I saw Sanjay again in the bazaar yesterday evening. I was out with Rani. Memsaab had asked me to accompany her daughter-in-law to the market. Vicky had sent Rahul with a car from the factory to take us. When Rahul rang the door buzzer, Rani was still getting ready and told me to go wait in the car, that she would be a few minutes. A trip to the bazaar was never a casual outing for women like Rani who always aim to look their best. Outside the front gate, Rahul, sporting his messenger hat, greeted me with his usual smile and opened the back door of the car for me. No explanations were needed. He was accustomed to the ritual of waiting. I certainly didn’t mind waiting. The air-conditioned car was a welcomed escape in comparison to the sweltering kitchen.
An old song from the eighties had started to play on the radio and Rahul tuned the dial to another station. I protested, told him to go back to the song. He did. He apologized, thinking that I wouldn’t care for such old songs. I told him that they were special to me. They reminded me of the days when I was younger, when Papa used to play those old tunes on an old transistor radio he’d gotten from somewhere. The old tunes comfort me. Rahul said that he understood. He felt the same way. We sat in silence as Amitabh Bachchan sang to Rakhee, his secret love who was engaged to another, about the feelings he could never express to her in that old film song. To cut the sadness, I gave Rahul a mischievous smile as he peered at me through the rear-view mirror. He asked me what was so funny. I told him that he was crazy for wearing that hat in this heat. He laughed it off, saying that it added to his boyish charm. He winked and asked me if I agreed. Guess I was kind of sarcastic in my reply, but we shared a laugh. But then Rahul’s tone became more serious. He told me that the hat wasn’t so bad with the air conditioning, though he realized that he wasn’t fooling anyone. Then he admitted that he wore the hat to hide his greying hair. Said he worries about what people will think of him, not even matured and already looking like an old man. Wow! I didn’t think guys could also feel so insecure about their looks. I felt so horrible for the feelings I had struck in Rahul. I didn’t realize that he had this insecurity. I tried to make him feel better. Told him that the flecks of silver in his hair made his complexion shine. I told him that he was special, one in a million, and that he really didn’t need that hat. Rahul laughed. He said that maybe someday he would feel that way. Rahul is the last person I would ever want to hurt, so I was relieved when the smile returned to his face, just in time as Rani approached the car.
Rahul was a savvy driver and had no difficulty weaving through the early evening congestion of traffic and shoppers. Once we arrived in the main bazaar, he parked and remained with the car while I accompanied Rani through a few select shops. Rani wanted to buy some sketching pencils and clothes for the children and new lipstick for herself. While she tried on different shades of red, all of which the salesman claimed looked mind-blowing on her, I sat on a bench by the store’s front window holding a bunch of shopping bags. I was simply passing the time, looking out into the evening crowd when my eyes found him. Sanjay was on his Bullet motorcycle, his hair spiky and shiny, dressed in skinny jeans and a yellow half sleeve t-shirt with an embroidered horse stitched over his heart. He pulled up to a food stall where a group of girls were gathered, eating dosas. They were dressed all fancy with perfectly straight hair, the kind that only high-fi girls could have with salon treatments in this humid weather. He parked real close to one girl who started to share what was on her plate with him, offering him bits of the potato stuffing from the same spoon she was using. I watched her pull the spoon from him a few times, teasingly. He then clasped her hand and guided the spoon slowly to his mouth. He stared into her eyes as he ate from the spoon, still holding onto her hand. He was kind of smiling but had a serious expression. They left together. The girl straddled herself behind him on the black leather seat. She pressed her chest against his back and gripped him tightly around his waist, not caring who was watching, just like in the movies. Have fun, Simi! That’s what her friends yelled out, laughing and waving. Sanjay gave a quick wink to the high-fi girls who giggled in unison as the motorcycle sped off.
