Girl in a million

by Anitha Padanattil

  [Inset: A leaf out of the original copybook has been reprinted for the reader’s reference.]

  …. and so on.

  Marge was paid a student allowance, which she offered to forego and divide by three to enable topping up of her co-workers’ salaries. Peter eagerly accepted the offer as he too found the going difficult and promised to reimburse her once business picked up. Her irked colleagues Babu, John and, Antony remained unaware of this gesture. Their asperity increased as the girl began moving up the level to begin her apprenticeship on four-wheelers and they now considered quitting the center. The prospect was an uphill task as they were not getting any younger. Worry settled upon them like a cloud as they had grown to think of the workplace as their second home. Peter was a kind and considerate employer and they had most of the vehicular services centered on their little enterprise. A dwindling income was one among several issues they had to contend with and to move to the city to look for alternate arrangements frankly worried them.

  On site, the girl was offered no privacy and had to share the same wash-cum-restroom that was used by the male members. Jokes and humor stilled when she neared the vicinity. Often Marge would return home teary-eyed and humiliated. It has to be noted here that, had her father not provided unstinting support and encouragement, Marge would have given up on her passion without hesitation. Also with fierce Deenanna out of the way, the father-daughter duo was free to live their lives in the manner that they thought fit.

  Once Marge decided to take a day off to meet her college mates. It was a sudden decision. The idea was to convince them to visit the garage and avail their services since they offered the best rates in the area. The so-called offer was a desperate gamble. Marge knew that she was offering a lot for something she had no control over but she needed the men around her. She needed to stay in the garage. Books were never meant to be, in her case. She had found the love of her life and for that to remain on its feet, she had to trust her instincts. Her only prayer was that she would be taken seriously.

  Babu, John and, Antony on the other hand, seized the opportunity to confront Peter. The idea was to convince him of the necessity in sending away the young upstart. A novel idea such as this was proving to be a detriment and only young, eligible men came up to have their vehicles serviced while they checked out the girl and cooked up petty favors. It was beneath them to watch such goings-on when business was not doing really well. Peter had noticed the simmering tension and resentment amongst his male workers for quite a while although the girl had never mentioned anything of importance to him. Barring the girl’s voluntary distribution of her allowance towards the three, never, for once had she spoken of any issue that disturbed or upset her. Peter was secretly impressed by her courage and resilience. Her dedication and commitment towards the craft of her choice was a heroic feat. Gently admonishing the men for failing to see the good in the girl who was also indirectly supporting their families (in a minor way) and continuing to follow the same male oriented thinking that forced women within the four walls of their homes, Peter said that he supported Marge totally and that they were free to leave if they wanted to do so. For him, it was the quality of work and the eagerness to deliver that mattered not, petty politics.

  The three men were suitably chastened and quiet, mulling over Peter’s words over cups of tea when sounds of vehicles churning up the driveway echoed through the thin walls of the garage. Rushing out, they watched a bevy of two-wheelers enter the compound and park within the premises. It was Marge, who had brought along her friends to check out the workshop that she was interning in. The curious students admired the girl and her tenacity and mentioned as much. The three men were vociferous in their agreement to Marge’s surprise and proceeded to show them around. Peter discussed the rates for the services offered and announced a 20% discount on the total bill for all the students and their friends.

  The ‘Bullet Girl’ had thus, officially come into being. Marge was gifted a second hand Royal Enfield Bullet after the stupendous closing of sales for the second month in succession. Peter was glad that his instincts did not fail him. Desertion of three of his best employees would have meant that the garage be closed down. It was an off-the-cuff decision he had made when challenged. But the move had worked in his favor and he was glad about the outcome. The girl, he had to admit was good. She was good with all vehicles but the two-wheelers, those were her specialty. How she managed to write and clear her second and third year exams were a mystery but no one cared about that anyway. Besides having the college kids and staff over at his garage at all times, there were people from around the city and far-flung areas who travelled with their vehicles just to have it set right by the Bullet Girl. Marge was quoted as an example and her dedication for the craft was highlighted. She became the toast of her co-workers and her neighbors swore by her name when they picked on their children. Many college dropouts stopped by the workshop to enquire for vacancies and work under her as interns but, she referred them to Babu, John and, Antony in deference to their age and experience. The three men in turn, taught the girl all that they knew and pestered Peter to construct a separate washroom with a tiny cubicle for her. This, for her was true recognition!

