by Anubha Mehta
We followed him inside. It was an old house built on different levels. There were cobwebs in the corners and thick layers of dust on the counters. The walls were painted sunshine yellow with blue windowsills—the colours of the Mediterranean.
Nothing enticed us until we stepped outside.
It was a deep, unkempt garden with wild creepers growing around grandfather trees. And then there was the endless blue expanse. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore was hypnotic. The water shimmered in the morning sun and touched the sky for miles.
In the middle of the overgrown sprawl, there was a tiny pond underneath a fountain flowing from a life-size stone angel sculpture. The angel’s wings were spread, and his hands were raised towards the sky as his head bowed to look down upon us.
I was mesmerized by the wild grandeur and tranquillity of this space. I wanted to move here immediately. It reminded me of our house in Delhi, somehow. But this was a house that the elders were not ready to part with. So, until we had Mama Biasatti’s blessing, we could not buy it.
I made my way back to her. Mama Biasatti was sitting in the same pose as we had left her. She started coughing. I lay a sleeping Diya down on her couch and fetched the elderly woman a glass of water from the kitchen sink. She took a few sips and stopped coughing. Then she looked up at me curiously.
“I am sorry—I should have asked before laying my daughter on your couch.” I went to pick her up.
She said, “No, leave the child. She is sleeping.”
I quietly sat down on the dining chair next to her, and she let me. She started her knitting again. A complete, thick silence enveloped us. She saw that I was not fidgeting, or asking her for anything. She relaxed. “What is your name?” she finally asked.
“Maya.” I paused before adding, “I really like your house.”
“Why?” she looked up suspiciously, her eyes skewed and her lips a thin line.
“It is a beautiful old home.”
She let her guard down a tiny bit. “Yes, it is.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“All my life.”
“Really?”
“My husband and I bought it from a police officer who was moving west to Vancouver. We had just come from Italy, and my sons were only three and five years old … my beautiful children. We had a good life here until….” She sank into her thoughts.
“Well, it is very lucky for you and your husband to have your children still around you…”
She cut my sentence short. “No, my husband left for Italy.”
“Ohh … and you? You did not go?”
She spoke after what seemed like a very long few minutes: “How could I leave my children here and go?”
“Yes, I understand. My husband has come from India to set up his office here. I too could have decided to stay back in the comfort of my own country.”
“But you did not stay.”
“No, I did not stay behind. I came with my husband, for better or for worse, whichever part of the world he is in, even if it is difficult.”
“But what about the hardships for your child?”
“What about them? My Diya will be happy when both her parents are together. And once she is grown, she will have to find her own life. She will leave her nest, no matter which part of the world we live in. That is the way of nature. That is what we have done with our parents and that is what our children will do.”
She bent down to pick up the ball of wool that had dropped from her lap. I was sure I had said something to offend her. I feared that I sounded preachy. This was a different kind of silence. I started to rise, intending to pick Diya up and to look for Veer.
She put her needles on the table and asked, “Do you want some coffee?”
“No, no, we should be going now.”
But she had started walking slowly to the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine. Within seconds, the whole living room was enveloped in the rich, warm aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans. She walked in with two frothy cups and a plate full of chocolate-covered almond biscotti.
Between gulps of the piping hot brew and chocolate butter crumble, Mama picked up the conversation again. “My whole life…” she began, “I have lived in this house, brought up my children. How can I just leave and go? I will not be a good mother.”
I could feel her internal struggle. I said gently, “Joining your husband may not make you a bad mother. You have devoted your life to your children.”
Diya stirred and woke up. She rubbed her large eyes, looking for me. Then, before she started crying, I lifted her in my arms. A smiling Veer walked in with Mario on his heel. We thanked them for letting us in to their home.
Much to my surprise, Mama came to see us off at the door. Before stepping out of the door, I instinctively gave her a hug and said goodbye. And, to my utmost surprise, she hugged me back.
On the way back, Veer was excited. “Maya, I like that house. Let’s talk to Gautam and see if it will work.”
I kept quiet. I kept thinking of Mama Biasatti. I did not want to go into a house where someone was being forced to move out. I knew that meant bad luck. I shared Mama’s story with Veer. But he just brushed me off. “Maya, your problem is that you get into too many unnecessary details with people. If the house is on sale, and if we can afford it, then we should buy it.”
“No, Veer. I don’t want the house if Mama Biasatti is not happy giving it to us.”
“For God’s sake, Maya, you don’t even know her. At this rate, we will be homeless.” Veer was distressed.
When we returned, Gautam had already prepared some paperwork for the houses he had shown us earlier. Veer told him about the house we had seen.
Gautam was upset. “What is wrong with the houses I have showed you?” he asked. “You will regret it later on,” he said and looked sharply at me. I knew that he thought that I was behind this. In a way I was. Only he and I knew why I wanted to buy a house that would be as far away from him as possible, and he did not like it.
“Gautam Uncle, don’t worry. We have not spoken to any agent. We will still go through you,” Veer consoled him.
