Kitten Smitten
by Kamna Chhabra
It was the 90s,
a time when women had just started to break free
from societal expectations and join the workforce.
Male chauvinism was gradually giving way to women’s
empowerment, and it was during this period that I
took up my first job.
However, amid this churn, what remained unmoved
and unshakeable was the ability of womenfolk of
letting their fancies run wild when it came to
youngsters in the neighbourhood. Sharma Aunty, a
self-proclaimed cat lover, was what any lady
living next door should be, ever vigilant, so
much so that if I got late coming home in the
evening, she would willingly sacrifice her night
hours till her prying eyes spotted me alighting
from the cab. Of course, my mother having
complete faith in her daughter would be happily
dozing all this while was a different matter
altogether. Not concern, but curiosity kept
the inquisitive Aunty awake.
She was a past master in matching names and
drawing assumptions. She would sometimes make
cutting remarks about mothers spoiling their
daughters with ‘too much freedom.’ Let
alone working mothers, even working daughters
were not what she would endorse, even in her
dreams. She had even tried unsuccessfully to
convince my mother that the four walls of the
home were the place I belonged to. Her constant
meddling irritated me no end, and I often found
myself wishing the worst for her.
One evening, I had an important meeting that ran
late, so my boss offered to drop me home in his
sleek Audi. As I stepped out of the luxurious car,
thanking Shashank (my boss) profusely, who every
bit a gentleman had opened the door for me, I saw
Sharma Aunty on the balcony. I could imagine her
eyes lighting up at the thought that her
watchfulness had finally paid off. I decided
to add more fuel to her overworked imagination,
exchanging a small chit-chat with Shashank.
When I walked inside, my mother asked if I had
bought the vegetables. In my business, I had
forgotten all about it. Mother got peeved and
started scolding me, the loud reprimands music to
the ears of Aunty. She was certain that my mother
too was thinking in the same ‘love blooming’
direction, and decided to eavesdrop.
The gate had been inadvertently left open by me,
she crept into our garden, hoping to catch every
word. Hidden in the shadows was a cat, who had
recently given birth and was fiercely protective
of her kittens. Seeing Aunty come close, the cat
sprang at her with a hiss. Startled, she lost her
balance and tumbled backwards, landing in the
side drain with a loud splash.
Hearing the commotion, my mother and I rushed
outside, switching on the garden lights. With
great difficulty, I prevented myself from having
a good chuckle. Aunty, her clothes all soaked and
slushed, looked every bit a wet cat.
My mother, worried and nonplussed, asked her what
she was doing there and Aunty, with as much
dignity as she could muster, claimed she had just
come to see the kittens and hastened away.
“Curiosity may not kill the cat, but it sure
knows how to trip a nosey neighbour,” mother
remarked and both of us burst out laughing.
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