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Amrita

Page 10

by Usha Rajagopalan


  "I can't make out what you are saying," she said, bending towards her daughter.

  "My friends will make fun of me. So will the other children."

  "They'll stop it after a while."

  "But I won't be able to bear it even for a moment!" she wailed.

  "Shall I meet your teachers and talk to them?"

  "No!" Maya screamed. "You won't meet anyone. You won't talk to anyone."

  "Okay, okay, relax. . ."

  "I have a better idea," said her grandmother standing behind them.

  Kamala got up immediately.

  "My idea is this. . ." paati squeezed herself on the step beside Maya. Kamala shifted to a lower step.

  "Why don't you come away with me?" paati asked. "To our village? You can study in the local school. You'll like it there. Lots of trees, other children, fresh air. . . ."

  Maya's eyes widened with mounting excitement.

  "Ooh. . . can I?" Her face fell immediately. "But appa won't let me. He's very angry with me."

  "I'll tell him, don't worry, " assured the old woman.

  Maya brightened once again.

  "Are there many children there? Will they play with me or will they make fun of me like those in school?"

  "Why should anybody tease you?" asked paati.

  "Because of Amrita. They say I'm also mad like her."

  "They are the ones who are mad if that's what they think. Anyway, don't bother about them. No one will talk like this in the village."

  "Your son will get furious if he knows that you want to go back," Kamala said, before her daughter could burst out in her excitement.

  "I came only because I wanted to see you and the girls. I had told him so often to bring you over but he never did. Therefore I decided to visit you at least once before it's too late."

  "But it's not fair to burden you with Maya. . ."

  "I'm not a 'burden'. If paati thinks it's fine with her, what's your problem?"

  Kamala tried to ignore Maya but her voice was no match for her daughter's high pitch.

  "You and appa are the ones who think I'm a burden. Appa's not too bad. You've never liked me.

  "Now look here, Maya. If you want to come with me, you'd better learn how to behave and talk to elders. I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour."

  Maya was silenced immediately and the old woman turned to Kamala once again.

  "I'll tackle him. It's not as if I'm leaving in a day or two. I'll write to my neighbour to arrange for her admission in the school. He's the headmaster so there shouldn't be any problem. As for you, Maya, if you don't study well . . . I can be a lot more severe than your father. Now go and play before it becomes too dark."

  The girl nodded happily and skipped away.

  "Don't worry about her. She'll be all right. Don't think that you are imposing her on me. I'm the one who suggested this and I know very well what I am doing. I have enough people there to help me."

  "What will her father say to this?" Kamala's face reflected her worry.

  "I told you, I'll tackle him. Now, you listen to me," said the old woman capturing her attention.

  "I'm taking her with me so that you can devote your time and attention on Ammu. She needs you more than Maya does."

  Kamala's eyes glistened. She did not dare to look up at her mother-in-law.

  "And now about Raghu. I can see that all's not well between you and him. You will have to look after Ammu till the very end. You can't do it on your own. Make peace with him before it's too late."

  Kamala was grateful for the deepening twilight that swept past them, casting a shadow on her face as it entered the house. Behind her, Raghu was also sitting in the dark, too angry to switch on the light.

  "You two are still here? How long will you talk? What's so interesting?" Maya asked, running towards them.

  "We were only waiting for you, child," paati said, getting up stiffly.

  Before Kamala could reach out to help her, the old woman had entered the house.

  ***

  8

  haven't had a good night's sleep for the last three days. Not since Kamala auntie began telling me about her family. Even now, in my restlessness I crept about downstairs. There she was, on the couch in the living room, emitting little whistles and snorts in her sleep. How can she drop off like this? Doesn't the past weigh her down? It's certainly shattering me, all of me, inside and out. The only positive outcome of her narration is that my own problem is losing its bite. What's so terrible about illegitimacy? There are greater issues at stake here. In my self-absorption I had overlooked them.

