Girl in a million

by Anitha Padanattil

After a few months, it was decided that I would travel to Alappuzha, the land of the houseboats and rippling waters, with my mother. It was hoped that recuperation of the body and mind might be attained. But what of the soul, I wondered? Of the unseeing eyes that looked away. Silent, bitter, unyielding.

  Hours were spent by the lagoon…contemplating. Watching the boats drift by. Fishermen working with their nets. The strange child was noted and commented upon. Did she speak the local language? Friendly passers-by drifted towards me and tried to strike up a conversation. Did I go to school? Was I sick? Did I have a family? I chose silence. The most effective tool. The light in my eyes had faded and that proved to be a deterrent. Slowly, I was left alone. Alone, to mull within my own thoughts.

  I was made the butt of their jokes. Compared to Kurinji13 who lived under the frangipani tree next to the well, a frangipani blossom tucked above her ear and curly unkempt hair streaked with dreadlocks, abstract mannerisms and clothes that reeked of piss, I could easily pass off as her younger self. Cruel jibes that should have hurt, yet, did not. They popped off me just like the darts that bounced off dartboards. In fact, I loved listening to the coarse taunts and abuses that accompanied the filthy language. I felt no curiosity at meeting Kurinji, my nemesis. She was in her own private hell I assumed, same as I.

  My poor mother was at her wits’ end. Unable to reach out and desperation reaching critical levels, I was forced to meet the Wise One on the recommendation of the locals. Something would come by. That was their solemn assurance.

  *

  Margie

  (continued)

  Pesky bright buttons. Those were her eyes, the ones that sparkled. The things I could glean from those eyes…. oh, what mischief they carried! Sagu remained the life and soul of our group. Bit by bit, the transformation was complete. The language was learnt. She was corrected and rebuked for failing to use respectful words. Murugan, the school watchman, became her tutor. She spent time with him and he in turn, became her ardent fan. So enamored was he of Sagu that he called her Sagupaapaa8, his little one.

  A day away from school entailed worried checks by Murugan following which, a quick after-school trip to her home ensued. Sagu’s family welcomed him and he soon turned into a regular visitor. Murugan was apparently a son of the soil. And that was how he came to take charge of their little garden which soon teemed with ornamental plants in the front, fruit trees at the sides and a tiny kitchen garden lush with herbs and assorted vegetation in the backyard.

  Sagu spent hours with him, honing her new skill. In turn, she taught him rudimentary English. Master now became student and received sharp rebukes from the young teacher. Sagu’s mother upon watching Murugan’s consternation, often reprimanded his impudent tutor and asked her to be patient with him as he was unlettered. To Murugan, however, his ‘paapaa’ did nothing wrong. After all, he needed to be perfect. So, he smiled and grinned along with her in all happiness.

  Two summers passed in this delightful manner. It was a period of happiness and shared bonding. We were required to choose the stream that would decide our future career. I chose Humanities, as I did not want any subject that was too stressful. I would make sense out of it once I was out of school. I would consider the share market perhaps? Time was a precious commodity to us. We would be in separate divisions by the next academic year and that by itself was an unthinkable option.

  Ratna and Sagu chose the science stream. Ratna was focused while Sagu was not. She chose science, as she did not want to be saddled with me. Ratna was not meddlesome and was quite independent so she would be free to pursue her interests apparently. Shruthi selected the home science option. She would be a good homemaker. Ophthalmology, she realized required a lot of effort and dedication, which was not her forte. We visualized her home; a happy one, with good food, laughter and contentment. The perfect wife and the ideal mother. That would be our Shruthi.

  Never in our wildest dreams did we imagine our Sagu, to be running an independent organization. Sagu, of the childish laughter and constant companion, would turn out to be Doctor S one day. That she would be loved and revered by all was an unassailable belief. But to be looked upon as the epitome of efficiency, was an incomprehensible thought.

  How times change!

  How the tides turn!

  What we plan, is not what is meant to be.

  Yet, what we were yesterday, matter little to the one we are today.

