The Gift Box

The Italian restaurant was filled with people as usual.

Despite it being a weekday, the footfall in the lavish, tony eatery was beyond anyone’s apprehension. The staff was busy serving up hot, piping pasta dishes at tables, accompanied by glasses of red wine and gnocchi. The pastel walls of the restaurant shone a bright yellow, as the radiant sunlight fell on its walls. Located on the rooftop of a multiplex mall in Kolkata, this place was the most visited restaurant for Italian and multicuisine dishes. In a corner of the elongated room, a young woman was cleaning a table.

Her stained white apron narrated another story of endless day shifts. Almost half of her day had been spent cleaning tables, neatly piling up empty dishes, one upon other, also dealing with the clinking glasses. But it was quite opposite to a mundane day.

It was her younger sister’s birthday, that day. She would turn five this year. After their parents’ demise, Aheli had raised her younger sibling alone, letting go of her own education and working at a famous Italian restaurant in the city. Her long shift hours made her incredibly distant from her younger sister. She could only see her lean, fair countenance at night, as she slept tight.

Sixteen years of age, and five years of struggle had almost made Aheli forget how much she enjoyed pasta. Her favorite dish was Aglio-e-olio, something her mother would cook for her on her birthdays. A tragic accident had rendered them helpless, her and Sneha, her younger sister. As she swept away the last speck of dirt from the table in the corner, she didn’t notice as the wineglass almost slid to the corner of the tablecloth, crashing instantly on the floor.

The manager noticed this, and yelled at the top of his lungs, ‘You! Where is your attention at!’ Hearing the rather scary scream, she shuddered. Her short, straight hair unfurled from the bun, beneath the hairpin, as she looked back, placing the tray on the cleaned tabletop- whiter than ever. Having been suspended with a fine for the day, she was compelled to leave immediately. Had it not been for her colleagues, she would have risked losing the job. On her way home, despite her bad day at work, levied upon by a fine of a thousand rupees, she reached a store, looking for gifts for her sister.

Selecting a beautiful pink frock, she decided to purchase it. However, the price tag demotivated her to a great extent. It was beyond her budget. As Aheli was about to leave the shop, the old shopkeeper stopped her, asking her to take it at a discount – seeing her sad face she couldn’t resist herself from stepping in. Wrapping the baby pink frock in a turquoise gift box, she handed it over to the young girl. It took Aheli approximately two hours to reach home, she opened the creaking door. The house was empty and dark. Turning on the lights, she placed the cake box and gift box on the table. But her sister was nowhere to be found.

Five years ago, her mother was with child when the accident took place. As the car crashed into a dark tunnel, amidst the ongoing conflict between her parents, an approaching vehicle hit them, instantly killing both the parents, and leaving the eleven-year-old orphaned . She did not get to see her unborn sister coming into the world, and the physical injuries and trauma had left her wounded, both inside and outside. Her sister might have been born that day, had the tragedy been avoided. Every year, she would celebrate the presence of the one who was not present, since she did live in her heart, forever – carrying the name she had chosen for her even before she could step into the world.

Sometimes, loosing something precious is also another way of attaining them.

~Riddhima Sen~

Writer’s Introduction : Riddhima Sen is currently pursuing a Masters degree in comparative literature at Jadavpur University . She has self published twenty three solo books and has participated in thirty three anthologies so far .