Rani had sent me with the bags to the car while she examined some final items and took care of the bill. The car was parked right outside the store. Rahul got out and took the bags from my hand, depositing them into the trunk of the car. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes which had escaped despite my efforts to contain them. Why was I crying!? I was being foolish. I hated Sanjay and I hated those stupid high-fi girls! Buried in my own misery, I hadn’t noticed the look of concern in Rahul’s eyes as he watched me crying in the back seat through the rear-view mirror. I felt embarrassed. Had he seen how I was slighted? How could he know? Even if he did know, it didn’t matter, it was only Rahul. He didn’t ask anything of me. I turned my head, trying hard to focus my thoughts elsewhere. He tuned the radio to a light-hearted song and began strumming his fingers over the wheel. He said that I might not feel this way right now, but that I was one in a million too. How did he know what I needed to hear? His words have always given me comfort. I tried to smile, but another stupid tear fell from my eye. Just at that moment, Rahul had to leave the car to open the door for Rani.
Initially, I didn’t want to share any of this with Asha, to prove her right. She thinks she knows everything. But I couldn’t help telling her what I had seen when she caught me crying later that night in bed. I told her how big those girls looked, like fashion models, and how good looking that one girl, Simi, was. I felt so stupid, thinking Sanjay liked me just because he made googly eyes at me on the rooftop. Guess it was pretty dumb of me, thinking that a rich boy like him would be serious about a girl like me. Asha said that Sanjay was a dog and found his dirty bone for the evening. Better toughen up, she said. There would be worse stuff in life to tackle than the likes of shitty Sanjay. She told me to grow up and get over it. Under her breath, she also said to not be so hard on myself, that I wasn’t so stupid. But if I’m not so stupid, why is my heart still breaking over him?
Naina
***
Over the years, there was much to get over, much to get through and to get past. At every stage, life posed new challenges, presented the unexpected, but also contributed in diminishing the frailty which had defined Naina through youth. For every hurdle she faced, she felt herself stronger and more confident for having faced and tackled each obstacle. By her mother’s insistence and her teacher’s encouragement, Naina had continued with her studies. Tina Madam had often praised Naina on her progress and especially praised her for her beautiful handwriting. Having completed high school, Naina was filled with a yearning to learn and to fulfill her dreams, just as Sonia believed that she could. Naina had grown and began to see and know herself as she had not before. In the process, she found in herself a will to take command of her own destiny.
When the time came, Rakesh Uncle had gone to great efforts to find suitable life partners for his nieces. In a society fiercely patriarchal, without a father, young unwed women were easily taken advantage of or perceived as less than desirable for adoption into a respectable family as new brides. Yet Rakesh, a man whose honourable reputation often preceded him, arranged the marriages for both Asha and Naina, also promising to do the same for Shaan when he matured, overwhelming his sister with tremendous gratitude.
“I think the boy will keep our Asha happy,” Rakesh Uncle explained to his younger sister as they completed their dinner one night. They were seated together on the brick floor, with Shaan by their side on a woven straw mat. Unlike the gas cooktop range used for cooking at Memsaab’s home, it was a small clay tandoor, a cylindrical vessel fuelled by coal that serviced Naina’s family during late night meals on the factory’s rooftop. The coal snapped beneath the iron tava on which Asha cooked the rotis that she had formed in the shape of perfect round discs with an old rolling pin that their mother, many years ago, had been given in her trousseau.
Naina assisted Asha in serving the adults and her younger brother. The two sisters would eat
together afterwards. She served the rotis, one by one, as they were made, some still puffed like balloons, slowly releasing hot steam from within as they were delivered. As they worked, the girls could hear the conversation taking place. In fact, it was understood that the words were meant to be heard. Naina could see that her mother was listening intently to Rakesh Uncle, not interrupting, allowing him the space in which to complete his thoughts.
“I’ve spoken to others and they speak well of the boy’s parents. He’s their only child. There was an older son, but he died some years earlier. Hit by the car of some big shot businessman,” Rakesh Uncle continued with sadness in his voice upon sharing the last detail. He paused briefly between bites, taking the time to savour a few spoons of dahl, cradling the small steel bowl in his left palm. Asha had garnished the soupy yellow lentils with fried onions and coriander that grew abundantly in the vacant lot adjacent to the factory. Perceptively, Naina brought a serving bowl over to Rakesh Uncle and ladled some more dahl into both his and her mother’s bowl. Shaan, Naina observed, was taking full advantage of the fact that his mother was preoccupied in a discussion, thus gave his comic book more attention than the food on his plate. The faded heroes, having once delighted Memsaab’s grandchildren, provided Shaan a pleasurable form of escape from the serious chatter.
