by Anita Nair
Kala Chithi asks, ‘What happened? What made you cut your hair?’
Meera is fazed by the directness of the question. Kala Chithi seldom makes personal remarks of any sort.
Meera shrugs. ‘I suddenly felt I needed a new look.’
Kala Chithi waits for her to finish.
Meera peers into her mug of coffee and says, ‘Giri wants a divorce.’
Kala Chithi continues to look at her.
‘I keep wondering if there was something I did, or something I didn’t. What could have made Giri leave?’
‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Kala Chithi asks. Meera’s circumstances have never been discussed, but Meera knows that Jak must have filled her in.
Meera shakes her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘More importantly, do you want him back?’
Meera looks up abruptly. She had never even considered it. Could she live with Giri again? Go on as if nothing had happened?
‘You see, Meera, we are brought up to believe that our husband is our god. His wishes are ours, and without him we are nothing.
There is a saying, Kal analum kanavan, pull analum purushan. Whether he is hard as a rock or as worthless as a weed, a husband is a husband. Can you make a life without your husband?’
Meera places the mug on the table. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘All I keep thinking is, will he come back? I never asked myself, what if he does…’ Meera’s voice drops. ‘What would you do?’
‘I don’t know, Meera. I never had to ask myself that.’ Kala Chithi’s eyes are steady, her voice even.
‘But you left your husband!’
‘What is it you want to know from me, Meera? I don’t have any wisdom to offer you. My choices in life will not be yours. I had my reasons for choosing to leave my husband.’
‘Was it because you thought your husband had another woman?’
‘Another woman?’ Kala Chithi’s voice rises in surprise as does her hand. She touches her cropped head.
‘Why else did you leave him?’ Meera says, wanting to shatter the poise on the older woman’s face.
‘Why did you leave your husband?’ she asks again.
Kala Chithi leans back in her chair. ‘There wasn’t a specific reason. Not really. Would you believe me if I told you that I could no longer share a life with him? It just wasn’t possible any more. I had to leave.
‘So you see, Meera, you have to decide. I can’t do it for you. Do you still want to be Giri’s wife?’ Kala Chithi asks, rising from her chair.
Meera, looking beyond her, wonders: Do I?
II
‘Have I what?’ Meera asks over her shoulder.
‘Have you thought about what I asked?’
Meera turns to look at her daughter carefully. ‘What about, Nayantara?’
‘You know, that portfolio thing… I told you. Dad’s friend’s wife said I should get one done. She thought she could send it to the Elite people.’
Meera frowns. ‘I thought it was something you did for fun. I didn’t think you wanted to make a career of modelling. Besides, what about your studies? You are at the IIT. Do you know how few kids get in there? And you want to give up that…’
Nayantara makes a face. ‘What about Aishwarya Rai? She was a medical student.’
‘I don’t know what your father will say,’ Meera tries to hedge.
‘Daddy’s fine. But he said you are the one who ought to be fine with it.’
Thanks, Giri. Let me be the harridan who has to say no to your daughter’s silly dreams.
But hasn’t it always been thus? The thrusting and entrusting of parental responsibility onto her. In those early years, Meera had protested. ‘The children weren’t exactly born of immaculate conception. You have to take on your share.’
And Giri, who felt justified in his aggrievement, would say without a change of expression, ‘You were the one who wanted babies; I didn’t. You were the one who claimed that you wouldn’t be complete as a woman without a child.’
Meera, silenced by that need of hers, learnt to burden Giri less and less with the demands of fatherhood. The children were hers to worry about, while Giri was the one to laugh and frolic with. He knew how to be the tyrant father too, but mostly he played along with their dreams and desires. Fatherhood to Giri was how he had shaped it and not what it was meant to be, Meera thinks, trying not to let her bitterness spill over.
Meera takes the sari off its hanger. ‘I don’t like it. The casting couch isn’t a myth. You are too young to be exposed to that kind of a world.’
