by Bajwa, Rupa
He came across many women in the sari shop, with its intense atmosphere of pervading femininity, but it was only the sight of Sudha, fully clothed, doing ordinary household chores, that could inflame Ramchand completely.
There was a tap in the courtyard where she usually washed the clothes. He loved to see her hitch up her sari, or the pauncha of her salwaar, and squat there, calmly scrubbing and rinsing clothes. She always seemed so unhurried, so calm, so different from the demanding customers and the neighbourhood women who were always quarrelling with each other in the streets. Many a time did Ramchand undress her in his imagination, stroking her midriff, touching her alluring pale ankle, running his hands through her long hair, biting her downy neck, unbuttoning the tight sari blouses she wore, slipping his hand under her petticoat…
His fantasies made him worry that he was not respecting her as he should. To make himself feel better, he was extra polite whenever he happened to meet her, but continued to fantasize about her when he was alone. But her newly wed self hadn’t lasted long. In quick succession she had given birth to three children, two boys and a girl. She named them Manoj, Vishnu and Alka. Ramchand could never see the children playing about without feeling surprised that the slim, young woman he knew had produced all of them so efficiently, with the right number of toes and ears in the right places. The eldest boy, Manoj, had grown up to be a smart, sarcastic child who treated Ramchand with great disdain whenever their paths crossed. At the age of nine and a half, he was capable of completely intimidating Ramchand. No matter what Ramchand said, he was unable to quell the mocking air of superiority that Manoj adopted whenever he spoke to Ramchand. Vishnu was a friendly, boisterous boy. He was addicted to the new songs from Hindi films that played on the radio. He would dance energetically in the courtyard, copying all the dance steps that Shah Rukh Khan and Hrithik Roshan did in their films. Alka, the youngest, resembled her mother. She was a bit of a show off, preening in front of the living-room mirror whenever she had a new frock on, and reciting ‘Baa-baa black sheep’ in the courtyard loud enough for Ramchand to listen. Her eyes were like Sudha’s, so was her flat nose. Ramchand almost felt a fatherly affection for Alka.
The landlord also surprised Ramchand by being very ambitious for his children. He had always struck Ramchand as a dull, uninteresting man. Yet now he was an energetic, eager, committed father. He bought bright-coloured clothes for his children himself – Mickey Mouse lime greens and Garfield fluorescent oranges. He fed them almonds throughout the year and cod liver oil in the winters to improve their brains and prevent colds. He sent them, including his daughter, to an English-medium school. His wife contented herself with cooking meals, cleaning the house and washing clothes, her placid manner intact, while he took over the responsibility of bringing up his children to be successful in the new world that was emerging – the world of English speaking jobs and passports and visas and big companies in Ludhiana, Chandigarh and Delhi.
And once, when the landlord had come up to collect the rent, he had told Ramchand, ‘This money that I take from you every month, this goes straight into a special bank account. Not a rupee will I spend till we have saved enough to move out of the inner city. Then my children can study in an even better school and become something. They will learn to actually talk in English, not just write essays and all. Maybe they can even learn to swim in a real swimming pool.’
At his words, Ramchand had remembered with a pang his own father’s plans of sending his son to an English-medium school.
The landlord’s family still hadn’t moved, but Manoj could already sing a whole song in English.
9
Ramchand was once again sitting on the drawing-room carpet of the Kapoor House, with his bundle of finery. This morning Mahajan had told him that they wanted to see a few more georgette lehngas that came with gossamer net chunnis.
Mrs Kapoor and Rina had just settled down, and he had just opened his bundle when the servant, Raghu, came in and said, ‘Memsahib, there is someone to see the younger memsahib. She says her name is Mrs Sachdeva.’
Mrs Kapoor got visibly irritated. ‘Really, Rina, now these people have started to come to our home also. We are friends with the highest status families in Amritsar. Even in Delhi, people from top business families know of us. And just because of you, we have these ordinary, professor-type, service-class women coming here.’
Rina looked at her mother coldly. ‘Mother, there are other things in the world besides money. You know, this is a big world, and out there, there are people who are considered very high status because of their learning, because of the work they have done. And it is not like this respect, respect from a few small towners, a few crass businessmen. No,’ her eyes gleamed, ‘it is respect from all over the world, from the academic, cultured world. It is recognition in its true sense.’
