Mrs. Smith

Mrs. Smith switched off the TV in the afternoon, bored of surfing from Judge Judy to Judge Alex and not finding them amusing. The crumpled copy of the Times of San Francisco lay on the coffee table. When did this newspaper go from being one of the most prestigious to a full page 3 – she could not help think going back to the days when Mr. Smith and she had discussed the opinions and editorials over coffee on one of the quaint coffee shops in Berkeley. Now, it showed pictures of only Hollywood and Bollywood celebrities. The hot Bollywood actress Padma Chavan and her boyfriend Ganpat Patil had been donning the newspaper ever since they arrived in San Francisco. One producer, Suraj Bhartadya was told by someone that houses on hills of San Francisco, overlooking from I-580, look exactly like the slums of Mumbai seen from the descending plane over Mumbai Airport. He really wanted to shoot in Ghatkopar but ever since the serial bomb blasts, getting permission was difficult. And since Suraj wanted authentic environs for his new movie A Wimpy Heart, he traveled with all his crew to San Francisco. What twisted logic – Mrs. Smith thought to herself. Since arriving here, Padma and Ganpat had taken a trip to the Fisherman’s Wharf, traveled in the BART, tasted sourdough bread and done all the things that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had founding boring.

The phone rang cutting through the quiet of the downtown neighborhood. “Hi Honey, did you eat?” said the familiar voice of Mr. Smith. Since they had had three children, Mrs. Smith had given up her career as Lead Graphic Designer and was a full time homemaker now. Mr. Smith because of his talent and excellent communication skills had risen fast in one of the prestigious IT companies. He was now handling multiple projects with multiple overseas clients. He would come back home very late. “Client calls; managing international time zones and all, you know…there was such a big to do list after the call…” Mr. Smith had sighed only last night. His late nights were really putting strain on their marriage, but his unending love and her devotion withstood any pressure any client could put. Never did he fail in calling her every afternoon.

Mrs. Smith came back to her den. Shiloh was napping in the afternoon. The family poodle had also curled up under the rug on the sofa. Mrs. Smith still had two hours before she would pick up Maddox and Zahara from the school. She opened the volume of Denial and was completely absorbed in it.

The baby monitor hummed as Shiloh stirred. It was time to wake her up and drive to the House of Liberty School that Maddox and Zahara went to in the upscale neighborhood of San Francisco. Maddox and Zahara needed to be picked up on time for their Tae Kwan Do classes. Mrs. Smith got ready, put Shiloh in her Volvo S80 and drove down to the school. The school was buzzing with activity and to her surprise she saw a lot of guards. Other mothers were careening over the barricade and some sort of discussions were going on with very South-Asian looking bulky men. Shamsher Singh Bahaddur was trying to keep the mothers from entering the school. A cat eyed, steroid induced muscled Dheer Raj a.k.a. Tiger was blocking the other door. Mrs. Smith saw the familiar faces of her friends and walked over. She was told, some film with that Bollywood actress Padma Chavan is being shot in the school. All our kids are inside…and they are not letting us in or letting the kids out. Ah, Ganpat – he is so sexy, Mrs. Smith thought, if only Mr. Smith worked out…but her friends were already in tears and that brought Mrs. Smith to the real world. Mrs. Smith squirmed. Maddox has not been eating well lately. He did not eat his breakfast properly…not sure, if he ate his lunch, he must be hungry. And Zahara – the little one gets so excited about the Tae Kwan Do…what if she misses it today. And how long do I have to wait here? Otherwise, I would have got some baby formula for Shiloh. Oh, my God…do these people really have to do this? My Babies…she clasped one friend’s hand and consoled the other lachrymose one. The Principal will do something, after all, he is a man of principles – she heard someone say. But the Principal acquiesced to Shamsher’s demand that mothers move away immediately, for he feared for Padma’s life.

There was a din at the school gates and some mother’s were trying to get past the two bulky guards. But Shamsher and Raj’s muscles were not only steroids…Shamsher pushed the mothers. A friend twisted her ankle in the small stampede. Mrs. Smith heard Shamsher shout – “you bloody…” before she bent over to help her friend. It is good that she did not hear the complete sentence.

The Police were called and they promptly arrested the guards for racial slur. The mother’s were relieved to see their kids come rushing out of the school. The next day, reading The Times of San Francisco, Mrs. Smith learned that Ganpat then met the LAPD Commissioner and said sorry.

Mr. Smith kissed her good-bye and to her, his lips felt like those of Ganpat the hunk!