by Preethi Nair
Jack was a Scottish man in his mid-fifties who first came into the shop a year after it opened. He had stumbled across it because he read out a piece in the local paper to his wife and she asked Jack to visit so he could describe the shop in detail to her. Sandra, his wife, was dying. Jack hesitated at the entrance to the shop for ten minutes before he came in and then he took a good look around. He stood out, only because the layers of sadness did not leave when he entered the door but followed him around as he bought a selection for her to sample. Maggie joked and said that he would be busy and he sternly told her that they weren’t for him. Their conversation ended, but he came regularly to the shop after that. He could have bought a box of six, but he enjoyed the walk to the shop and being inside it gradually reassured him.
Maggie sensed that his harshness was because his heart was breaking and she gave him a combination of ground ginger, orange and cumin to diffuse the rage that was inside him. Some time passed before he came into the shop again. His wife had died; he saw no sense in coming in but just wanted to let us know that she had gone. I gave him a bottle of honey and lime and hoped somehow he would find some serenity. He came in every Friday evening from then on and talked to Maggie if she wasn’t busy serving. Eight months later, he mustered enough courage to ask her to go to the cinema with him. ‘About time,’ she said, having asked me on several occasions to specify the proportions of garlic, asafoetida and red chillies. ‘Maggie, you have enough courage for an army,’ I had said, not realising that it wasn’t for her.
We should have known by the fact that she wore her favourite dress every Friday and had her hair done on Thursday evenings but somehow it escaped us. Then, one day, she asked me how much notice she would need to give to move out of the flat.
I was devastated, thinking I had failed miserably as her friend and how would Maya feel to hear that she was going back to the East End. She couldn’t go back, not now, not now that we had come this far. Maggie looked at me and laughed her Maggie laugh and said that she was only moving up the road to live with Jack. I hugged her, and then I went downstairs to tell Govind and Deepa that their wedding gift from Ravi and I was the flat upstairs and that they could live in it rent-free for six months.
Ten days later, gratitude came to tell me that I was pregnant. It was almost coming up to the second anniversary of the opening of the shop.
I was shocked and very apprehensive about how Maya and Satchin would take the news. That evening when Ravi came home, I told him. I have never seen such happiness on a man’s face and this in itself made me welcome the baby that I was carrying. We sat down and told the children the next evening. Satchin didn’t really seem to care, he was a teenager and had many other things to think of than babies, but he managed to grunt something that indicated he was happy. Maya said nothing but looked surprised. Ravi said to her that she would always be our number one girl but I don’t think that this was the right thing to say. She left her dinner and went upstairs. I followed her up there and could see that she had been crying. I asked her to talk to me but she kept saying she was fine, then she kissed me and said she would be happy to be a big sister and she came back downstairs to finish dinner.
Having the baby inside of me seemed to bring a new wonderment into the shop and we were busier than ever before. Things ran well and the staff helped out in any way they could, not allowing me to carry anything more than two pickle jars at a time. In the meantime, I was teaching Maggie how to balance the proportion of fruits and spices so they could manage in my absence. Months passed by, then one day, Maggie and I were behind the counter, I was serving Mrs Zanuski who was telling me about the problems she was having with her daughter-in-law and as I reached to get her prescription, my waters broke. I finished serving her and signalled to Maggie, who was deep in conversation with Mr Matthews. I threw an orange in her direction and told her it was time to go. ‘Already?’ she said. ‘But you’ve two weeks left.’ She could not get hold of Ravi and so she bundled me into Amit’s car and we went to the hospital. Twelve hours later, my daughter was born.
I will not say that the birth was effortless, but it was much easier than when I gave birth to Maya. It wasn’t done in total obscurity, no strange people were walking in and out like last time and I could scream without the midwife telling me to shut up. Ravi sat holding my hand throughout. He could not believe it when our little girl came out. He kept shaking his head. As they handed her to me, he kissed her little forehead and held her tiny fingers and looked at me, speechless. I knew it was impossible to love this man any more than I did. We named her after my mother, Ammu, and as I slept that night with her beside me, I smelt the scent of sesame oil and ginger lingering above us and I knew she was there.
The children came the next morning to see her. Satchin looked into the cot, touched her head and then went over to the mirror to comb his hair so he could impress the nurses. Maya sat looking at her and then picked her up and held her. I said little Ammu had smiled at her and she said that it was probably gas. Seeing the two of them like that made me so happy and I held Maya’s hand. Maya had changed somehow, almost surrendered, and accepted Ravi in a way that I never expected. Maggie had been right, she had said all along to be patient and give it time. Maggie then came in with Deepa and a big teddy bear and said that everything was under control as she was adding the proportions as I had instructed her and none of the customers had complained or fallen sick. Everyone seemed to be managing and the next day, I took our baby home.
When I had my other two children, I was barely a child myself, and the people around me took charge. I fed the babies and that was all. I let my mother do whatever she wanted to with them as if to compensate for the one she lost. My father had left her the day before she went into labour. I heard him shouting at her and thought he had gone off to work in the fields and had returned that night. Just after I woke up, I heard her screaming but took no notice because it was a regular occurrence and I thought she was yelling at my father, just another fight. After ten minutes, when it still didn’t stop, I got up to see where she was. She was bent over double in the kitchen and the baby was hanging out of her. There was no time to go and call anyone, so I panicked and pulled the baby out. I didn’t notice that the cord had wrapped itself around his neck and that he was turning blue. Blood covered my hands.
