathed to see her running towards the society gate. Actually she was trying to run for she was carrying two huge polythene bags. Her crimson red leggings and navy blue kurti was completely drenched in the heavy rain. Her matching red dupatta was all twisted and drenched but properly secured because of two small golden safety pins that were attached on either side of her dress. Her already thin hair was reduced to one thick hair strand.

I have told Amma many times not to leave home without an umbrella but she never listens to me. Did I just sound like my mother? Standing in front of the mirror, I took a deep breath. Aryahi, remember, you have to act as if  you're still angry. That's my problem. I can't act properly, I can't stay angry for a long time. But this time things had gone too far this time. My mother has imposed a ban on drinking filter coffee, even when she knows that her sixteen year old daughter is a coffee addict. The previous day, there was a verbal fight regarding this.

It happened all because Amma spotted a pimple on my left cheek. Within no time she concluded that this was due to excessive drinking of coffee. The irony is I am allowed to drink a small glass only on Sundays. Following this, she has declared that this ban will continue for a month or until she notices the pimple vanish without leaving any mark. My Nanna, like a typical Indian father, chose to be quiet. My younger sister was busy in her own world of academics and basketball; she remained like a statue because she was least bothered for she was a tea-holic. Well this sort of indicated that I had to fight the battle on my own.

Sitting on the chair, I opened a huge Organic Chemistry textbook; the subject I hate to the core. Nonchalantly, I turned the pages of Aromatic Compounds. Few minutes later, I heard the automatic door lock clicking indicating that Amma had entered the house. Don't look at her; you won't be able to act. I nearly screamed from my room, “Why are you late? I saw you running near the gate ten minutes ago.”

It sounded like I am angry. Good going, Aryahi. “I met Mrs. Patil near the lift. Ishwara! That lady has zero manners and etiquettes. I am hundred percent sure that she won't know the spelling of etiquette.”

If Amma was repeating ‘etiquette’ again and again, it was cue for me to ask what happened. I heard the master bedroom door being shut. Yet I asked, “What did Aunty do?”

She replied, “She could see that I am completely drenched. Yet she was talking about Shashank. He is planning to write some seven-eight entrance exams.”

Not again! Shashank Patil was a typical Indian Sharma ji ka beta types. Every Indian child who is average in academics, experiences at least one such type of person in their life. He was very good at academics, good at sports, had many future plans; his mother left no stone unturned to broadcast not only about his achievements but his thoughts. We both had applied for admission in the same school. I got admission in first attempt but he got it in third attempt. This was a very old incident. Perhaps during our nursery admission. This is the one thing Amma shares proudly with everyone. I am very good at drawing but for Amma, it is never enough.

“He is planning to write private entrance exams in South India also. Why don't you think about it? After all we are from there.”

We are Telgites from Karnataka which means our mother tongue is Telugu. Both our paternal and maternal families are settled in Bengaluru. My parents are very keen to send me over there. I gave an audible sighed. “He is a boy; he can go anywhere he wishes to. First ask Nanna where am I allowed to go, then I will think about it.”

The door of master bedroom opened I noticed she had changed her dress. “Why are you talking like that? You can always try, right? Write your exams, we will see where you will join.”

For some reason, I felt very irritated. “I won't be surprised if you will decide which college I am supposed to join for engineering. After all you can stop me from drinking coffee-”

“No wonder you are talking in that tone,” she cut in, correctly guessing what was going in my mind. “Grow up, Aryahi, don't stretch small matters like elastic bands.”

“Amma, I am not stretching things. Give me one reason, one reason why you wouldn't allow,” I rallied. It sounded like typical daily soap dialogue but that was the best line I could come up with.

She stood near the door of my room. “You don't remember anything that I told? Of course how will you when you don't remember where you have kept your paint brushes a minute back. Aryahi, seriously want to drink that in Mumbai's heat?”

Her sarcasm and debate views were always at point, leaving the opponent baffled. I couldn't give up so easily. “Nanna drinks three cups of tea in a day, in this heat. I can't drink coffee that to once a week?”

Her nostrils flared- a sign indicated that either she was very angry or very irritated. For some reason, I felt it was both. My intuition conveyed that I am the sole reason. Knitting her eyebrows, she replied, “Drinking tea is better. Comparatively, coffee produces more heat in the body. It is because of this unwanted excess heat, you get those pimples. Speaking about your Nanna, he is already settled. Tea or no tea, pimples or no pimples, it is not going to affect him. But you're a girl. Try to understand these things, it will be better for your future.”

Is she hinting about my future marriage? Why does everything have to link to it? I couldn't give up so easily. “Amma, for you pimples are solely caused by drinking coffee. Why can't you think of other factors like stress-”

“Stress? Why will a girl of your age have stress?” Amma cut in, again.

My mother will never understand that stress and depression are not voter ID cards that will be issued after one completes eighteen years of age. Circumstances pushes one to stress and eventually depression. Getting up from my chair, I trotted behind her to the living room. I tried to change the topic. “I read an article in newspaper, a week ago, which said that drinking filter coffee twice a day is good for health and especially liver.”

Cleaning the wooden showcase with a white damp cloth had become nearly black due to excessive use, she argued, “These newspapers will publish whatever they want. First they'll tell that drinking coffee is good for health. After a week, you will see a big article with headlines- ‘Drinking coffee causes cancer’.”

I looked at her unbelievably. Then why do tell us to read newspaper everyday? I badly wanted to ask her. But something inside me told to ignore it. “Fine, I won't drink coffee. Are you happy now?”

I turned to see her sitting on the sofa, taking deep breaths. Her palm was disturbing me the most. She had kept her right palm on the left side of her chest. I ran towards her. “Amma, are you okay? What happened?”

“I don't know, dear. My heartbeat increased, all of a sudden.”

Amma is palpitating and I am kind of hyperventilating. What do I do? Should I call an ambulance? Or should I call Nanna? What if I call Nanna and Amma’s condition worsened? No, no I call an ambulance.

Striding towards the the showcase; I found the big fat call directory in one of the shelves. Ishwara! I forgot the name of hospital. What's the name? What's the name? Ah! City Hospital… C… C…

“Aryahi,” she called.

I tried to ignore her and searched to find City Hospital's number. “Aryahi!” Amma nearly shouted. I turned towards her, slowly.

“I am fine, dear. I feel my heartbeat is back to normal,” she said in an assured tone.

“Should I cook dinner?”

"It's not that serious. No need cook, just go and study,” she replied in an assertive tone. I sighed and retired to my room. I am just like my father; I have thousands of things inside me but I never let anyone know about it.

I promise Amma, I will never fight for trivial things. I listen to whatever you say. In fact, I will stop drinking coffee from today. This is my pledge. A tear escaped, trailing on my cheek; disappeared when it reached my jawline. Are you sure you won't drink a sip of coffee?

No, I won't.

Are you really sure?

I hate my mind voice. I can't just give up on my coffee but I have decided to reduce its consumption. I will do anything that will make her happy. I can't see her in that again. When I was about to burst crying, I heard the sound of doorbell. Maybe Arohi is back from her basketball classes. I can't cry in front of her. I am her Akka, her role model. What will she think about me?

A few hours later, in the darkness of night, the dam had burst. The pillow was wet, once again. This night was added to my small list of sleepless nights.

*~*~*~*~*