Slices of Life
Ramu put his hand into his trouser pocket and jingled the coins. He walked slowly and came to a standstill outside the brightly lit pastry shop. The glass doors of the shop swung open more than once and he sniffed at the sweet aroma wafting out from within.
His mother had as usual handed him Rs.3.50 before leaving home. She worked as a maid in four homes so that he and his two siblings would have food to eat and a decent education. Ramu’s elder brother and sister had long left for school with the same dole. Breakfast for the children was the same old stale sandwich which the corner shop provided for that amount. Ramu hated the dry bread held together by spicy mint chutney and occasional pieces of left over vegetables. He wished he had enough money to buy a pair of fluffy idlis or a crisp dosa. But he knew it was a luxury he could only dream of. Ramu frowned as he stood thinking, surely the money in his pocket could buy him one small piece of cake?
He decided to find out. The shopkeeper looked up and raised his eyebrows, “Don’t come inside, I won’t give you a paisa.”
Ramu was mortified and quickly said, “I don’t want your money,” his voice dropped, “please can you tell me, how much for a slice of marble cake.”
“O ho, so you want a slice of marble cake eh? Do you have any money on you?” The shopkeeper sneered, revealing his betel nut stained uneven set of yellow teeth.
Ramu shuddered and tried to ignore the man’s evil grin. He puffed his chest, “Of course I have money.” He jingled the coins for proof.
The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes, then said, “Rs.5 for one. How many do you want?”
Ramu’s face fell and he looked down.
“You don’t even have enough money for one do you? Hrmmp. Now get out you little tramp.”
Ramu walked to the door. Just then a woman with a little boy his age came in.
A very different kind of fragrance wafted by. Ramu inhaled in wonder but he was distracted by the whine of the boy.
“Mama please, three slices of chocolate cake.”
“Arjun no, I said one, and only one.
“Please mama.” The boy wheedled.
The woman snapped. “Ok then, two and not more. You understand?”
Ramu watched transfixed as the shopkeeper took out a tray full of chocolate cake slices and kept it on the counter. Ramu saw him putting two slices in a paper bag, which he then handed to the boy. The lady meanwhile had wandered to the other end of the shop.
“How much for that?” She pointed and the shopkeeper hurried over.
The boy looked at his mother and the shopkeeper, then he quickly grabbed two more slices. Ramu gasped audibly and the boy turned to look at him. He winked and proffered a slice.
Ramu shook his head and quickly opened the door. As the door swung shut, he saw the boy shoving the slices into the bag.
Fehmida Zakeer is based in Chennai in India. She started off her writing career as a freelance reporter. Her articles on health and nutrition, lifestyle, travel, environment, and gender issues have come out in various Indian and international publications including Good Housekeeping, Azizah, Women's International Perspective, and Young World. Her poems and stories have come out in various online journals and anthologies including Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Ink Sweat and Tears, Bewildering Stories, Kritya, The Asian Writer, and Ripples. A story written by her was shortlisted in the Open Spaces competition 2010 and another got an honorable mention in The Binnacle 2010.
Ramu put his hand into his trouser pocket and jingled the coins. He walked slowly and came to a standstill outside the brightly lit pastry shop. The glass doors of the shop swung open more than once and he sniffed at the sweet aroma wafting out from within.
His mother had as usual handed him Rs.3.50 before leaving home. She worked as a maid in four homes so that he and his two siblings would have food to eat and a decent education. Ramu’s elder brother and sister had long left for school with the same dole. Breakfast for the children was the same old stale sandwich which the corner shop provided for that amount. Ramu hated the dry bread held together by spicy mint chutney and occasional pieces of left over vegetables. He wished he had enough money to buy a pair of fluffy idlis or a crisp dosa. But he knew it was a luxury he could only dream of. Ramu frowned as he stood thinking, surely the money in his pocket could buy him one small piece of cake?
He decided to find out. The shopkeeper looked up and raised his eyebrows, “Don’t come inside, I won’t give you a paisa.”
Ramu was mortified and quickly said, “I don’t want your money,” his voice dropped, “please can you tell me, how much for a slice of marble cake.”
“O ho, so you want a slice of marble cake eh? Do you have any money on you?” The shopkeeper sneered, revealing his betel nut stained uneven set of yellow teeth.
Ramu shuddered and tried to ignore the man’s evil grin. He puffed his chest, “Of course I have money.” He jingled the coins for proof.
The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes, then said, “Rs.5 for one. How many do you want?”
Ramu’s face fell and he looked down.
“You don’t even have enough money for one do you? Hrmmp. Now get out you little tramp.”
Ramu walked to the door. Just then a woman with a little boy his age came in.
A very different kind of fragrance wafted by. Ramu inhaled in wonder but he was distracted by the whine of the boy.
“Mama please, three slices of chocolate cake.”
“Arjun no, I said one, and only one.
“Please mama.” The boy wheedled.
The woman snapped. “Ok then, two and not more. You understand?”
Ramu watched transfixed as the shopkeeper took out a tray full of chocolate cake slices and kept it on the counter. Ramu saw him putting two slices in a paper bag, which he then handed to the boy. The lady meanwhile had wandered to the other end of the shop.
“How much for that?” She pointed and the shopkeeper hurried over.
The boy looked at his mother and the shopkeeper, then he quickly grabbed two more slices. Ramu gasped audibly and the boy turned to look at him. He winked and proffered a slice.
Ramu shook his head and quickly opened the door. As the door swung shut, he saw the boy shoving the slices into the bag.
Fehmida Zakeer is based in Chennai in India. She started off her writing career as a freelance reporter. Her articles on health and nutrition, lifestyle, travel, environment, and gender issues have come out in various Indian and international publications including Good Housekeeping, Azizah, Women's International Perspective, and Young World. Her poems and stories have come out in various online journals and anthologies including Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Ink Sweat and Tears, Bewildering Stories, Kritya, The Asian Writer, and Ripples. A story written by her was shortlisted in the Open Spaces competition 2010 and another got an honorable mention in The Binnacle 2010.