  If Kittu's brothers and their wives hadn't walked out so soon after his wedding would things have been different for amma? Wouldn't she have become frustrated and warped like Kamala auntie when they have so many things in common between them? Both were in a sham of a marriage, with incompatible spouses yet neither of them wanted to break up the relationship. Their men were alike too. Neither Raghu nor Kittu could face reality. Kittu simply escaped into his younger days when money had not been important, when he could lose himself in his poetry, music and dance without anyone hauling him back into the real world. The escapist that he was, the high point of his life was when he acted as Prof. Higgins in My Fair Lady. The curtain had fallen that evening with the audience giving him a standing ovation. Unfortunately this was in his last year at college and he never got another opportunity to don greasepaint or stand in the wings and wait for his cue. He had told me this a hundred times, reinforcing his narration with a photograph. His face stylishly slanted was framed by a halo of studio light. The calmness in his eyes belied his age; he must have been in his late teens then. Even as a child I knew it was a calmness that was innate to him. To look older he had sported a thin Clark Gable moustache and round rimmed glasses. His brilliantined hair parted in the middle was slick and smooth. His black coat and light coloured shirt were typical of a monochrome print. Indeed, he saw the world only in these two colours.

  Raghu, it seemed, had a third colour on his palette – grey. This helped him cope with the bleakness in his life. When amma was lost to him, he had married on the rebound and regretted it. To give him credit, he didn't desert his wife. Only traced his old love and went to her. Of course, amma did say that he had visited her only once. Should I believe her? I don't remember seeing him in our house. In fact, nobody ever visited us, other than Sundar's and my friends. Kittu didn't have any. Amma said she didn't want any. Why? Because she couldn't forget Raghu? After all, a woman's first love is also supposed to be her last. Where did that leave Kittu? Did amma stay with him only because Raghu wouldn't abandon his wife? Then she had been a better actor than Raghu. How often had I seen little scenes of affection between Kittu and amma! Their love for each other and for us, Sundar and me, was the bulwark in my childhood. I had known nothing could happen to me as long as I had amma and Kittu with me. Maybe that was why Maya was so difficult. Because Raghu and Kamala auntie were strangers living under the same roof.

  "Was Maya happier after she went to her grandmother's?" I asked Kamala auntie the next morning while she was doing her household chores. She wouldn't let me help her. So I hovered around, following her from one room to another while she swept, hopping onto the nearest piece of furniture every time her broom swished near my feet.

  "I don't know. She didn't tell me anything about her stay there," she replied.

  "Oh! How were things between you and your husband? Surely they must have improved when Maya left with her grandmother?"

  Kamala auntie filled a stained plastic bucket with water, added a few drops of cleaning liquid and carried it to the front room. She dipped the mopping cloth into the bucket, squeezed out the excess water and began to clean the floor. I wondered if she heard my question. Her forehead was creased and she looked thoughtful. I waited. She finished mopping, rinsed the cloth and put it to dry, washed her hands and sat down beside me.

  "It no longer mattered whether Maya was with us or not," said Kamala auntie with a
resigned half-smile.

  "You mean nothing changed? Nothing at all?" I asked.

  "It was too late for anything to change," she said. "I didn't know that when he asked me to go with him to his boss's house. That was the first time in years that he was asking me to go with him anywhere. I was thrilled. I took it as a good omen, that our relationship would improve with this outing."

  "So, this is Mrs. Raghavan," boomed Mr. Mehta, towering over Kamala. "You kept her under wraps all this time, didn't you, Raghu? You know, Madam," he turned to Kamala. "If I hadn't threatened your husband with a transfer to Timbuctoo he wouldn't have brought you over today either. You owe me something for this but don't worry. I'm a man of my word but I shall not insist the same of the lady. I must say Raghu is very lucky to have such an understanding wife. You could teach my little woman something."

  "On the contrary, I'm the one who has a lot to teach her. My first lesson will be on how to stand up for your rights." Mrs. Mehta matched her husband vocally, if not in height.

  The others started walking towards them, smiling and ready to take part in the conversation. Kamala felt the door of her cage closing slowly.