My mother said it wasn’t my fault, that at the last minute he had decided not to come and stay with us, but I kept seeing that scene over and over again, blood all over the kitchen floor and the look of utter despair on her face. She had wanted a little boy so much. Was I ever enough for her? Perhaps if my brother had lived, my father would have come home, if not for me, at least for him? I made my mother hot soups of rice gruel so she would heal quickly and I resolved to help her whenever I could. We had to move away because she wanted good things for me and nobody would marry me if we stayed in the village, knowing that we had been left by my father. My mother and I set up our new life and we were happy cooking together. I felt at last she was proud of me and I had turned out to be all that she wanted, then I went away with Raul and broke the promises I made to her and myself. And when I left for England, I took her grandchildren away from her. She probably knew what life was going to be like for us and it must have broken her heart but she let me go, let us go. I should have fought harder, done more to keep her.
With baby Ammu, I had an opportunity to make up for things. Just holding her, watching her sleep, gave me such peace despite Ravi’s parents being there. Ravi’s parents came over before she was born and they were to stay for at least four months whilst I went back to the shop part-time. When they arrived, I couldn’t leave my little one, not even for half a day. His mother got very upset when I followed her around as she changed the baby or bathed her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, I just wanted to do it all myself. She would probably say that I was too smothering but I found my mother-in-law suffocating, though I know she meant well. It was a race to see who could get to the cooker and she was always
there first, allowing me no space, not even in my own kitchen.
Maya seemed to get on with her quite well and showed her around and took her to the shops when she needed to go. Satchin didn’t really care if they were there or not and only got annoyed when she told him to keep his music down. She treated Ravi as if he were a child but he was calm about things, saying that she had nothing better to do and was harmless, but she had a hundred and one things to do with her new friends, couldn’t she stay with one of them?
‘It’s just for a short time, Nalu,’ Ravi said, but they seemed to stay forever.
They hardly left the house and I escaped all the social gatherings she threw by taking the baby to the park or popping into the shop. I never stayed too long, I didn’t want to. Maggie insisted that it was time to get back to work but I kept saying I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t that I was depressed after having the baby, but sometimes it felt like I was in a void and had nobody to communicate with, nobody could fully understand the way I really felt about things. I would sit in the park and talk to the baby about how life had been and doing this made me feel scared. It was the first time I had stopped the busyness of my life and listened to all that had happened to us.
Four months went by, and my in-laws had still not left. I tried dropping little hints but nothing. Feelings of inadequacy grew with my mother-in-law’s presence and I, who had prescribed a million pickles, was unable to solve the problem and the more I thought about it, the more it grew. At the back of my mind, I could hear ‘let it go,’ but my mother-in-law seemed to know and touch on my very insecurities.
One evening, she told me how she had bumped into Ravi’s long-lost girlfriend and was debating whether or not to tell him. She said that the reason Ravi never joined the rest of the family in the States was because he came looking for his fiancée who he thought was in London. They had been separated by Idi Amin’s coup. For years he was searching and then he met me, but she wasn’t sure if he had ever given up hope of finding her. I asked her why she was telling me all this. She said she just wanted an opinion.
When Ravi came home, he would head straight for Ammu’s nursery. If I was feeding Ammu, she would turn her head to look at him and he would come over to kiss her. This simple act reminded me of Raul and I shuddered at the memory. At around this time Ravi had to go abroad on business trips and I began to feel a familiar insecurity. I was losing control and I knew it.
Maggie came over and begged me to go back to the shop but I couldn’t, I felt stuck. She said that we could take the baby with us and get someone to mind her. I thought about this but the shop was always so crowded and people would be forever poking and prodding her. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re fine.’
When Ammu was old enough to crawl, she went around the house looking for Maya, calling her M’o, M’o. Maya would scoop her up and talk to her, cuddle her. Both my daughters loved each other and this put my heart at ease. Maya had changed so much since Ammu’s birth, not just with me but with everyone; I could talk to her, laugh with her, she was open and not guarded. The baby brought the two of us together. Ammu would be all right with her big sister, I thought, despite the mother-in-law being there. I could go back to the shop and work in the evenings.
It was a month before Ammu’s first birthday and I hadn’t been in the shop for a while. As I walked in, a stale smell hung in the air. Maggie was not there; Maggie was always there and if she was sick, she would call. Seeing the state of the shop, I panicked; something was very wrong, she would never leave it like this. I phoned Jack. He sounded worried and asked me to visit her, he didn’t know what the problem with Maggie was, she didn’t want to see a doctor and she wouldn’t get out of bed. When I walked into the bedroom, I did not recognise her. She had lost all spirit, her hair had not been dyed, no bright red lipstick, and she looked gaunt. ‘What’s wrong, Maggie, what is it? Are you sick?’ She shook her head and handed me a letter. It was from Tom. She seldom saw Tom these days. He said that he had found himself a lovely girl and was busy with her. The last time I saw him was when I was three months pregnant and this was only by complete accident. Maggie needed to be somewhere and I said I would stand in for her at the shop and Tom came in. ‘This is silly, Tom, you can’t go on avoiding us like this, the children miss you, I miss you.’