‘It is wisest,’ Rina said to her mother, ‘to take the best of both the worlds.’
Then turning to Raghu, she said, ‘Raghu, send her in, and please bring in some cold drinks or tea or something.’
Mrs Sachdeva was ushered in. She wore a muted rust and beige silk sari and a thin string of pearls around her neck. There were tiny pearl drops at her ears and her hair was done back in a plain bun. She advanced to Rina with her hand outstretched. Rina got up, smiling.
They shook hands. Then Mrs Sachdeva said, ‘I got your invitation card, my dear. So, so happy to hear the good news. I was passing by and I thought I’d just drop in to congratulate you.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Rina said. ‘It is so kind of you.’
Then Mrs Sachdeva said a polite Namaste to Mrs Kapoor. Mrs Kapoor replied with a tight little smile.
‘So, my dear, how are things going?’ Mrs Sachdeva asked Rina.
Mrs Kapoor excused herself and went out, telling Ramchand she’d be back soon. That woman, speaking in English on purpose, just to show her up, she thought, as she left the room fuming. Well, they didn’t even have their own house, they lived in accommodation provided by the college, so she wasn’t going to bother about this sort of a woman.
Ramchand sat waiting. Nobody even seemed to notice that he was around. He sat on the carpet with his bundle of saris, watching the two women exchange pleasantries in English. He listened attentively. He should be able to make out everything now. This was like a test.
Now, Rina and Mrs Sachdeva, relieved of Mrs Kapoor’s restraining presence, launched into an involved conversation.
‘So nice for you, and actually, Rina, I am glad you are not marrying into one of those business families. I mean, I don’t mean to be offensive, but a girl like you does need a more cultured atmosphere to explore her potential.’
Rina pursed her lips. Ramchand listened carefully. ‘Explore potential’ was difficult, but he persevered.
‘Well, ma’am, as you know, there have been cloth merchants and jewellers in this old city for years, even before the Partition,’ Rina said, ‘so it is very difficult to break out of the commercial streak that runs through one’s life. There are, of course, what we call the “service class” families. They look down upon us moneyed, uncultured ones, and we look down upon them, for they have no money, no big houses, though I must say that these days, with bribes and all, even they are doing quite well. Most of them have big houses at the outskirts of the city. Also ancestral property, I suppose. Some Sikh families, even the most ordinary-seeming of them, sometimes own quite a lot of land in villages.’
Mrs Sachdeva was listening intently.
Rina continued, ‘But the chasm is great. Maybe in my own way, I am seeking to span that gap.’
Mrs Sachdeva gave a pleased sigh. ‘Really, Rina, I do admire you. Maybe an MA in Anthropology would have been better for you. You even manage to place yourself and your own family in society with so much objectivity.’
Rina smiled. At this moment, Raghu brought in a tray bearing cups of tea and fried cashew nuts in a glinting glass bowl. Rina served the tea, and continued to talk, ‘Well, literature and anthro
pology are closely connected. I just hope I can achieve something. Make sense of things. In our strange, multi-layered society that is a very, very difficult thing to do.’
Ramchand thought he understood some of this, at least the bit about trying to make sense of things, but then the two went into a lengthy conversation, talking about post-colonialism, paradigms of poverty, Indo-Anglian writing, and many other things. All these things went completely over Ramchand’s head, he couldn’t follow the conversation any more and he began to feel a little sad and sulky. Then he cheered up. After all, he still hadn’t reached the letter ‘p’ in his dictionary. Once he did, he’d probably know as much about post-colonialism and paradigms of poverty as they did.
Then Mrs Sachdeva looked at her watch and said, ‘Oh, my dear. I have been here for almost half an hour. Didn’t mean to spend so long. And you were in the middle of your wedding shopping, I see,’ she said, glancing at Ramchand, without recognizing him as the shop assistant who had sold her so many saris, and had got many a headache in the process.
‘I do hope your mother won’t be cross with me,’ Mrs Sachdeva said, getting up and patting the pleats of her sari.