  Whom we think we know, has changed to someone unfamiliar.

  Everything is a flow. Shift has become the new constant.

  There is never a full stop. The focus on the pause remains palpable.

  The flow remains. That’s stability.

  *

  The Bend is in Sight

  Joining the endless queue that led to a small mud-tiled hut, I felt something stir in me. Something that was akin to curiosity. Watching families young and old, the squalling children, people with troubles writ large on their brow murmuring away, with gossip and animated discussions on just about every topic under the sun such as religion and the Wise One, the revered one’s family and their connections, the weather, one’s job, income and expenses of everyone concerned, conjecture, rivalries, state of the city, politics, animal husbandry, Kurinji and me etc., endless were the topics that were debated upon. My mother blanched and cringed. I was fascinated by the varied hues in her complexion as she eavesdropped shamelessly.

  There was the long wait within the compound of the house and another interminable squat in the long open verandah. Jostling for space, I craned my neck to look in, as the door was ajar. A twinkling pair of eyes met my gaze. Taken aback, I looked away. As we neared the room I looked in once again and observed an entire wall covered with the pictures of deities. The man himself, clad in a white veshti8, was reed thin and had scrawny gray hair. Sweat coursed through his body thereby explaining the discarded shirt within the small room. His smile widened on watching me observing him as he nodded at my mother. While he listened through her litany, I shut them out preferring to look outside instead. Did the sky turn a deep blue and the tulsi (basil) plant in the central courtyard a shade too green? I shifted my focus on the persons just outside looking at us, waiting for their turn. Could it be this simple then, to dump one’s baggage? To receive the much needed respite? Was this the place that offered solutions for salvation? Temporary salvation! Never mind the sweat and the heat. Amazement coursed through me; at the realization that measurable hope could be rendered by a single person.

  I turned and watched my mother speak. The Wise One grinned and uttered a single word, ‘Koteeswari’ – girl in a million. My mother’s flow of words halted and she looked at me thunderstruck. I remained calm. Unsmiling. Watched the camphor being lit. Accepted the proffered lemon. I felt the tremor in my mother’s body as she folded her hands in obeisance and bent low, forehead touching the floor. The Wise man’s piercing glance fell over me once again after which, he bent sideways to allow the next fervent devotee to tumble in.

  We made our way back, down the rickety lane. Back to our rented one-roomed flat. My mother kept a tight hold of my hand. We were silent. Immersed on our thoughts. Efforts to initiate a conversation with me were always rebuffed. It was as though I was punishing her. In reality, I was punishing myself. For not trusting in them, not opening up. Perhaps, they could have halted what was to have happened. Instead, I brought them down to this. It was me, all along. Yet, they nurtured. Tried to kindle the flame. I was their precious first-born. The one who had bought in the magic. I had always known their love.

  “This is not a disease, my child,” she had told me with brimming eyes. “It will pass. You’ll see.”

  “Let it go, my baby. Just throw it away and come back to us.”

  Hopelessness welled. I had hurt everyone close to me. Dare I dream again?

  Feeling suffocated, I rushed out. Walked to my regular spot. Sat down to watch the still waters. Yet another day would pass in this manner.

  *

  S
hruthi

  April 1990

  We were thrilled. The cat was finally out of the bag. And so, we were making our trip to Malayapuram with Sagu dearest, to meet her Ammumma - the family matriarch.

  We had offered her our support. In fact, we were bristling with it. In another bogie sat Deenanna with two of his pals. He had agreed to come. One last favor just before he joined duty in Pune. The two groups agreed that utmost secrecy was to be followed. Deenanna and Co. would stay close to the home and not at the Malayapuram house. Our plan was on being around for three days. In fact, the return tickets were already booked. Sagu would stay back with her parents of course. She was happy and that mattered to us.