“Very tasty,” Rakesh Uncle acknowledged. “You girls have added to my waistline, I’ll need new pants soon!” he chuckled, both in appreciation and to break the noticeable tension that had taken over. Naina noticed that with Rakesh Uncle’s joking, the ever-accumulating lines on her mother’s forehead had softened and were less visible.
“He’s already earning for his household,” Rakesh continued. “One of the workers in our factory, Imran, his brother has worked with the boy. Says the boy is a respectable young man. I think our Asha will be comfortable with him. What do you think?”
With Rakesh Uncle’s last remark, his grey eyes traveled towards the girls. Naina saw that he was looking to Asha for a sign of approval. Naina leaned into her sister, their arms touching one another. Naina knew that in this instance, Asha wouldn’t push her away. There was a softness to her sister’s expression, far from the customary hard edge Asha often displayed. Rakesh Uncle seemed to have such an effect on almost everyone. Naina peered up at her sister and saw that Asha was facing downward, a shy smile taking shape on her face. Both girls then looked toward their mother, their eyes glimmering with anticipation as they awaited her response.
“Varsha?” Rakesh Uncle lightly tapped his sister with his elbow when she did not respond. “Are you uncertain about this?”
Naina’s mother lifted her head and looked up, not towards Rakesh Uncle, but to the sky. “My life has been filled with uncertainty, and if God hadn’t given us your support, I don’t know where we would be right now.” Despite her efforts to conceal her tears, they were exposed under the light of the full moon. “It will take me many lifetimes to repay the burdens you have endured for me,” she managed to say with a quiver in her voice.
“See children, what a clever woman my sister is, trying to avoid doing me any favours in this life with promises of future lifetimes instead!” Rakesh Uncle jested, quickly succeeding in lightening the mood and coaxing a laugh out of his sister as only he could do. Then, with a serious tone, he added, “You are the strongest woman I know, Varsha. That I know for certain.”
Lumps of coal that continued to burn within the tandoor oven cast a soft orange glow across the rooftop veranda, beneath an endless pitch-black sky. Every now and then, bursts of light would flicker and crackle from within the clay vessel like tiny shooting stars, dazzling with their sight and sound, providing an inexplicable comfort, despite a lack of knowledge of what the future would bring.
***
And so, Asha was first to go. A mechanic, her new life partner was well-qualified and provided maintenance to many production houses, unfettered by a dependence on a single contract. The wedding was joyous, filled with offerings that were unexpected, and from unexpected sources. The ceremony was a simple one, held in the local temple and arranged by Memsaab who had also insisted on covering all expenses.
On a late Saturday afternoon, Memsaab had just woken from her afternoon nap. On cue, Naina had entered the kitchen to prepare afternoon tea when Memsaab’s voice called for her.
“Naina, forget about the tea today. The girls are getting ready upstairs and I want you and Asha to accompany them to the market.”
Memsaab was not one for small talk. If she had wanted to elaborate, she would have, but of course, she hardly ever did. And thus, Naina would, usually, simply follow instructions without question. In this instance, however, Naina, with a look of puzzlement, remained standing before Memsaab who was combing out her hair. Asha? Naina wondered. Her sister was at the factory, working. She wasn’t here.
Noting the confusion on Naina’s face, Memsaab continued, “Vicky has asked the driver to bring Asha here in the car from the factory. They’ll be here shortly to take you girls to the bazaar . . . to shop for Asha’s wedding.”
“Shopping? . . . for Asha’s wedding?” Naina stammered.
“Yes, of course for Asha. Do you have another sister who is getting married?” Memsaab mumbled with an arched brow as she took a bobby pin from her mouth, securing her hair into a tiny bun.