  "It is not that I didn't want to bring her along," Raghu replied. "But something or the other always cropped up and she had to stay behind. Moreover, she's not too keen on attending parties."

  Mrs. Mehta looked shocked.

  "But it's good to meet others, exchange ideas with them. Very good 'timepass'," she said, shaking a stubby finger at Kamala. Her gold bangles caught the slanting light from a window and threw countless yellow specks on the wall. She spoke with her body as well. Her ample frame wriggled, sending her heavy breasts into a wild wobble.

  Kamala hid her smile and looked away. Her eyes landed on the softness of Mrs. Mehta's sagging arm, on the coin sized vaccination mark that had not faded despite the many years. She sensed an expectant pause in the conversation and brought her attention back to her hostess. Too late. Some reply was needed at this point but she had not heard the question! Raghu came to her rescue.

  "She keeps herself very busy. . ."

  "Oh, I didn't know you were employed. Where are you working?"

  "No, no, she's not employed. She's only a housewife," Raghu explained hastily.

  "Ah, that's what I thought," said Mrs. Mehta. "But Raghu, I could pick up a fight with you for saying 'only a housewife'. I shall wait till we are alone. It's not good to lose face in front of your wife. Kamala, don't let him trample over you. You should join our kitty group and learn how to stand up for yourself. Almost all the wives of Gujtronics are members. We meet once a month in the house of one of the members, in turn. We don't pile on one person all the time. It is very impartially done, by drawing chits and. . ."

  "Hey! No kitty talk at least here or should I say catty talk?" her husband protested laughing. "Isn't it enough that you keep telling us about your last meeting till it's time for the next one?"

  "These men!" his wife retorted. "They don't want to hear anything of what we do. They think we meet only to gossip. When we talk, it is gossip but when they do the same, it is 'sharing information'. How hypocritical can you get? What do you think, Kamala?"

  Kamala played safe by nodding her head.

  "You are a very quiet person, aren't you? After just a couple of meetings, I promise you will not be able to stop talking," assured Mrs. Mehta.

  "Now, don't you spoil her," her husband intervened. "Let there be at least one woman in the entire world who keeps her trap shut. Ma'am, you have my blessings. Continue the way you are. I envy Raghu. 'A silent wife is a gift of the Lord,' says the Good Book. Just think of my plight – my little woman is the founder of this kitty group and doesn't miss a single meeting. Morning till night she goes yak, yak. . . or rather, miaow, miaow. . . Come, Madame Cat, let's greet the other guests."

  He led his wife away and the circle round them broke up. Kamala stole a look at Raghu. His disapproval hit her in waves. She knew he wanted her to talk smartly, smile confidently and pretend that she was used to such parties. She looked around hesitantly at the few who still stood near them in twos and threes. Attention was no longer on her. Soon she was standing alone, watching the guests, most of whom were adults though there were also a few children. She wondered how Revabehn was managing Amrita.

  Of course, anyone can look after her. How lively these children are. . . just like Maya. I do hope she's not giving her grandmother a difficult time.

  A sudden jolt on her back startled her into the present. She turned around. A small boy knelt behind her looking at his upturned plate and scattered food. Water from a Styrofoam cup flowed towards her feet. She took a quick step behind, holding her sari out of the way. A clearing formed around them as if by magic. The boy stared up at her with large frightened eyes.

  She smiled at him. "It's all right. Here, I'll help you."

  Kamala bent to pick up the plate even as the boy's mother hurried towards them.

  "I'm so sorry! Rahul, how many times have I told you not to run around with your plate? I should have left you at home with your naughty sister."

  Rahul's eyes filled at the barrage of rebukes. Kamala wanted to comfort him. She was rusty and self-conscious. Maya had never liked anyone hugging her while Ammu did not respond to any gesture of affection. She watched the woman pick up the plate and hustle the boy away. They were soon lost in the crowd surrounding the buffet tables.