  It was the perfect trip. The stately home with its many rooms sat amidst two medium sized ponds on either side surrounded by cashew, mango, drumstick, guava, jackfruit and, coconut trees and lush bamboo foliage framing the eastern border of the property. A tiny rivulet ran through the front of the house and we would be absorbed in the silver fishlings and sparkling waters merrily rushing through. Sagu’s uncle stayed close by with his family and he visited the home twice every day. Meeting his mother was mandatory. Watching the siblings converse with their mother left us reeling. Sagu’s mother and her uncle discussed events with the ease of long practice. Their hands, eyes and mouths synchronized as they pointed and prodded at each other to emphasize what they wished to convey. Sagu would watch and interpret the actions as best as she could while we looked on. Ammumma smiled and hugged all of us reserving a special seat for Ratna by her side. We huddled as close as we could, attracted by her radiance as her love enveloped us in its warmth.

  Marge was the first to notice the sidelong, furtive glances. Later, Shruthi and Ratna kept an eye on Velan as well. After the first day, he served us tea and went about his tasks in the house.

  Shruthi disliked the sight of him while Marge began to think of ways to alert Deenanna. There was a telephone in Sagu’s uncle’s home but not the house we were in. There was nothing else to do but bring the guys to the scene of action. Sagu plucked up the courage to inform her parents about Deenanna and Co. after being chastised albeit mildly by Sagu’s parents and Ammumma for not joining the girls at the grand home. Arrangements to board in the room upstairs - the one with the double bed were made. More mattresses were bought out from the attic, dusted thoroughly and placed outside in the hot sun. Water was drawn from the kitchen well and poured into cement containers placed within the rudimentary toilets. These were small rooms with sloping floors that had a shallow sinkhole towards a corner that led to the pipes outside. Washing up and bigger jobs necessitated the use of the only facility built downstairs adjacent to the dining area. This had running water and a small toilet bowl. Ammumma’s bedroom on the ground floor had an attached washroom with a toilet bowl that was fixed a few years earlier on account of her arthritic knees. The adjacent room that we crowded into also had a miniscule bath area with a ground level squat toilet and mercifully, a tap with running water.

  Sagu’s parents chose the adjacent room upstairs with the four-poster bed. The next two days were filled with endless chatter and laughter. Since big brother and team had joined us, we felt reassured and safe. Our anxiousness evaporated. We talked more. Laughed more. And were persuaded to stay for a week instead of the three days. Velan and Sagu’s dad went to rebook the tickets. Evenings were spent playing badminton and carom. Sagu’s parents would join us for a game of cards. We breezed through the week alternating between trips to the pond and tumbling through the attic that were populated by nesting pigeons. Sagu’s brother was a sweet child. He simply joined our pack like a little lamb and followed us everywhere.

  I loved the house with its tall rafters and pillars of wood. The heavy front door had brass padlocks and almost all the windows and furniture within the house were made of teakwood and wood from the resident jackfruit tree. The gateway on the road led up to the house after a short drive and birds and farm animals dotted the landscape. The house overlooking the paddy fields that were left fallow on account of labor shortage was for us, our spacious playground. We envied Sagu and thought that handling Velan was too small a price to pay in the face of such grandeur. How wrong we were to have made such an assumption!

  Apart from Velan who stayed to keep Ammumma company as well as being the general house help, there were two other women who came in to help with the running of the house. Vellachi attended to the tasks that required attention outside of the house such as, sweeping of the front and backyard, washing of all utensils and clothes, feeding the chickens, milking the cows, cleaning the cowshed and chopping firewood for the next day. The other woman named Prema, cleaned the interior of the house, drew water from the well, helped with the cooking, and served food at the table.

  The house was run efficiently with Ammumma in charge. Velan, a distant relative and supposedly from a penniless background, was a school dropout. He was Ammumma’s right hand and filled in for any task that required execution. On one occasion when the TV simply refused to stream images, Velan clambered onto the slippery red tiled roof and straightened the antenna to its rightful position. It had been knocked down by the wind, apparently. A silent, slight and dim figure who hardly ever spoke, we learnt to avoid him and focused on our activities with gay abandon.

