"Mummy, I'd like to have a pet snail", she said one day during the lockdown period.
Surprised (but relieved) that she had lowered her demand from a dog to a snail, I play along. "That's a lovely idea for a pet", I say. "If you can find one in the garden, you can keep it. We'll feed it leaves and scraps."
Excited at the prospect, she starts to spend considerably more time in the garden, looking for a snail. Better than being in front of the TV, I think.
The search continues for a few days, but no sign of a snail. She comes back with an ant instead. "Look who I found, Mummy! She's so pretty. I'll name her Curly!" (because the poor ant had curled up in fear by then).
So Curly finds a home in a plastic takeaway box, and is placed centre-stage on our dining table. It was almost lunch time by then, and her Dad had made his signature Biriyani (her favourite too). When we weren't watching, little fingers placed a fat grain of saffron coloured rice in the box. "There you go, Curly. Eat some biriyani."
Now, we had always joked to first-time visitors that we weren't great cooks, but nobody who ate the food we cooked, had died. We will never be able to say that again.
Because Curly died.
Whether it was from pure joy (from the best meal of its life) or from the constant talking or frequent touching...we will never know.
But tears were shed. Prayers were said. And a burial in the backyard followed.
Pet-less again, the search for a snail started anew. Days later, hopelessness sets in. "There are just no snails in our garden, Mummy". But she remembered seeing snails in one of our friend's gardens. "Can you ask them to catch one for me?"
"Of course not!", I say, imagining how that conversation would pan out. "Hello, how are you? Calling for a small favour. Could you please catch a snail for my daughter? We promise it will get a loving home at ours".
I cut that imaginary conversation short in my head. Especially after Curly's demise, I wasn't sure if I could promise anyone a good home anymore!
But I did have that conversation in reality. And the friend did not hang up on me. In fact, she called back a few days later with news. She had managed to catch a snail during one of her evening walks!
So we rushed to her house (like rushing to the hospital at the news of the arrival of a new baby!). And what do we find there?
A snail with a birth card and gender announcement! It was a girl! Miss S was finally a big sister!
I had happened to mention to my friend that Miss S had planned to call her snail (if she found one), Shelley (obvious reference to its shell, duh!). My friend remembered!
And so, with a heart full of gratitude, and hands holding a box with her "little sister" inside, she comes back home.
Days pass. We make Shelley a home...with soil, a rock to climb on (for the view of the garden), a leaf to sit on, and a food dish where we leave fruit and veggie scraps. We read her stories (preferably one with snails in it) after school.
Shelley soon earns an adjective. "Shy Shelley", we start to call her, as she never comes out of her shell to show us her face (or any other body part).
Until today.
Looks like she has finally warmed up to us. She lets us watch her, while she eats an apple!
And while tomorrow marks one month since we got her home, we celebrate today, when Shy Shelley isn't so shy anymore...
Surprised (but relieved) that she had lowered her demand from a dog to a snail, I play along. "That's a lovely idea for a pet", I say. "If you can find one in the garden, you can keep it. We'll feed it leaves and scraps."
Excited at the prospect, she starts to spend considerably more time in the garden, looking for a snail. Better than being in front of the TV, I think.
The search continues for a few days, but no sign of a snail. She comes back with an ant instead. "Look who I found, Mummy! She's so pretty. I'll name her Curly!" (because the poor ant had curled up in fear by then).
So Curly finds a home in a plastic takeaway box, and is placed centre-stage on our dining table. It was almost lunch time by then, and her Dad had made his signature Biriyani (her favourite too). When we weren't watching, little fingers placed a fat grain of saffron coloured rice in the box. "There you go, Curly. Eat some biriyani."
Now, we had always joked to first-time visitors that we weren't great cooks, but nobody who ate the food we cooked, had died. We will never be able to say that again.
Because Curly died.
Whether it was from pure joy (from the best meal of its life) or from the constant talking or frequent touching...we will never know.
But tears were shed. Prayers were said. And a burial in the backyard followed.
Pet-less again, the search for a snail started anew. Days later, hopelessness sets in. "There are just no snails in our garden, Mummy". But she remembered seeing snails in one of our friend's gardens. "Can you ask them to catch one for me?"
"Of course not!", I say, imagining how that conversation would pan out. "Hello, how are you? Calling for a small favour. Could you please catch a snail for my daughter? We promise it will get a loving home at ours".
I cut that imaginary conversation short in my head. Especially after Curly's demise, I wasn't sure if I could promise anyone a good home anymore!
But I did have that conversation in reality. And the friend did not hang up on me. In fact, she called back a few days later with news. She had managed to catch a snail during one of her evening walks!
So we rushed to her house (like rushing to the hospital at the news of the arrival of a new baby!). And what do we find there?
A snail with a birth card and gender announcement! It was a girl! Miss S was finally a big sister!
I had happened to mention to my friend that Miss S had planned to call her snail (if she found one), Shelley (obvious reference to its shell, duh!). My friend remembered!
And so, with a heart full of gratitude, and hands holding a box with her "little sister" inside, she comes back home.
Days pass. We make Shelley a home...with soil, a rock to climb on (for the view of the garden), a leaf to sit on, and a food dish where we leave fruit and veggie scraps. We read her stories (preferably one with snails in it) after school.
Shelley soon earns an adjective. "Shy Shelley", we start to call her, as she never comes out of her shell to show us her face (or any other body part).
Until today.
Looks like she has finally warmed up to us. She lets us watch her, while she eats an apple!
And while tomorrow marks one month since we got her home, we celebrate today, when Shy Shelley isn't so shy anymore...