Gautam puffed up again. “Okay, okay. If you really would like me to help, then it can be arranged. Let me see what I can do.”
Gautam was trying to salvage a slipping opportunity. Immediately, he called the Biasatti’s agent to negotiate a deal, and within an hour he had the paperwork ready for us to sign. The only problem was that I was not ready to sign the deal yet.
“I would like to visit the house again before I sign,” I managed to say aloud.
“Maya, just sign the goddamn papers,” Gautam scolded loudly. Veer looked up sharply at Gautam for speaking to me like that.
“I would like to visit first,” I insisted, standing my ground. Gautam was getting more aggravated.
“Maya, you do not have a choice now—the deal is done,” he said.
I wished he had not said that. Something inside me snapped. “If there is anything I have left, it is the freedom to make my own choices, Uncle Gautam.”
I stood up and walked away. I wanted to pack my bags. I did not want to stay there anymore, no matter what blame might be hurled at me. After all, I was not asking for anything unreasonable. Veer spoke up: “Gautam Uncle, why don’t we visit the house tomorrow? We were to do that in any case after the signing.” He was mediating, but I recognized from the edge in his tone that he was on the verge of losing his patience too.
Gautam banged the door on his way out.
***
I almost stepped on some unopened mail lying on the doormat when Mario opened the front door for us. Before handing it to Mario, I noticed that it was from Canada Pension and it was addressed to Mrs. Sophia Biasatti.
Mama Biasatti came to greet us, this time with a smile that spoke for itself. I extended my h
and to give her the envelope, but Mario intervened and snatched it midway. A dark shadow engulfed Mama as she withdrew back into her dimly lit chair.
It did not take me long to understand what was happening: Mario was taking her pension earnings. So this was the underlying pain that she was trying to come to terms with: To give up everything for your children, only to be controlled by them in old age. How humiliating and hurtful for a mother.
I sat down in the same chair I had taken the day before. Gautam and Veer were talking to Mario and following him around.
“What do you want, girl?’” Mama Biasatti finally asked. Her voice was gentle.
“I don’t want your house if you don’t want to give it.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It matters to me. This is your home. And … I want this house to bring good luck to my family.”
She looked at me for a long moment. “You are a strange person.” What she said next completely surprised me. “You have wisdom far beyond your years. After you left I started thinking about what you said to me, and I have made a decision. I have decided to join my husband in Italy. I leave next month.” She was smiling.
“Just like that?” I asked
“No, it sounds sudden, but, my child, it has been coming for some time. I was a fool to hold on to the past.”
There are very few moments in life when you feel that life just falls into place. This was one of those moments. I was grateful to her, to God, to everyone.
I blurted out, “So you will bless us to take over your house?”
“Yes, I bless you. Make it your home. You have all my best wishes. And thank you for your message. The angel spoke through you….” I immediately thought of the stone angel in the backyard.
She opened my palm and placed something in it. A pair of small white ceramic doves. “They will guide you and bring peace,” she said.
Now, this was a sign that I did not expect. Were these Gayatri’s Om and Shanti returning to me through Mama Biasatti? I did not have time to ponder. Gautam had entered the room and was looking at me angrily. “I am ready to sign the papers now, Gautam Uncle,” I said demurely.
His anger subsided immediately. “But don’t you want to see the house again?” Gautam asked suspiciously.
“No, I don’t need to.” He looked perplexed.
“What she means is that since you and I have gone through it, that is good enough for her.” Veer came to the rescue again.
“Oh,” he nodded, not convinced still, but happy that his deal was going through.
The next week we moved into our first home in Canada. As we unloaded the car, Veer did a very traditional thing. He held out the keys to me and told me to step in first. When I opened the main door, I saw a vase full of puffed rice centred in front of the door. I toppled the rice vase with my big toe, stepped over the strewn grains and walked inside. In my palm, I held Mama Biasatti’s white doves.
I was touched by Veer’s gesture. He had remembered an age-old Indian tradition in which the woman of the house crosses the threshold and steps over rice as a symbol of the prosperity and luck the family will enjoy in the new home. Yes, there were some traditions that I would retain and pass on to Diya. And as for others, we would interpret and customize as they made sense to us in our new life.
The possibilities were endless and so was our joy.
23.
IT DID NOT TAKE US LONG to unpack our life from our suitcases. First, I unfolded Diya’s clothes and toys. She was thrilled to get her Raggedy Ann doll and her yellow birdie back. Running from one room to another, with the doll on her left hip and the giant yellow bird on her right, she talked to them about the wonders of the open, lighted rooms. Yes, she had inherited some of our foolish spirit— she was not afraid of new places, as long as she knew that she could return to the safety of my arms. How innocent and resilient was childhood, how uncomplicated and trusting.
I went to check if Veer needed my help, but he was already unpacked and fast asleep in the dusty armchair. I quietly slipped off his shoes and covered him with a blanket.