  Raw jackfruit and coconut curry for lunch, sliced, deep-fried jackfruit wedges for tea, and succulent portions of the fruit for dessert heralded the jackfruit season. We ate until our stomachs protested after which we were fed rice gruel and toasted lentil wafers for breakfast and lunch. When we howled at this, out came the fish curries and boiled eggs with steaming hot rice. Sagu’s parents and Ammumma were generous hosts. We were left to our own devices during the day. Sagu taught us the art of climbing trees. We became adept little monkeys and spent time spinning our little stories perched on the lofty branches while we learnt to avoid being stung by troops of marching red ants that swarmed the bark in rough patches.

  There was just over a day to go and we had done nothing about Velan. What would Deenanna do? Scare him or pester him? So far, the man didn’t seem to be the monster that Sagu had made him out to be. Perhaps it was her overactive imagination. She did read a lot. But could we just let it be? The ‘what if’s’ brought us back together…. back to what we had planned this little trip for. A hasty conference with Deenanna was required.

  Big brother calmed us down, said he would handle it. His chest was all puffed up with importance. His friends nodded their heads sagely. So, we went back to our frenzied activities…now that the hours were drawing to a close.

  Evening was pack up time. Sagu pleaded with Ratna to stay for a few more days. I would return with Marge and the big brother team. Our parents would freak out if we stayed any longer and Sagu knew that. Ratna was different. Back to the hostel was not an enticing option. And once again, off went Sagu’s father to rebook Ratna’s ticket. She would stay for three days. Not a minute more. Sagu was overjoyed and we were glum. We would leave the next morning. In the meantime, we spied Deenanna brandishing his bruised knuckles. All done. Time to split.

  Morning dawned. The open jeep had come an hour earlier. Bags needed to be loaded and Velan was called for. Sagu’s brother was sent to fetch him since Velan did not seem to be around. As he scurried away, we stole secret looks at each other. Sagu seemed worried. The big brother team seemed blasé about it. Amidst the perplexed looks exchanged by Sagu’s parents and Ammumma, the boys hefted the bags onto the vehicle. Sagu’s brother returned with the message that Velan was feeling unwell and that he looked sick. With a shrug, Marge, the big brother team and I clambered onto the jeep. Sagu’s father came along to see us off. We waved our goodbyes and moved away.

  It was back to reality from now. Our idyllic existence had ended and we had to be back in school in a few days’ time. The threat of the Board exams loomed over all. We would then go our separate ways after that. For me, this meet was packed with precious memories. Memories that enchanted and drew out the benign. Raw
anguish that robbed a house of its essence came later. Immediately afterwards.

  *

  The Tempest after the Ruin

  (The following is an extract reproduced from the archives of ‘The Reader’s Review.’ 11)

  The 1990 Machilipatnam Cyclone was the worst disaster to affect Southern India since the 1977 Andhra Pradesh cyclone. The system was first noted as a depression on May 4, 1990, while it was located over the Bay of Bengal about 600 km to the southeast of Madras, India. During the next day the depression intensified into a cyclonic storm and started to escalate rapidly, becoming a super cyclonic storm by the morning of May 8. The cyclone weakened slightly before it made landfall on India about 300 km to the north of Madras in the Andhra Pradesh state as a very severe cyclonic storm with winds of 165 km/h. The cyclone had a severe impact on India, with over 967 people reportedly killed. Over 100,000 animals also died in the cyclone with the total cost of damages to crops estimated at over $600 million.

  ***

  Those were the days of furore. Of confusion and desperation. Exams dates were postponed until further notice. Our sense of anxiousness was pronounced. Most homes were destroyed either partially or totally. Battered trees, flying debris, choked drains and blocked roads were a common sight. Public life was stilled. Banks and offices were closed and availability of precious commodities was meager. Those who had reserves of cash at hand, managed to get by. Drinking water was scarce and water from the wells turned undrinkable.

  There was a wave of typhoid and dysentery and hospitals and private clinics were choc-a-block with patients. The government hospitals had barred fresh patients from entering the premises and public transport had come to a standstill. The Central Government had announced a relief package for those affected and it took almost ten days for the city to get back to its feet.