“Oh . . . Mummy had said that there would be plenty of time to do the shopping later,” Naina explained. Of course, her mother had said no such thing, but the words had just rolled off Naina’s tongue. There was as much of a convincing look to her expression as she could muster, never allowing her eyes to want for more. This is what her mother had always taught her.
“Your Mummy can shop as late as she pleases,” Memsaab replied, craning her neck towards Naina. It was unlike the old woman to offer a direct link to her eyes. Upon noticing the look of demur in Naina’s eyes, she added, “Your mother and I, we’ve both experienced much. We have fulfilled our respective duties, each in our respective roles. Varsha and your family, child, have been a part of us. Contributing to your sister’s wedding is not an obligation, it is my moral duty.” She paused briefly to apply a shade of burgundy to her lips, and then Memsaab’s voice softened in her next remark. “For all that your mother has given, this is gratitude, not charity, Naina.”
And so it was. Memsaab had asked her daughters-in-law to accompany Asha and Naina to the market to select and purchase the bridal clothing and artificial jewellery for Asha’s wedding, also insisting to pay for the items. Though Memsaab had presented herself as possessing a heart of stone with an attitude of indifference towards Naina and her ilk through the years, the old woman had surprised Naina for the compassion she had displayed. Naina’s mother, however, was not surprised by Memsaab’s generosity. “No one person is simply all good or all bad,” her mother had remarked. In her wisdom, she shared with Naina what life had taught her, that, “it was the conditions in life, the changing circumstances, that continually shape and mould us.”
***
“I suppose you’ll sleep in later in the mornings now that I won’t be around to harass you to get up,” Asha whispered jokingly into Naina’s ear after the wedding ceremony, embracing her sister before departing with her husband.
Fighting back the tears threatening to plummet from her eyes, under her breath, Naina retorted, “And I suppose you won’t be getting much sleep at all during the night!” Asha gave her sister a loving pinch to her cheek in response.
The sisters embraced tighter than they had ever before. Naina’s eyes remained tied to Asha as she accompanied her new life partner into the back seat of an awaiting vehicle. Memsaab had arranged for Rahul to drive the newlyweds to the home of Asha’s in-laws in a neighboring village. Before departing, as a sign of respect, Rahul lowered himself to touch both Memsaab’s and Naina’s mother’s feet. He, too, was moving elsewhere. He was taking his ailing grandmother, the only mother he had ever known, closer to an elderly niece who would help the worn woman ease her way tow
ards the end of her life. A cloud of dust rose as the car drove off, but did not diminish the radiance of the golden threads of Asha’s maroon chiffon sari that glistened under the bright lights cascading the temple. Though her heart ached, Naina smiled at the sight.
***
The path forward for Naina, by contrast, was not as simple. Two weeks into her engagement to a young taxi driver, who it was said was well on his way to establishing his own operation, it was discovered one night that the young man was servicing female clientele from the backseat of his Maruti cab. Not unexpected, it was Naina’s reputation that was marred by the broken engagement instead of the boy’s whose family hastily spread the rumour that it was not their son, but rather Naina who was found to be promiscuous, ‘discovered before it was too late, thank God!’ the boy’s mother had claimed.
While the gossip settled, Naina was made to wait in the quiet and seclusion of the third floor flat above the factory. No longer was she permitted to venture outdoors. Not to run an errand, not to have a laugh with one of her friends, not to the rooftop veranda that was in plain view of evil eyes, and not even to Memsaab’s to work. Naina longed for the company of those who might assure her that all would be made right. She had been barred from visiting anyone. It seemed that all visits from anyone had also ceased. Naina longed for the normalcy that had been taken from her life. But none of it could be helped. Naina’s mother was trying to protect her daughter. So fearful was her mother of the puss-puss whispers of shameless scavengers who she was certain were waiting to prey on her daughter whose heart, she felt, had not yet hardened enough to shield away such taunts.
“Mummy, it doesn’t matter what people think. It’s not what happened,” Naina declared to her mother.
Walking Through and Other Stories Page 4