The entire building was vibrating to a hum...There was silence otherwise across the entire street and every step taken was towards Daija's single bedroom flat right on top of the oldest building in Naroda... Everything around Daija's house had changed but just not that one building. It was probably Naroda's oldest surviving treasure chest and the keeper of it was Daija.
The room where Daija lay was abuzz with chanting. Everyone who walked in sat next to Daija and chanted for a while, had a cup of chaai made by Kishan and left. No one uttered a word other than the chant. Daija had been telling everyone she met for the past two years that when it was her time to go she did not want to hear crying, remorse, sad stories or 'haai haais'.. but just the chant.
32 years back when Daija and her son Amin came to Naroda it was another life for them. They had left all their belongings and shifted here so that Amin could study and start working here. He did. he studied language and began teaching at the nearby school. It worked very well for both Daija and Amin. She used to carry lunch for him everyday and soon her food was the talk of the teacher's room. As days went by Daija's house was flooded with people stopping over for chaai, daal and the likes.3 decades later Kishan was making the exact same tasting chaai for everyone as Daija lay on her cot looking at the only photo on the wall.. the one of Daija's wedding... and there hung on the wall a young and beaming Daija with her Babu, as she called him...
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