‘Are you saying it’s okay for someone to fuck me as long as I’m older?’
Meera blanches. ‘Quiet!’ she hisses. ‘Don’t talk rubbish. If you insist on behaving like a fractious three-year-old, I will have to treat you like one. You don’t leave me with much choice. I would suggest that you forget all this modelling nonsense. ’
Nayantara is shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But Daddy’s friend said…’ she begins but stops when she sees Meera’s face.
Nayantara watches Meera drape the sari. ‘I thought you said you were not sure about going,’ she says, opening and closing the lipstick tube.
‘Don’t. You’ll snap the lipstick,’ Meera says as she adjusts the pleats.
‘How can you go for a party? It’s just a few months since Daddy and you…’ Nayantara stares at her.
‘Your daddy left. He didn’t die,’ Meera snaps. ‘Besides, he just asked me for a divorce, remember?’
Seeing Nayantara flush, Meera is contrite. ‘It’s not just any party. It’s Vinnie’s. I couldn’t say no,’ Meera says quietly.
She peers at herself in the floor-length mirror. ‘Would you please pull down the sari at the back? It’s hiked up a bit.’
Nayantara sinks to her knees obediently and tugs at the sari. ‘But what will people think?’
‘Nayantara, don’t ever say that to me. I don’t care what people think. I won’t ever again.’
‘I know you don’t care what people think. Or would you go out with a man half your age?’
‘What?’ Meera yelps, turning in surprise. ‘Who told you that?’
‘So it is true! How can you, Mummy?’
‘Nayantara, you know nothing about it.’
‘So tell me…’ Nayantara hugs her knees. ‘You go on about the casting couch and the bad bad world waiting to pounce on me. But look at you! Do you know how it makes me feel when my friends want to know if Soman is my boyfriend? Am I to tell them that he is yours?’
‘He isn’t my boyfriend! He is just a friend.’
Nayantara makes a face as if she doesn’t believe her mother.
‘But tell me, if he was, would it be so bad?’ Meera says, pretending a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.
‘How would you feel if I took up with a man Daddy’s age?’ Nayantara stands up. ‘It’s embarrassing, Mummy. It’s gross!’
What about Daddy? Meera wants to demand. Isn’t it gross that his girlfriend is only a few years older than you? Or is that fine in your vision of the world? Then she sees Nayantara’s face.
‘Soman isn’t my boyfriend, please understand, darling. He is just someone I know. That’s all there is to it. Promise!’ Meera tries to cajole her daughter into accepting her explanation.
‘Ok. If you say so,’ Nayantara says.
Her insides quail at the forlorn expression in her daughter’s eyes.
‘If you don’t want me to go to this party, I’ll stay back,’ Meera offers.
‘No, it’s fine,’ Nayantara says. ‘Do you want to borrow my stilettos?’
Meera smiles. Peace has been restored. ‘If you are sure,’ she says tentatively. As her share of the peace offering, she adds, ‘If you want a portfolio done, I could ask Akram. He’ll be able to pass it on to the right people. And I’d feel safe knowing it was him. But you can’t give up your course. You need to strike a balance between the two. It’s always best to have all your options open.’
‘Will you be late?’ Nayantara asks at the door. Nikhil and Lily are sprawled on the sofa watching a film. Saro is reading.
Meera holds her daughter to her. ‘Shall I send the car back?’ she asks again.
‘No, no, you must go. Have a good time.’ Nayantara waves her off.
Meera swallows. This role reversal is rather unsettling. ‘I won’t be too late,’ she calls out, rolling down the car window.
Vinnie has opened the French windows so that the room and terrace merge. Here they congregate: Vinnie’s friends and business associates. Vinnie’s lover. Vinnie’s husband. And Meera. A slightly forlorn Meera discovering what it is to be a single woman in a room full of couples.
She chews her lip thoughtfully. Has she made a mistake, she wonders, by accepting the invitation?