Now it was my turn to unpack. The upper layers of my suitcase were filled with things that Sheila thought that I would need in a cold country: a hot water bottle, warm socks, my Jamawar shawl, and herbal hair oil. I piled up the essentials at the back of the wardrobe and started digging deeper to unpack my clothes. My hand hit something square and hard. I pulled it out. Black dye over white polka dots. Oh my god! Gayatri’s diary! My eyes froze at the sight. I remembered how I had hidden it on the last day, hoping to make a decision on where to leave it. And then the next day I had forgotten all about it. I should have just left it in Sheila’s safekeeping, or even returned it to Umang and Rosy. What had I done? Had I just carried the sinister past with me into our new life? It was only a matter of time before I would know.
The next morning, I decided to clean this large, dilapidated house. I spent more time discovering hidden nooks and dusty corners than doing anything useful with the dustpan. Imagining that there was a cleaning route, like the great silk route of ancient China, which wound through all the rooms and eventually led to the backyard, I picked up my enthusiasm and tried again. Reaching the backyard was my goal, and sipping iced tea under the stone angel statue was my prize. But soon I discovered that I was not too good at cleaning either. I was no good at any housework. I wish I could have borrowed Bahadur. Even a new chamber maid would do. I had to get out, I thought. Perhaps I would be better out of the house than inside it.
Diya was also edging to play with other children, and constantly asked me, “Mama can I get some friends for Ann and Birdie?” She was at the age that, had we been in India, she would be in school full-time.
I decided to speak to Veer about getting a part-time job. I was sure he would not deny me such a small indulgence.
I did not hear Veer calling out to us when he came back in the evening. Diya and I were engrossed under the angel statue. I was throwing seeds for the evening birds sitting on the stone bench, and Diya was talking to her imaginary friends. Veer called out again, and Diya ran into his lap. Her tiny face glowed, her wavy hair caught the sparkle of the late evening sun, and her hands were coated in mud.
Veer lifted her high and threw her up like a little ball. She giggled loudly, then she ran to bring her only two friends in the world to him. “See, Papa … Ann and Birdie … see, Papa.”
“Hello, Ann and Birdie. Did you have fun today?” Diya bent her head, looking at her toes. Her lower lip hung as it did when she was on the verge of a tantrum. Veer repeated his question.
“No!” She stomped her feet, one after the other.
“Well, why not, Diya?”
“Because they want to play in the park.” I had joined them on the deck. Veer looked up at me.
I smiled reassuringly and said to Diya, “Yes, we will take them to the park tomorrow.” She liked that. She picked up her friends and ran off while talking to them about the park.
Veer waded through the tall grass to sit on our chipped stone bench under the statue of the angel. He chose the exact spot where I had just been sitting and started sprinkling bird seed around absentmindedly. Within minutes, our garden was flooded with cooing and pecking doves: grey, olive, and beige. I got up to call Diya, but Veer held me back.
“Wait, you must not go till you see … aha … there they are.” He was pointing to them.
A pair of white doves, heavenly and pure, had landed in the middle of the garden. I could not believe our luck. The first dove hurriedly pecked at the bounty, but the second looked alertly over her shoulders. I moved closer to Veer, and the dove looked at me but did not flap its wings.
“No, don’t come here, Maya. You will scare them.” The dove was startled by his voice and fluttered. Her mate took the cue and together, without a moment’s hesitation, they flew off into the dusk.
I sat down next
to him with an unexplained sense of calm. My heart was beating fast but this time not out of anxiety. It was what I had been waiting for—it was hope. Mama Biasatti’s lucky white doves had visited our new home. Veer held my hand and we walked back to the deck.
Once we had settled with a hot cup of coffee, he asked me, “What was Diya’s little tantrum all about?”
“Veer, I think I will need to figure out what to do during the day. I mean, we cannot just stay in this house all the time.”
“What did you have in mind?” he asked without looking at me.
“For one, I will explore the neighbourhood to see if Diya can join a play group or if she is not too young for kindergarten here.”
“Yes, that seems like a good idea.” I heard relief in his voice.
“And then, while Diya is away, I would like to find out more about this place.”
“How?”
“I will go to the nearby mall, the one we saw on the corner, and then I can look for something part-time.”
“Something part-time?” he repeated.
“Yes, like a part-time job.”
“For what? You don’t need to work.”
“Veer, what will I do at home the whole day?”
“You have plenty to do.”
“You know I am no good with housework,” I laughed.
“No, you are not,” he laughed with me, but I knew he was getting nervous about my moving out of the house. The old Veer was returning, and, before that could happen, I decided to change the topic.
“Okay, who wants to play Pied Piper?” I picked up an imaginary magic flute, and Veer tucked his palms on my waist at the back. Diya came running and started leading the way.
We closed the sliding glass door on the cold outside and went inside. If I could, I would have led us all the way home, to our real home, Delhi.
That night, it occurred to me that the white doves may not have belonged to Mama Biasatti at all. What if they belonged to someone from the past? What if they indeed were Om and Shanti? No, that was not possible. I had a very vivid imagination.