“Where are the photocopies of my Aadhaar card?” Mr. Hubby asks me out of the blue on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

I roll my eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. You can place a bowl of delectable sambar before him, and yet he will ask with an innocent look on his face, “Where is the side dish for the dosai?”

The aforesaid item must be in the drawer of the wardrobe in the master bedroom. Where else? Armed with this logic, I volunteer to search for the photocopies. It will be over in a few seconds, I tell myself.

Oh Boy! Was I Wrong?

My panic mode gets activated as soon as I pull the drawer. Hercules can collaborate with Bhima and star in a TikTok video using #HelpNarayani, yet the duo will be at the receiving end of trolls for failing to spruce my wardrobe up. Conjuring up the strength accumulated from the brunch of beetroot rice and almond raita, I drag our bed closer to the closet. A couple of clumsy movements later, the contents of the drawer find themselves in an ignominious pile on the mattress.

Our queen-sized bed now resembles a celebrity’s house after an ED raid. Erm! Should I check my blood pressure? I do the next best thing – switch on the air conditioner. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress, I brace myself for the most daunting task of the day – to locate a piece of paper (or two) amongst an assortment of envelopes, booklets, files, and tiny jewel boxes.

The Ghost From The Past

The photocopies of the Aadhaar card are there along with the original inside an envelope. However, there is a tiny glitch. Those are mine. I wince at my photo. The love child of Barfi’s Jhilmil and Mr. Rajkumar Thakuriya stares back at me. Friends, google You are a doctor; I am your driver to know the legend.

I make a mental note to opt for the Korean facial next time. After all, who doesn’t want to look like IU? Relieved that in a few months, I will possess ‘glass skin’, I retrieve something shiny from the envelope. Letting out a scream that is usually reserved for lizards and cockroaches, I drop my Voter ID card on the mattress. Did I really go to the photo booth after a ‘de-tan’ meant for the Witches of Macbeth?

I guess my future BTS look is doomed to fail.

The Invisible (Or Indiscreet) Jewels

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend!” Marilyn Monroe lip-synced seductively in a strapless pink gown. Possessing neither her hourglass figure nor the wealth of Taylor Swift, I open the red box with the words ‘Manik Mandi City Gold’ engraved on it.

“Maybe I’ll find the perfect earrings and pendant that will go well with the faux Kanjivaram saree I purchased online,” I tell myself.

Three yellow shirt buttons, two silver ones that should have adorned a Fabindia kurta, five pairs of golden cufflinks from the husband’s panjabi purchased from Kimbadanti, and one rusted sewing needle tumble out from the box.

Hoping to strike gold (pun intended) with the next box (this time a yellow one with blurry alphabets), I unlock it. Ten one-rupee coins gleam in the daylight.

Money will come from unexpected quarters – the astrologer did predict today. The Korean facial gives way to Joy Baba Bhobishyonath. If you are as affluent as Nita ji, what is stopping you from getting a face transplant to look like Song Hye-kyo?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

The green folder piques my interest. I cannot escape the smile that parts my lips as I spot the certificates from my school, college, and university. But much as I would like to gloat over the fact that I was a good (and obedient) student, a cough from the living room makes me postpone my delight. I have a job at hand – to locate the Aadhaar card.

However, I have the attention span of a cat, and a tiny booklet that was hidden behind the MA degree catches my eye. I must have written something noteworthy. Hoping to find some inspiration for the next edition of The She Saga magazine, I lie supine on the bed and begin to pore through the pages.

• 1 kg Ashirwad atta
• 2 kgs of onion
• 1 kg of idli rice
• 1 litre of gingelly oil
• 1 packet of pasta
• Haldiram’s  jumbo packet of bhujia
• 1 small packet of Ambika appalam

I turn over to the next page.

• 2 kgs of baby potatoes [for Bengali aloo’r dom]
• 1 packet of Ching chowmein
• 2 packets of murukku [check for garlic in the ingredients list before buying]
• Wet food for adult cat [tuna flavour]
• Lavender-flavoured litter sand

Shaking my head, I get up. So much for inspiration.

The Lost And Found Section

“Hello! May I know what you are doing here?” I ask Keigo Higashino, as I spot his Devotion of Suspect X next to the folder. Suddenly, our cat Uttam’s blank stares make sense. I am convinced there is a ghost in our house who not only is an ardent reader but also tends to misplace books. The said spectre also has a habit of using strange bookmarks, I assume, as I open the novel.

A two-page booklet drops on the mattress.

“Mil gaya!” I squeal. Mr. Hubby dashes to the bedroom.

I flash the booklet in his face.

“We have been looking for it for the past two years,” I say.

“Erm! It doesn’t look like my Aadhaar card.”

“It is not.”

“What is it then?”

“Uttam’s vaccination details.”

“Ohhh!”

Relieved, I put the booklet in my handbag for the time being, thanking Higashino and the ghost for their support.

“You didn’t find the photocopies, right?”

I shake my head. “Listen, go to the xerox shop and make a couple of copies.”

He nods. “But I could have sworn I had quite a few.”

I suppress my giggle. “I have an idea. Why don’t we look for them in 2030?”

By Narayani V Manapadam

“Narayani is an IT Professional lost in the dreary world of Excel. When time permits, she loves to get lost in the maze of Word(s). But nothing makes her happier than being a cat momma to her beloved Uttam.”

She can be contacted at fraunara@gmail.com.