Short Story: Emptied by Mary Tina Shamli Pillay

In this short story, Mary Tina Shamli Pillay captures the tiny memories of childhood that hold a huge impact on our psyche.

There are times when life pitches and rolls, drifts along, sweeping us through unpredictable currents, and toying with us as if we were playthings in the grand scheme of existence. My little self beckons—a self I often revisit. I visit so I can understand.                 

1981. The parched white ceiling clouded my vision and glared down at me from a sizeable distance—stark and almost intrigued. It had not seen me before. I was new. We were new. My little limbs, tucked tight under the warm embrace of a printed sheet, were almost numb. The freezing cold inside belied the baking heat melting everything and everyone outdoors. I rubbed my eye into focus while my clenched fist sat proudly atop my left outstretched arm,  reaching to touch the unreachable white ceiling above. I twisted and turned to the music of the mid-day routine emanating from Mother’s modest kitchen. The tinkle of steel utensils, the gushing of tap water,  and the heady aroma of my favourite food all seemed familiar except they were now playing against the backdrop of an unfamiliar silence. I lay on my back, twirling my hair through the fingers of my right hand while clutching Mumta firmly in my left. My mind replayed all that I had expected from our new home. I relived the excitement of hearing from Father about moving to a new country. I dreamt of an air-conditioned school with new friends from different countries. Fantastic food. Numerous toys. Lots of chocolates. Mumta and I were ready for our new life. That anticipation is still palpable.