But Vinnie wouldn’t allow her a choice. ‘You have to be there,’ she insisted, sweeping away any excuse that Meera could come up with. ‘I’ll send the car for you. That takes care of transportation. Why don’t you invite your Professor? Or is there someone else you would rather? Soman? What happened between the two of you? You hardly mention him any more.’
Vinnie threw her a sidelong glance. Meera turned her head away. For a fleeting moment, she had paused at the notion of Soman.
Meera wondered how good he was as an actor. Was his interest in her an act? Or was it for real? It must be the house. Like Giri, he too must see the house as the prize. Why else would he want to be with a woman fifteen years older than him?
No, she would go alone to Vinnie’s party.
‘No, there isn’t anyone I want to bring with me.’ Meera shook her head decisively.
‘That’s fine then.’ Vinnie smiled. ‘You don’t need an escort. No one makes much of these things any more. A woman by herself at a party is like a man by himself.’
Not really, Meera thinks, as she waits for someone to offer her a drink. For someone to steer her into a group and into a conversation. For someone to say hello.
Once, Giri was the one to do all of that: to fill up her glass. To introduce her to new people. To help say goodbyes. Meera feels something sag within her. Will it always be like this? Not knowing when she would be stricken by a debilitating helplessness? Wanting to scuttle into the shadows and stay resolutely there?
She still isn’t used to stepping out in public by herself. In the months after Giri left, the invitations had dwindled to almost none.
She knows who she reminds herself of. The teapot lid in her odds-and-ends shelf. You don’t know what to do with it. Some trace of sentiment makes you keep it instead of throwing it away, but each time you see it you wonder what you are going to do with it…
A woman alone is an awkward creature, or so it appears. A bedside table missing its companion. A lone kitchen glove. You could make do, but it really isn’t seemly. Where do you seat her if it is a sit-down meal? If she has come with an escort, that’s all right then. But if she is alone, you alternate between having to watch out for her and watching her so that she doesn’t sink her predatory claws into your spouse. Pity is one thing. And yes, sisterhood is key. Women have to be there for women. So you have her over for a coffee morning or drinks… but for a whole evening, she is best avoided.
Meera knows the mind of a hostess. She has been one too. Choosing to forget the widow in Giri’s office when she hosted a dinner to celebrate his promotion. Ignoring the unspoken plea in a newly divorced Dina’s voice when they met at the beauty salon and Dina said, ‘I’ve heard so much about your dinner parties. You must have me over the next time…’
In the end it is Vinnie’s husband Kishore who rescues her. Meera suddenly has a drink in her hand, a chair to perch herself upon, a group to share her views with, and a man at her side. She wonders what she would have done if Kishore hadn’t taken pity on her.
She sneaks a glance at him. The very dignified, devastatingly handsome, utterly charming and totally removed Kishore. Vinnie and he share a home and a business. For the rest, they lead separate lives.
Meera had been unable to hide the reproof in her eyes when Vinnie explained the arrangement.
‘You don’t approve?’ Vinnie asked.
‘No. I don’t. You are turning marriage into a farce.’ Meera was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘Marriage is sacred. It is not just being joint owners of a home and a business.’
‘So you would have given Giri a divorce if he had asked for it, just like that?’ Vinnie’s voice was dipped in steel.
‘Mine is a different situation…’ Meera tried to prevaricate. Would she have? What if Giri had come to her and said he wanted out? Would she have let him go?
‘Ah Meera, don’t kid yourself. I don’t. We like what marriage means. Even if you knew Giri hated it, felt trapped, you would still have wanted your marriage… I do. Kishore does too, I think. It is the circle of security that has us enchanted. Not the house or the money, the sex or kids. Not even companionship.’
Meera was quiet. She knew what it was to be cast out of that enchanted place. She knew what it was to be alone.
She looks at Kishore again and thinks, how is it that both Vinnie and I, despite being who we are, women of the world, are still in our hearts made of the same mettle as Kala Chithi? What had she said: Kal analum kanavan, pull analum purushan.
