Richa - A Short Story

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Richa was a darling in the house of Sharada. After the early demise of her father, her mother Sharada was everything to Richa. Richa never saw her father. She lived in the protective gaze of her mother Sharada and her maternal grandparents. Sharada worked as an English teacher in a primary school and worked hard to maintain a balance between her working needs and domestic needs. At school, she was very strict and was respected by everyone. But when it came to home she could never think of scolding her baby. Richa was pampered and treated like an angel by her mother. Her writ ran all over the house as a child. Each day, Richa will come running like a bundle of joy from school into the arms of her mother who hugged her, kissed her, lifted her and played with her. Richa got whatever she wanted. She would always crib and cry and seek attention of her mother.

Either it would be about a doll that broke its arms or
about a friend who pinched her or did not smile or play with her or
about the teacher who scolded her in class or
about her little aches and pains or
about the rain that kept her away from play or
about the pen that she lost on the way or
any little problems that came to her mind all through the day.

Richa never remained silent but kept everyone busy and on their toes. The only day she lay speechless was when her grandpa passed away. Richa grew into a beautiful teenage girl but there was no one except her mother in her life. She loved her mother very much. Except her troubled days post her married life, life was smooth-sailing for Sharada till Richa fell in love.

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Time waits for nobody. Sharada smiled to herself as she climbed the steps of the hill. Age was catching up with her. She retired from the school and was teaching young children at an orphanage which was up the hill as a social service. She forgot all her pains whenever she saw those children run around her. Those poor girls and boys were either dumped by mothers or lost their parents due to the act of Mother Nature. The children loved Sharada as she used to recite stories from the Ramayana, Mahabharata or the Jataka tales. She saw the innocent face of Richa in all those children. There were more girls than boys as there were not takers for girls. Sharada felt sad when she saw the plight of these forbidden children. Everyday, she spent half a day in the orphanage. Her aged and ailing mother took the rest of her time. Her mother always sought her attention and cribbed and cried over something amiss. Sharada felt more like a mother than a daughter to her mother.

Sharada had to leave. As she was leaving, she saw something pulling her sari. It was a young girl with a rose in her hand to give it to her. The girl said "Aunty, I have never seen mother, but I have seen you. I feel happy." Sharada smiled at the girl and kissed her while she took the rose from the girl. ​

Sharada missed her daughter Richa too much. She silently walked down the hill and walked towards her home. Her ailing mother waited for her expectedly in the verandah. She walked past her mother and went inside the bedroom. She looked at the photo of her daughter Richa taken during her school days and kissed it. Her hands were shivering as she dialed the phone number.


Her daughter Richa came across the line. “Oh ma, can’t you understand I am in office? Please do not disturb me. Yesterday only, I sent you the money. Now, what is the problem?
“No dear, nothing” she said.
“Ok then” thundered Richa and switched off her cellphone.
Tears came down Sharada’s eyes. Her daughter is now employed and happily married and their relationship is restricted to sending money. She does not have even access to her grandson as she was reprimanded once for playing with him and narrating him mythological stories as such uncivilized stories may hamper her grandson’s convent education.


Sharada silently went back to her mother, and laid her head on her mother’s arms. Her bundle of joy Richa was moving away from her life, but the memories linger.