  In time, Marge’s father helped her start her first workshop in the city. It was named Peter’s Auto service center in honor of her mentor. An overwhelmed Peter offered to handover the garage he had built from scratch to Marge while retaining a share of the profits and she gladly accepted. He retired from the field, easy at heart and happy in the belief that his enterprise would continue to flourish. It was providence that had brought Marge to him and what a legacy the girl was continuing to create! Babu, John and Antony were elevated to Managerial positions and they had a team of fine young men and women to help with the sales and after service jobs. Most of the apprentices who had interned with them at the original center were retained by Marge and together; they handled the running of the new workshops admirably well.

  The time was right for the town’s favorite girl to get hitched. Soon, the father of the local church sent word that a suitable boy had been found and indeed, by God’s Grace, he was a fine young man. True to his nature, the groom demonstrated complete acceptance and supported his wife’s unusual work ethos. Thus, Marge Xavier was married off to Packiam Samuel and was henceforth known as Mrs. Marge ‘Bullet’ Packiam.

  *

  For five years, the couple remained childless. Marge was a busy woman and with Packiam receiving an overseas job offer that included a year of study, the odds were closing in. It was mutually decided that he would fly to Orlando and complete his course and return. Frequent calls notwithstanding, it took a year and a half for him to return and savor life once again with his successful wife. Marge’s father was gradually turning frail and the couple insisted that he move in with them. When official duties upped the pressure forcing Packiam to consider yet another offer that would take him to where he had been placed earlier, Marge saw red and put down her foot. It was high time that they started planning for a family but it didn’t seem likely that Marge would ever throw away what she had painstakingly built after all the struggle over the years. Kids were but a natural step towards the progression of a family and as such, five years had flown away without either of them realizing the fact. Before the ladies of the community read her the riot act, they’d better show some progress after which she assured him, he was free to take up whatever offers came his way.

  And so, the trials and tribulations began. Guided by an able gynecologist, Martha and Packiam stepped into the emerging world of parenthood. Their initial efforts were a disaster and Marge suffered two consecutive miscarriages. The two felt haunted and avoided family parties and social occasions. Marge began to feel inadequate for the first time in her life. The working nature of all things moving and mechanical, she knew but, the one thing she was concerned about right then, was something she was unaware of and Marge began to feel the lack of a maternal figure at home. She realized that she had been self
ish and should have encouraged her father to remarry. Perhaps a lady in the house would have helped them look things through a different viewpoint. It would have made her father content and given her, someone to open up and share matters related to all things feminine.. Had Marge known that her bestie could have lent her a helping hand, her relief would have been paramount but fate works in mysterious ways. Situations that warrant action could turn the other way. Nothing is by chance. Everything is appropriate and rooted in the moment.