‘Oh, no, not at all. I personally like these spontaneous visits more than formal meetings,’ Rina reassured her with a charming smile. ‘And you will be coming to the wedding, won’t you?’ she asked the older woman.
‘Of course, my dear,’ said Mrs Sachdeva. Then she placed a hand on Rina’s shoulder. ‘You know, Rina, sometimes teaching can become stagnant work. You ask yourself at the end of the day whether it is worth it, but with a student like you, it has been a real pleasure. I will watch your future progress with great interest. I do hope, Rina, that you will not let the mundane things of life take over the real things.’
‘Never,’ said Rina, with steely determination in her voice.
Then Mrs Kapoor came in. Mrs Sachdeva smiled at her and said goodbye, and then departed.
Rina resumed the brisk, business-like air that made her resemble her mother, and the two women quickly chose what they wanted. Ramchand cycled back, going over every word of the conversation he had heard that day, trying to fit the pieces together. On Saturday evening, Hari nodded and winked at Ramchand, motioning him to come over to the remotest corner of the shop. When Ramchand did, Hari whispered to him, ‘I’ve got three tickets for Kaho Na Pyaar Hai, for tomorrow’s matinee show. At Sangam Cinema Hall. They are running it again this week. I don’t know why they can’t show the latest films, but this one I do want to watch again. You, me and Subhash. Okay?’
Ramchand was about to refuse. Hadn’t he resolved not to waste any more Sundays watching films with Hari? But he had been studying his books regularly. It would be a nice break. ‘Okay,’ he whispered to Hari.
Hari said, ‘For the morning show, Subhash and I are going to watch Gadar. That is a new release. You want to come for that too? It is supposed to be a super blockbuster. We haven’t got the tickets for it yet, though. It is playing at Adarsh. It is too far away to go all the way there just for advance booking. We are just hoping we’ll be lucky and will be able to get the tickets when we get there. You want to come for that?’
‘Two films in a day?’ Ramchand asked, his voice uncertain.
‘Yes,’ Hari answered gleefully.
Ramchand wavered for a moment and then remembered all his virtuous resolutions. Also, he knew most Sunny Deol films were very violent.
‘No, no, both of you go for Gadar and then meet me outside Sangam for Kaho Na Pyaar Hai, okay? I’ll just watch that one.’
‘Okay,’ Hari said. ‘You are sure? Gadar is a big hit, and you have already seen Kaho Na Pyaar Hai once.’
‘Yes, but I have almost forgotten it, I didn’t watch it a hundred times like you did. And I really like the songs. And there will be too much violence in Gadar. I have seen the posters,’ Ramchand said, resolving to spend the morning with his books before he went for the matinee show, so that he could watch the film with a clear conscience.
Hari shrugged, ‘Okay, whatever you like.’
The next morning, Ramchand washed his clothes, cleaned up his room, took a bath and then sat down with the essay book. He carefully started reading an essay titled ‘Science: A boon or a curse?’
He could read much more smoothly now.
Science has made great progress for mankind, he read. Because of science, in fields of medicine and technology, there is great progress. Cures for many diseases have been found. Day to day facilities are many now, like household appliances. Science has solved many of our problems.
But every coin has two sides.
Science may be a boon, but it can also be a curse. Because of science, there is pollution and there are wars. Plastic bags and gases from factories are spoiling the environment. Toxic things are in our drinking water. So we must be careful how to use science.
One sentence in the paragraph struck Ramchand as very profound. Every coin has two sides. There are always two ways of looking at a thing. No one had ever told Ramchand that. According to Gokul, Mahajan, Hari, Shyam, Rajesh, and even the landlord (Chander hardly ever spoke to him), things were either good or bad. This new way of looking at things interested Ramchand very much. In fact, he berated himself – he should have been able to think this out for himself. There were many instances he remembered in the shop, when a particular sari, disdainfully rejected by one woman, would be eagerly pounced upon by another. He should have thought of this then. He had no originality! And what a nice way of putting it, every coin has two sides. He had never heard that before, so beautifully put. He noted down the sentence in his notebook in careful handwriting that was getting better every day.
