As usual, I carefully removed the hair in my comb and threw it in the same plastic cover I maintain for the last one month.
“Again? I wonder, when your hair fall will find its remedy,” my mom exclaimed, giving a gentle press on the subtract symbol in the TV remote.
“I don’t care, unless and until I turn bald, it doesn’t make a difference mom, see the bag, it is almost full, but look at me, do I look strange?” I replied with my usual gestures using the wide-mouthed comb in my hand.
“When is this plastic cover leaving our home? It’s not a good sign at all,” she walked past the hall and stood right next to me, while she held her own waist.
“Am calling Anu right away, wait,” I told, and swiftly took my mobile and dialed, placing the comb on my mom’s nicely combed hair.
“Anu, when are you making me a nice wig? My mom is ready to throw the bag out,” I told, and the conversation went on for about 20 minutes, and mom left the place to cook.
The next day, I left the cover near my mom as she was sleeping and left to work. When I returned, I saw the wig, but it was curled enough. I dialed Anu, and told “nice wig Anu, but why is it so curly?” and was shocked to hear that she didn’t drop by to collect.
When I stood wondering, I saw my twin sister in the mirror who passed away last month and widened my eyes, stood spine-chilled, and turned by 90 degrees, to notice her wearing my mom’s saree.
I screamed out to call my mom, but realized it’s my mom who turned my twin sister, and she walked near me, slowly. I was mesmerized to see her after long, and when the tears rolled down my cheek, she hugged and wiped away with hers. In the blink of an eye, she vanished, so did the curly wig. That’s when I heard my mom shouting from the kitchen, to swiftly change and drop by for the dinner.
To my surprise, the dinner was again Maggie, which looks similar to my twin’s hair and that’s how I call her. Now that I know, why I get disturbed often whenever my mom cooks the same meal.