  Frustrated and feeling poorly, Marge was advised to try something unheard of in their part of town. It was called the IVF treatment and was available in Chennai at a reputed hospital. Marge and Packiam were advised to try their luck since dearth of money was not a deterrent towards achievement of something this personal. Following several visits, Marge finally conceived and the couple was blessed with twin boys. The confinement, total bed rest and physical exertion had drained the new mother but their family was now complete. The baptism ceremony of Arul and Andrew Packiam was a lavish affair followed by celebrations within the household and Madam Marge’s workforce. A nanny and cook were hired to cope with the rising volume of work within the household. Marge cut down her work schedule to thrice-a-week work-from-home days. The room at the back of her home was converted to an office with phone and fax lines manned by an efficient secretary along with a custom state-of-the-art desktop that kept track of her business, a system unheard of in those days. Packiam was finally allowed to choose the job of his liking and travel as he fancied provided, he was home during the weekends. Their children would grow up having their parents interact and bask in the pleasures of their little world. Single parenting had its benefits. She was what she was, thanks to her doting father but the lack of a mother when it really mattered, left an impact regardless of age and maturity. For Arul and Andrew, Mummy and Daddy would always be around to watch them grow and develop for as long as they were meant to remain on this good earth. If it was God’s will that they stay long enough to enjoy and watch the fruit of their actions, it would be the greatest of blessings bestowed on each one of them.

  *

  SHRUTHI

  ‘My life has remained pretty normal unlike my friends who have had amazing twists and turns in their chequered little lives. The everyday routine that I follow is an inexhaustible yet, predictable pattern that leave little time for introspection. Tasks that might seem mundane from the outside are the very pivots around which, the ethereal orchestration of time (within my household) tunes into. Just as cells are considered the basis of all living organisms, so are we, the unknown; duty bound homemakers, queens of our individual nuclear kingdoms.

  It’s important for me to let you all know that you should not lose your sense of self-esteem at any cost. The fact remains that when you feel low, you feel like those scrunched up pieces of paper that has been casually tossed into the waste bin. You cannot uncrumple yourself and begin from where you had initially started. There are moments when you are reduced to levels beyond comprehension that only the mundane tasks help in keeping sanity intact. You end up consoling yourself by saying that there are too many of us around. So why am I the only one complaining? The choice was mine, wasn’t it? Why the heck didn’t I opt for that ophthalmology course for heaven’s sake? I have berated myself, treated my inner self with scorn, desisted from flinging away everything I have ever loved and have finally, ceased to ponder over the unwelcome thoughts.

  For argument’s sake, it can be said that none can measure up to the organizational levels we have achieved when faced with the herculean task of managing a home rather efficiently. To loosely give you an example of how Shruthi mami’s32 (I am fondly known by this name here, at Oothukudi) precious seconds could be accounted for; picture the kids and hubby out of the way and the round of morning chores being cleared from the checklist. Perhaps I would have dozed off for half an hour, which is rare unless I happen to be extremely indisposed and trawling about the bed in delusion. The day being a working Saturday and a half day at that, the trio would be reaching home in two hours’ time, so, I would probably go about things in this way…

  Look at the clock. Stifle a scream. Hear the constant tinkle of the messages piling up on the phone. No time to check them however, and groan out loud.

  Shift to HiSpeed mode—Begin Routine #n1 (n to the power of 1).

  Sort clothes. Add softener and detergent. Get the machine running.

  Clear containers. Stock all extras in the freezer. Wash vessels. Scrub, Scour. Run the tap. Rinse, Stack. Rinse, Stack.

  Wipe countertop. Oven top. Run the scrub cloth over countertop tiles. Clean those oil spots. There. Done.

  Zero time to sweep and mop. Hose up and Vacuum. Power clean and dust everything in sight.

  Check messages. Husband plus friend coming over for a quick bite? Red alert!!!

  Look through contents of the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Sort, assemble, shred, chop, and season. Rapid-fire on those motions, lady.

  The SUPER reflexes-cum-eye on the clock routine now comes into play. Bring out the homemade athirasam26 jar- a Shruthi mami specialty. Time to show off the gooseberry pickle dedicated for just ‘that’ occasion.

  Beep alert - Shift to Routine #n2. Take out clothes, ruffle, and hang to dry.

  Next, walk through rooms. Clean floors. Check.

  Toss those extra wipes away. Stuff stray pieces of clothing into the cupboard.

  Check bathroom. Inspect face. Smile.

  Check teeth. Smile. Purrrfect!