Ramchand kept a careful eye on the clock. The show was at three in the afternoon. At two, he combed his hair once again, put some money in his wallet to pay Hari for the ticket, then slipped his jar of Zandu pain balm in his pocket, in case he got a headache. Then he locked his room and went downstairs. The mangy dog who lived in the street was sleeping right across his doorstep. Ramchand carefully stepped over him and walked to Sangam Cinema.
The bazaars were closed today. Stray dogs sunned themselves on the roads. A few families from the outer, newer city came in cars to the old city on Sundays, to visit the Golden Temple or the Durgiana Mandir and to later eat at one of the famous dhabas.
But outside Sangam cinema hall, crowds milled around near the ticket window, pushing and shoving. A huge hoarding of the film, in which Hrithik Roshan and Ameesha Patel’s faces looked almost vermilion, had been put up outside.
Ramchand tried to spot Hari and Subhash.
He soon saw them both waving wildly at him from the middle of the crowd. He hurried to join them. ‘You fools,’ he said to them, ‘why did you have to go and stand in the middle of the crowd?’
‘You are the fool,’ Hari said, ‘if you think we did it on purpose. The crowd just crawled all over us till we were lost in the middle of it.’
They all grinned and called each other names and clapped each other on the backs, so that the right mood was set to watch the film together.
‘Good we have the tickets,’ said Ramchand, looking at the sea of fighting humans at the ticket counter.
‘Yes,’ said Hari, ‘we really had to push and fight to get tickets for Gadar in the morning.’
‘Oh, I forgot, how was it?’ asked Ramchand,
‘Zabardast! Great film,’ said Subhash. ‘And Sunny Deol is great, yaar. I really think he might actually bash up Pakistanis if he met them.’
‘That’s why I don’t like him,’ said Ramchand.
‘Why, don’t you think Pakistanis should be bashed up?’ Hari demanded.
‘Why talk of Pakistanis? Let us go and see if they are letting people in now,’ Ramchand said evasively.
They were. The three made their way into the dark interior of the cinema hall. The walls were paan-stained, the floor was littered with peanut shells and empty packs of Ruffles chips. The tickets had no seat numbers, so there
was a general scrimmage for seats. The three settled themselves in comfortably soon enough and waited for the film to start. Hari sat between Subhash and Ramchand and he took out a bag of groundnuts from his packet. The three cracked open the shells, munching and talking happily.
Subhash and Hari put their feet up on the seats in the front, and Subhash regaled them with stories from the Ladies’ Fancy Store.
‘One day a woman came in to buy earrings. After a while, another came in to look at some bangles. And suddenly, at the same moment, they caught sight of this lamp shade, bottle green with a gold fringe. And they immediately asked how much it was. And would you believe it, when we told them we had only one piece, they fought each other like mad dogs. We just didn’t know what to do. They started calling each other names. I was afraid they’d soon start pulling out each other’s hair. And all over a silly lamp shade. Women!’ Subhash said disbelievingly. ‘They are capable of anything.’
‘We don’t have fights in our shop like that, do we, Ramchand?’ said Hari. ‘Must be something to do with Subhash’s face. He is so ugly that after you have seen him once, you have to take it out on something or someone,’ Hari said, giggling. Subhash punched him, and then he began to giggle too. Soon, Ramchand joined in and they laughed hysterically, Hari almost choking on a nut in his mouth.
‘And there was this woman,’ said Subhash, ‘who leaned so far over to look at the hair clips displayed under the glass counter that she didn’t realize I could see down her blouse and see everything.’
Hari roared at this, but Ramchand sobered up a little. ‘Ramchand is a saint, don’t talk like this in front of him,’ joked Hari.
‘No, I am not,’ Ramchand said, smiling quietly, thinking of Sudha. After all, there was no need to get crass about every woman one saw. For him, Sudha was enough.
Suddenly, the dim lights went off and the cinema hall became pitch dark. ‘It’s going to begin,’ said Hari.
The titles rolled, people began to whistle and stamp. After all, Kaho Na Pyaar Hai had been a superhit a couple of years back. Hari and Subhash began to whistle and stamp along with the others in the audience. ‘Please,’ Ramchand urged them, ‘what are you doing? Stop, both of you.’