The Bitter Cake

I was coming back from the nearby shop when I saw Shuja in a very nice white kurta. I often liked to peek through the gate of his big house to see how rich people live. It must have been his birthday, as there were many kids in the lawn. They were all wearing brightly colored clothes and I could see a heap of gifts on a table on the veranda. There was also a big cream cake on the next table that had a white fringed tablecloth.

Shuja was not my friend (perhaps because we were not studying in the same school) and he never played with the other kids of the neighborhood. I envied Shuja. He was always in so neat a state that I thought it was not humanly possible to be that tidy all the time.

I did try to hate him for his rich parents and big bungalow but he was too kind to be hated. I don’t remember resenting him ever, but deep inside, I was jealous of him. No matter how hard I tried, I could not keep my clothes clean. No matter how hard I tried, I could not be so nice and obedient. I was a naughty but brave boy and that used to result in dirty clothes, torn shoes, and beatings from the parents. So, it was his birthday.

I had never been to a birthday party and it was my dream to attend one. I was not normally a day-dreamer, as I was my mama’s big 11-year-old boy and I had sat near her bed for very long three days and four nights when she ate those sleeping pills, so many at once.

She didn’t die but slept for all those days. I didn’t panic, because ever since she ran away from home a few years ago leaving us alone, only to come back eventually, I was no longer surprised or scared by her actions. While she was asleep I took good care of my little brother because our father didn’t appear home until long after she’d woken up.

That day when I saw Shuja playing with his friends at his birthday party, I decided to have one at my own home. My younger brother’s birthday was two months away and I promised myself to give him a grand birthday party.

As I contemplated the idea, the first thing that came to my mind was the cake. “We will also have a big cream cake,” I thought. “I will invite many friends too.”

After making this decision, I felt my heart swelling with joy, as if I was already having it. The next day I went to the bakery near our school and inquired about the price of a nice cream cake. It was worth 150 rupees.

That was going to take a lot of effort but I was determined. I used to get two rupees as pocket money for school, but not always. Only on the days when my mornings didn’t start with the noise of pots being thrown at my mother by my father. It was clear that even if I did get my two rupees every day for the next two months (excluding Sundays obviously) I would still not have 150 rupees for the cream cake.

There was a clever boy in my class who was good at several odd things. I decided to consult him. Aafi told me that if I collect iron from the garbage and sell it to the junk dealer, I might get some good money. This advice seemed very solid to me.

So from the very next day, I started collecting rustic nails, broken bicycle parts, and other small things from the big slope of the hill that was reaching the river bank and was used as a dumpsite for the whole locality.

I didn’t have much time to do this after school, homework, Quran classes, and the daily grocery shopping I did for mom. I looked my dirtiest during those two months but I didn’t tell anyone what I was up to.

I did not play with my friends and also missed the evening cartoons that I used to watch at my uncle’s home. But, I had managed to collect many iron objects by the end of the two months. I even managed to save 80 rupees from my pocket money too.

Proud of my achievement, I went to the scrap dealer and offered him my collection. To my dismay, many of the objects were not actually iron and I could only get 30 rupees for all of it.

There were only two days left and I was short of 40 rupees. There was no way of getting them from my father or mother, and my friends were as poor as me.

I spent those two days searching the trash for iron like a possessed little boy. I even took my treasured round magnet with me, which I had secured from an old radio. The magnet only made me sadder, as it told me that many things in the trash that looked like iron were not. By the day of my brother’s birthday, I had nothing more than 115 rupees.

I told Aafi and he said that there might be smaller cakes in the bakery that I could buy with my little money. I was too consumed by my iron hunt that I did not think of this possibility myself. It was indeed a good insight and I felt hopeful again.

I told my mother about the upcoming celebration and asked her to dress the little birthday boy in his best clothes. She was pleasantly surprised by my huge ‘finance management’ skills and even hugged me for being so ambitious. I ran importantly to the bakery and inquired about the prices of the cakes falling in the range of my money.

There was no cream cake that could be bought for 115 rupees. I got sad and broken-hearted again but my mother was happily waiting for my return so I had to deal with it. I chose a dry sponge cake, which was not so small, and I was still left with some money to buy two candles and 10 balloons too. I thought of it as a good enough deal and went home in a fine mood.

I had not invited anyone to the party as I had planned at first. Our one-room house was too shabby and I didn’t want anyone to laugh at me or my family. That hardly mattered though because as I reached home, I found my mother waiting for me eagerly at the door.

I felt over the moon because I was the reason for her happiness. I ran inside and started preparing the table. I chose one of my mom’s blue Dopattas for the tablecloth and started blowing balloons. My brother was giggling and running around excitedly. My heart was so full of happiness and pride when I heard my mother’s voice from the outer door saying, “Shuja, our nice boy, how is your mother” “She is fine aunty Ji” said Shuja in his sweet mannered tone. “Well, do you know we are having a birthday party today? My younger boy’s 2nd birthday. Why don’t you come and join us!” My heart froze with terror.

Shuja? In this house? Seeing us cutting this dry sponge cake? “Yes aunty, sure” came his voice.

My God, what my simple mother had done.

It was the end of the world. My head was spinning and I could feel my face getting hot and red. I could hear my blood hissing in my ears. Before I knew what I was doing, I ran across the room and crawled under the bed just a moment before Shuja arrived inside with my mother.

“Where did he go?” my mother asked my brother, who was already kneeling down and looking at me with an amused face. He must be thinking that I was playing some game.

“Why are you hiding under the bed, it’s only Shuja from the green bungalow, come out now.” Said my mother laughingly.

There was no way to die right there or I would have. I just felt hot tears running down my cheeks.

But Shuja, who was not even really my friend, said, “It’s ok aunty, my mother will be waiting for me so I must leave now.”

I saw his feet going out of the room and I just collapsed down.