  Wait for the doorbell to ring. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Husband dearest with the friend or, the brat pack? Either way, are we super-charged-ready for the upcoming session?! You bet.

  Post lunch, hubby dearest and friend amble out for a quiet chat. Sri Ram works in the Postal division of the Indian Railways. It is a nine-to-five job; fairly sedate and stress-free. The brats are in high school, soon to enter college. I worry needlessly about the college fee, lack of medical insurance and, forthcoming marriage expenses for our daughter. My Sri Rama is basically laidback and keeps assuring me that the Good Lord will provide. Hrmpf! I do not want to argue needlessly. The topic continues to be a bone of contention between us.

  My TV serials beckon. Two hours of oblivion during which time, the reactivation mode will be enabled.

  I rifle through the remains of the afternoon lunch. Thinking of the extra servings stacked up in the freezer thrills me to bits. I’m not your regular pattumami33 my dears. Dinner’s taken care of through and through.

  It’s been a long wait. What’s with the good husband? No calls so far. Should I do the honors? Or do I message? Hope it’s not another late night. At my behest, he takes up freelance accounting jobs at a friend’s tailoring shop. The extra bucks that come by, goes into my special kitty, my saving scheme for times of exigencies. I refuse to feel guilty for having pushed him into that. It’s not a call-center kind of job he’s in, for heaven’s sake.

  Just remembered the altered clothes at the tailors. Got to pick them up today. Rush and drop the brats for their evening class before the clothes are collected.

  After breezing through that, spend an hour with another dear mami. We sip filter coffee from small tumblers and discuss the sitcom, the terrible weather, bills mounting up, expenses shooting through the roof and, of course, the next doubter—do we start work at a school? The conversation peters off. We lose interest. I am gently reminded of the time and duly rush out.

  Pick up the kiddos, form our trio-kinship, manage the heated squabbles along the way, change and get ready for dinner and bedtime thereafter.

  Plate up. Heat. Serve.

  The kids gobble mirthfully while watching Rajini make short work of his adversaries and I listlessly pick on the eats. I’m drained and need to hit the bed for the four a.m. routine the next day. Lights are killed and I surrender to the exhaustion. Sunday mornings are reserved for temple visits. My timings are pretty static, you see. And that, my friends is pretty much how I get to spend my time.
>
  *

  Do you remember the one amazing time we had spent together on the terrace of our building? I watched the four of us excitedly plan a sleepover during one of my shavaasan34 routine with such clarity. Upon realizing that the confines of our home had limitations with regard to space, on we trooped upstairs post dinner in all happiness. There were no fancy gadgets in our possession and neither was the ambience of the high-class sort. In our home back then, we did not have separate spaces where we could bury ourselves and do our thing.

  I shared a room with my ‘paatti’ and she mumbled, snored and wheezed through most days and nights. Our house definitely looked threadbare from an outsider’s point of view. We neither had fancy furniture nor clothes that reeked of modernity. Our lives followed a simple tradition namely, wake up early and complete an elaborate worship of the Gods after our victuals of course. Following this, we would begin our day’s routine: Amma in the kitchen, school for me and, Appa to his den in the office. Paatti would continue with her chanting as she shouted out instructions by the dozen. Amma tolerated the belligerence while I loved her - loved the information stored inside of her head, that is. Oh, the tales of yore that she recounted, the lifestyle issues and her expertise in the culinary arts; that was what interested me the most! On the seven days that my mother was not allowed to enter the kitchen, I would sneak in and assist my father who churned out the same set menu every month. It would be rice-rasam-poriyal-appalam on one day and, rice-sambar-poriyal-appalam the next. I would help wash and cut the vegetables and offer to clean up as well. I didn’t mind the work, as my relieved mother would allow me to remain awhile and try out items discussed with my paatti. It thus gave me quite a bit of confidence to create a sumptuous repast at the drop of a hat with very few ingredients thus supporting my passion over a formal career.