  "Can't you even make an attempt to talk to somebody or help yourself to the food? Do you expect to be served or what? Standing like a boulder in the middle of an eddy. . ." Raghu's lips stretched in a reluctant smile while he growled in an undertone.

  Before she could think of a response, he ordered her to follow him and led her to the buffet counters.

  Kamala didn't know where to start. Not only were the dishes many but they were totally different from the south Indian cuisine that she was used to. She turned around to Raghu for help but he had joined others at the far end of the room.

  "What do I do now?" she muttered.

  "Can I help?" asked a bright voice from behind her.

  Kamala looked into a vaguely familiar face.

  "I'm Rahul's mother, remember? That boy who bumped into you and almost spoilt your sari?"

  "Of course. He was just excited by the crowd. . ."

  "You're too kind," she said, handing Kamala a plate. "He's one of those hyperactive brats, always on the move. Just see, I'd warned him to stay close to me and he's vanished again. I'll know soon enough where he is when I hear a plate crash, so I've decided to enjoy myself. After all, that's what his father has been doing ever since we came here."

  Kamala held the plate in front of her like a shield, dazed by the other woman's rapid-fire talk.

  "Stop me if you think I'm going on and on. Tell me, would you like any help?"

  "I was just wondering if the food was vegetarian. I don't eat.

  "All these are pure vegetarian, authentic Gujarati. We cannot match your madrasi idli and dosa but we are not too bad either. Here, this is dhokla, somewhat like your idli. This is kandvi. Have some patra wadi and this. . ." Rahul's mother rattled the names while heaping both their plates. They sounded as exotic as the dishes themselves and Kamala gave up trying to remember them. It was enough for her that she need not be concerned about their ingredients.

  Maya would have liked this food.

  "Everything all right?" asked her new friend.

  Kamala nodded.

  Rahul's mother was younger than her, slimmer and fairer. She wore a dark blue salwar kameez and long silver earrings that danced merrily. Her fingers drew designs in the air with or without food, since she talked as much and as quickly as she ate.

  "Are you coming here for the first time?" she asked.

  "Yes, you?"

  "I'm a regular. I only have to get the invitation and vroom. . . ."

  She came closer to Kamala and whispered, "You know something? Most of the people are here only for the fantastic food. I woul
dn't be surprised if they had starved the whole day. That's what I'd have done myself if I didn't have to cook for my two children and diet-conscious hubby. Honestly, if it weren't for the food I wouldn't come either. Mind you, food's only my second passion. Give me money, oodles of it, and let me loose in the market . . . ah, nothing like it! You know what they say 'Shop till you drop?' That's for me."

  She continued before Kamala could reply.

  "That's also the only time when I satisfy myself with a quick bite, otherwise I tuck in heartily. My only prayer is that I should be able to eat like this to the end of my life without having to worry about BP or sugar or of course, bulging in the wrong places."

  "You don't have to worry about that now," Kamala commented. "Your fondness for food certainly doesn't show on you."

  "That's my family trait. Lean on both sides. 'Half-starved' my husband calls us. Who cares? At least we can eat, not like his people. The moment they see food, they bloat! You're not bad either. Healthy, not fat."

  Kamala smiled.

  "You have kids?" asked Rahul's mother and once again did not wait for a reply. "How our life changes then, eh? The best period of a woman's life is before she gets married. After that it is a never-ending trial of adjustment. First with your husband and then with your children. You can forget about yourself till it's time for them to leave the nest and you're alone with the old man once more. By then, who'll have the strength to do anything interesting? Are you on a diet or something? You're nibbling your food."

  Kamala couldn't decide whether she liked the oily sweetness, so different from the sour pungency of her cuisine.

  There's always curd rice at home. I wonder if Raghu likes this food. He must be used to it since he attends so many parties.

  "This is Shrikhand, our speciality. No Gujarati feast is complete without it. Here, have some," said Rahul's mother, heaping a dollop on Kamala's plate before she could protest.

  Kamala licked the tip of her spoon. The sweet-sour dish tickled her taste buds and saliva gushed in her mouth.

 

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