Grandpa worries over his toast and marmalade. Worries about whether his tottering teeth will be able to withstand the ravages of the golden crust. And whether the tea after butter spells acidity in the afternoon. He munches on.


Dad worries about his business meeting in the afternoon. His tea orbits his laptop as he ponders over the template for his presentation. He worries about the car battery that needs to be replaced on his way to office. He worries about traffic jams that might prop up. He takes another sip, nonplussed.


Mom sits at table sewing Dad’s cufflink, worrying about the guy Didi is seeing. He doesn’t look all that good, does he? But look doesn’t matter these days; he must be very good in studies. But isn’t she too young for all this? She needles through the gossamer whiteness, criss-cross and loop.


Dada is worried about his results. He knows he has hardly spent even a month studying for the finals. He just wishes to pass, somehow, anyhow. But now its too late, even to cry over spilt milk! He can’t afford to fail, can he? They wont be able to take it, no one has ever failed. Why, even Piku comes first in class. He polishes his shoes with enervated zeal


Didi quaffs her glass of milk, absentmindedly. She is getting late. Smarting at the prospect of the crowded mini bus, she picks up the newspaper. Behind the mundane pulp of print, she worries about how to get rid of him. She can’t be too jumpy neither can she be rude. But she has to be firm. She has to do something, she has to…Page 3 smirks at vitreous drops behind the befogged eyes.


Piku hates milk. He stealthily empties his glass in the flowerpot near the window. He ogles at the ladybirds floating on the pallid liquid near the roots of the bonsai. He frets over how long will it take for the milk to go down!