‘I heard your news. I hope the baby brings you happiness,’ he replied coldly.
Tom had gone to Ireland with his girlfriend, Elaine, and thought he would look up family whilst he was there. Maggie was a little anxious when he first asked her but she had given him the names of towns so far away from their own that she thought there was not even the remotest possibility that he would find anyone.
I opened the letter:
Dear Maggie,
So you are my Mam, but I can never call you that.
You had so many opportunities to tell me but I had to hear it from a drunk in a bar who says he’s your brother.
Why couldn’t I have heard it from you? All those years of lying. I don’t know what is real anymore. Our life together has been based on lies and deceit, as are those whom you choose to surround yourself with.
It’s enough now, and I don’t want to have any part of it, none of it.
Elaine and I are married and are making our home here in Ireland.
Tom.
Enclosed were a set of Maggie’s house keys. There was nothing I could do to console her as fear swept over me. ‘Maggie, he’ll come around, he’s angry, you’ll see, just give it time,’ was all I could manage, but I didn’t quite believe what I was saying. ‘Come to work, take your mind off it.’ But she refused. ‘Shall I send Maya around?’ I asked, desperately. She shook her head and asked me to leave her alone for a few days.
So Maggie had not been in the shop and nobody had bothered to call me, not even Anita. She said Deepa had gone off four days ago; she didn’t call because she thought she would be back. Govind had gone to find her and there was no sign of Amit, there hadn’t been for the last week. David had gone home because there was nothing to deliver and the produce he had delivered, crates of rotten shrivelled mangoes and other fruit, lay there because no one had cooked it. Anita said she thought she could retrieve the whole situation without me knowing. The kitchen was a mess. I looked at my little bronze Annapurna and she was a dirty black. It was as if the customers could smell the fear and stayed away. I decided that the only thing to do was to close the shop until we got ourselves sorted out.
Putting the closed sign up, I washed the shelves, the floors, the counters, trying to remove the stench that filled the air, but the stains that had seeped into the wood on the counters couldn’t be removed and the smell lingered. The windows and doors were kept open but it was useless; I tried lighting incense sticks and scented candles but nothing helped. I couldn’t understand it; it was only two weeks since I had last come in, how could I have not noticed? It couldn’t have got like this in just a week. How could I not have seen? Anita helped mop the floors and tidy all the empty boxes that cluttered the hallway. I trusted those who worked with me, trusting them completely, giving them the freedom that was so lacking when I was at the factory, but they had taken this without realising its value and had thrown it away. I called the priest; he would be able to do something. He said he would come into the shop the following day.
There was no sound of wind chimes when he came in very early that morning. The look upon his face said it all, like he was going to turn back because he thought he had come to the wrong shop. I told him that anxiety had taken over every corner of my mind and managed to permeate into the shop, fear had taken this space that I had created and filled it with its own clutter and chaos. What was I supposed to do? How could I make it all better? He took off his shoes, stood in the centre of the room and looked up, gazing at me: ‘When gratitude comes, Nalini, it shines its torch on all that is ugly, so all that is ugly and not you, all that is not real, can make its way out. There is nothing I can do. You have to be bold, sit still and face all that comes with h
onesty, courage and dignity, then let it all go.’ He reached for his little tin of sandalwood and placed a spot on my forehead, said a prayer and left. I didn’t feel comforted by his words; they left me with a sense of foreboding.
Did he mean that I had to let the shop go? I couldn’t, we had worked so hard for it. Nothing would make me let it go, I was bigger than fear. I left Ammu with my mother-in-law in the mornings and concentrated on getting the shop back together. Placing a sign outside the window saying ‘Closed for Renovation’, I set to work, scrubbing and cleaning, emptying all the old containers of condiments. The remaining jars of pickles were removed from the shelves and emptied. This was something I had to do for myself so I told Ana and Anita to take some time off. The counters were re-varnished that week and new tiles were put down to replace the chipped and broken ones. Every day, I reached home, exhausted, but going home to that smile and those tiny arms that threw themselves around me recharged me.
Ravi said if I needed any help he would send in some industrial cleaners, but I said that it was something that I needed to do. He then said that his brother was coming over on a business trip from the States with a colleague and maybe his parents would take a decision to leave with him. A huge burden would be lifted from me if he could arrange that and we could get back to being a family again. I could finally take charge of my home again. He said they would be coming over in ten days and would be staying in a hotel in Central London. Ten days, ten days would give me enough time to finish the shop and then I could get back in the kitchen and cook them a meal. ‘I’ll cook something nice,’ I said. Ravi looked surprised; it had been a while since I had cooked anything at home and Ravi said there was really no need. His mother could do it or we could eat out. ‘No,’ I insisted. ‘The shop will be finished and I really feel it is something I want to do.’ He put his arms around me.