In the weeks after Giri left home, Meera had wondered what she would do if she were invited to a party. Accept or refuse. Then it rankled that she wasn’t invited, given the choice to make up her mind.
But here she is, holding herself erect. Saro is right, she thinks. Posture is all. You may cringe within, not knowing the degrees of civility to affect. You may not know any of the rules of your new station in life. But if your back is erect and your shoulders square, you could get away with much. Including a spider plant as a gift for the hostess.
Here in Vinnie’s home, Meera feels none of the awkwardness that planted itself in her at the few parties she has been to minus Giri. There are no pauses in the conversation. No one trying to skirt around the subject of Giri and then not knowing what to talk about. Pretty much all that could be spoken in that circle was pivoted around Giri and her as Giri’s wife. At Vinnie’s party, Giri is entombed in a past no one has any inkling of or gives a toss about.
Someone comes to sit next to Meera. An older man. ‘How do you know Vinnie?’ he asks, smiling at her. ‘A business associate?’
‘No, a friend,’ Meera says. ‘I am Meera,’ she adds, stretching her hand.
‘Raj.’ He takes her hand in his. He holds her palm for a long moment. Longer than necessary, Meera thinks, gently sliding her fingers out of his grasp.
Vinnie had warned her about him. ‘Most of the men are decent chaps. Raj is a bit of a smoothie. If he hits on you, walk away. He won’t be offended. He should be used to it by now. It’s like he can’t help himself. The one I feel sorry for is his wife.’ Smooth to the point of shininess, Meera tells herself as he chats her up.
‘So, are you married, Meera? Is there a husband somewhere?’ he tosses at her.
‘Single,’ Meera says. Then, with frost in her voice, she clarifies, ‘Single. And not available.’
Meera sees a nondescript woman shooting anxious looks their way. She narrows her eyes and says, ‘Is that your wife? I think she’s looking for you.’
Now that she has dealt with the wolf, Meera is confident enough to gambol with the lambs.
Nevertheless, it is an exhausted woman who kicks her stilettos off.
The house is sunk in sleep. Meera opens the cupboard as quietly as she can. When the handle comes off in her hand, the exhaustion in her digs in deeper. One more thing to deal with, she thinks wearily. Where does one begin with a second life?
Then from the open closet comes a whiff of sandal. A frisson of pleasure shoots through her as she takes the sachet and buries her nose in its satiny side.
The lightness of being. How stealthily it cre
eps up on you. One moment you think that you will buckle under the burden of all that you have to deal with. And the next moment a satin pouch of sandal dust can miraculously alleviate the unbearable weight.
It doesn’t matter that this is only a fleeting sense of well-being. Now that Meera has known it again, she finds strength.
She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply of the fragrance. Again and again.
Meera wishes for something else then. That Jak could know this too. In the slump of his shoulders, she has seen the echo of defeat that gnaws at her. If only Jak could feel this lightness too. It would erase the pain in his eyes. For a while.
That is all people like Jak and I can hope for now. Temporary remission. A quick joy in a period of lull.
III
Joy needs to be worked towards. Joy needs to be sought. Joy seldom drops into our lives, we have to go looking for it. This is what troubles Kala as she tosses and turns in her bed.
She can’t sleep. She lies on one side, then the other. On her back and on her belly. But no matter which position she tries, her body will not relax and slip into languor. Her thoughts keep crowding one into another.
It is the dark phase of the moon. Outside, the night is black as tar pitch and just as impenetrable. The room faces away from the road and not even traffic sounds come in this far. Kala has pulled the curtains shut and in the dark womb-like room, she curves into a little ball, drawing her knees to her chin, tucking her hands between her thighs. And yet, she can’t sleep. Meera has unsettled her more than she cares to admit to herself.
She has learnt to live with her past. It seldom intrudes into the fabric of evenness that is her life. So Kala can’t understand these trespassing memories that rush in and retreat like the waves.