A Rosy Story

When my mother 'gave me off' (that is exactly how the Bengali transliteration would be), for marriage, she fainted. Melodrama runs in our family, madness too. We had a mighty laugh later, regarding her 'receiving of the groom and fainting episode'. Recently, quarantined with chicken pox, I have had to leave C with her Naani, 'give away'. No, hang on. I wasn't exactly melodramatic. I was methodical -- listing all her quirkiness and how to deal with them. An example: "I wan Fench Fai, Naani!", should be dealt with two french fries and a slice of apple. Before leaving though, she put Rosie, her doll, inherited from her Naani, in my room, and added, "Wen I come I wan Rosy stori!" Trying to distract myself from the attack of itches, here, I try:

Rosy had a lousy childhood. She sat neglected, amidst many more Rosy-Posy-Nosy, in the open, of a shopping area, awaiting some attention to come her way, someday. "I wish some little princess takes me home!" she used to think. And you won't believe what happened that autumn evening! No. No, no, no. No princess came. In fact she was being cuddled by a rather old woman, and to Rosy's utter surprise, this fat woman with salt and pepper hair selected her to go home with. Rosy did not know to be happy or not. She was chosen, and by night, she had a name. Rosie.

It wasn't a palace by any standard, the old woman's house, but Rosie felt a strange richness building within her. The old woman's daughter, and her daughter too, loved Rosie. They spoke with her, changed her clothes seasonally, and sometimes, good friends even put her to sleep, next to Blue Doggy, and Dolly the Dolphin. She found friends. Living up to her name, life is indeed rosy for Rosie.

Until one day, the old woman's daughter's daughter dabbed poor Rosie's golden hair in her Mom's ink bottle! Poor Rosie had to undergo a careful detergent shampoo to get rid off the ink. The old woman's daughter's daughter felt bad, and later that night gave Rosie a hug! You wouldn't believe what happened then! Rosie hugged her right back! Nobody would want to believe it of course, but well, "There are always flowers for those who want to see them", said the great artist Henri Matisse (pronounced, Onri Matissuh). Rosie lives a rosy life with flowers she sees, and makes you see -- Roses, orchids, lilies, you name it! Jiraaf too!

I cannot wait for C to return and this yucketty, pedestrian-kind of disease, chicken-pox to leave! To think of it, it has been a Continuous series of Unfortunate Events: a miserable Cut, a Cloudy flight, a fall off a hanging Chair, an almost fatal Car accident, unbelievable professional Collision, mother's Cataract surgery, and finally, Chicken-pox. No, I am Certainly not playing alliteration-alliteration. In fact the word reminds me of Crocodiles (alligators!), and sometimes of C's Crocodile-tears, "Momie, keep Rosy. But don't lub her as much as me. And we have Cackle when I home!"

Yes, she got the 'hingshuti' part from me. Take note, it is something sweeter, and subtler than jealousy. The picture below was Clicked by C, some months back, when she was feeling hingshuti at having found Rosie plumply placed on my Chair. How can I Convince C if the world revolves around the sun, mine spells Csun.

"Not Write Now!" screamed C.