A habit common to all the species known popularly as "housewife" is chatting. And don’t for one moment think that this is the kind of chatting that involves a computer and the Internet; this kind of chatting requires at least two pairs of lips, and  about four ears, some idle time and, preferably, a summer afternoon.

Mrs. Banerjee who lived in our sleepy little town was especially adept at this activity, which for her had almost become an art form. She would pounce in our house, at odd times – without ringing the doorbell – and start talking about the colour of the leaf that had flown into her house the previous evening. Annoying as the habit was, it did give the locality something to talk about, as the entire neighbourhood was the canvas on which she practised her art.

But one activity was not sufficient to keep in check her incredible genius. Borrowing was another activity that she indulged in every now and then. Sometimes, she would borrow some utensils and not return them. My mother, a simple woman, would take days to muster enough courage to ask her about the borrowed items and pat would come the reply ," What? I don't remember borrowing that, and why would I borrow that…I already have seven of those." 

She had seven of everything, and how she managed to keep all of it in one house was a mystery for everyone. It is said that her name was forwarded to The Guinness Book of World Records, but they replied  that they already had a woman on record who had fourteen of everything, and only one house. Since that day Mrs. Banerjee had been trying very hard to beat that record. 

Often on a leisurely evening, a knock would be heard on the door and Mrs. Banerjee's smiling face would be visible through the key hole. It was with great fear in her heart and a smile on her face that my mother opened the door. Mrs. Banerjee would somehow draw my mother out into the park for a chat. All of a sudden, she would be reminded that her favourite soap was on TV and she would tell my mother that she had an urgent piece of work in the house, and she would be back in no time.

While she was home watching TV, my gullible mother would sit there waiting for her. Only when I would tell her what was going on would she return home. When Mrs. Banerjee would find my mom missing, she would come angrily into our drawing room, and in an aggrieved tone tell us how she had waited for my mother in the park.

But, the worst came when she went shopping. She would go to each and every house showing off what she had bought, and since we lived right next to her house, our turn came in the end, at about 9 PM, when we would be getting ready to eat our dinner.

These small things made me, my family and my neighbours very angry and we would always be devising ways and means to avoid her.

But, when Mrs. Banerjee moved to Karnataka, the whole neighbourhood was saddened and till today when the bell rings at 9 PM, we hope to see the smiling face of Mrs. Banerjee through the magic eye.

(The story has been conceived and written by a 13 year old girl, with necessary changes, as required, by the Editor.)