I locked the door and strolled over to the window. My sister’s car was pulling out of the driveway. I waved as she reversed and with a quick wave back, she sped into the gathering dusk. I stayed and watched till her car’s twin red backlights dissolved from sight.
Then I turned back to survey our new home. It was beautiful. Gracious arches, smooth expanse of polished, tiled floors and elegant marble counters. The kind of house we used to look at enviously in glossy home décor magazines.
What luck to get it at such a bargain!
A stroke of luck for all of us- me, my sister Juraina and my precious baby Taria.
I wandered idly to the kitchen and was pondering over which box to unpack, when I heard it. The baby was wailing upstairs. “God! Taria is crying again.” Muttering under my breath I was halfway up the stairs before it struck me.
The baby wasn’t here!!!!
She was with my mother in her house three blocks away!!!!
Then who was crying upstairs?
I froze. The hair at the back of my neck pricked up in pert unison. My skin broke out in goose pimples.
The baby continued wailing. Sad. Insistent. Lonely.
And then as suddenly, it stopped.
There was deathly silence.
And there I was- alone in the huge silent house that got darker with each passing second. Three more minutes passed and I finally decided to move. Maybe it was a cat? Or some other animal lost upstairs?
“Mama.”
The soft sound came from the foot of the stairs. Heart thudding I spun around to find a small dark form standing down below. In the gloom I could not see any features but could have sworn it was a little boy. For a split second we faced each other before the figure walked to the arch leading into the kitchen and passed through the doorway.
I was shaking. Cold shivers ran up my spine. I would have screamed hysterically if not for my odd conviction that the house would not welcome such an intrusion. So biting my lips, I stayed. And stayed. And stayed. Until finally five minutes passed. I know- because I checked my watch every three seconds. Thank God for luminous dials.
I cautiously turned around again and decided to head up the stairs. Somehow I just did not want to enter that kitchen. I also avoided the master bedroom where I thought the baby had wailed.
Instead I rushed into my sister’s room and locked the door. I fumbled for the light switch.
“Mama”
I gasped and fell back on the door.
On the bed I could make out a the little figure again. And was that a bundle in its arms? Perhaps the baby?
This time I screamed. I opened the door and there outside was the little boy again.
“Mama.”
I moaned in fear. Where could I go? What should I do?
I looked back at the room- it was empty. I swirled to the landing – it was empty.
I ran out. Down the stairs. To the kitchen and put the lights on. I breathed in relief as the brilliance swept through the room. I was going to get out of this house now.
I picked up my bag and my car keys. I ran to the car in the garage and started the engine. I pushed the gas pedal hard and tore down the lane, into the street and stopped only when the light turned red at the crossing.
Panting, I rested my head on the wheel and felt the first slivers of relief flow into me. Then the light turned green and I was speeding again.
“Mama.”
I got a fleeting glimpse of a small figure in my rearview mirror before everything went pitch black.
----------------------------------------------------------
The house at the corner of our block stands empty. No one knows who owns it. No one has ever tried to buy it. They say some woman tried to move into it a few years ago. But the first night she moved in, her neighbors saw her drive out of the house in a frenzy. She died in a car crash. Her sister and her baby girl moved out of town.
People say all kinds of things. But I KNOW. I have seen her.
A woman holding a baby. And a little boy behind her saying “Mama.”
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Young Rose
A breezy summer wind one day
Blew in a handsome bee
“I seek a rose, a sweet, sweet rose
“But none so far I see.”
A gentle rose who hid behind
A slender willow tree
Shyly showed a soft young face
“I think I’m one, Mr. Bee.”
“Really? But you are so pale!
So deathly white to see
I want a rose that’s bold and red
That does appeal to me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And held its breath to squeeze
A pale pink tear from stinging eyes
And stained itself to please.
“Hmm! Better! I do think so.
But you’re too short for me
I need someone like marigold
Who reaches up to me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And stretched high up the tree
To give a petal, a pale pink petal
But could not reach the Bee.
“So you look tall, a bit red too
But you’re not sweet, you see
I need perhaps this jasmine here
Who softly perfumes me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And reached into its heart
And drew up all its fragrant life
And let it all depart.
“Oh look at you, you look so strange
A red rose there I see
I want that rose, that sweet, red rose
You look too strange to me.”
Blew in a handsome bee
“I seek a rose, a sweet, sweet rose
“But none so far I see.”
A gentle rose who hid behind
A slender willow tree
Shyly showed a soft young face
“I think I’m one, Mr. Bee.”
“Really? But you are so pale!
So deathly white to see
I want a rose that’s bold and red
That does appeal to me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And held its breath to squeeze
A pale pink tear from stinging eyes
And stained itself to please.
“Hmm! Better! I do think so.
But you’re too short for me
I need someone like marigold
Who reaches up to me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And stretched high up the tree
To give a petal, a pale pink petal
But could not reach the Bee.
“So you look tall, a bit red too
But you’re not sweet, you see
I need perhaps this jasmine here
Who softly perfumes me.”
The young rose thought then turned away
And reached into its heart
And drew up all its fragrant life
And let it all depart.
“Oh look at you, you look so strange
A red rose there I see
I want that rose, that sweet, red rose
You look too strange to me.”
The Large Pickle Jar
The Large Pickle Jar
Gauri gently bowed her head to the rising sun. She finished her pooja (prayers) before the sun’s rays could touch her pet jasmines. It was a routine she seldom broke.
And equally unfailing, next to her, was Sasumaa (mother-in-law) -in her beloved starched cotton saree. She too stood with hands folded, silently mouthing her daily litany.
Gauri knew what Sasuma was seeking. It wasn’t very different from her own entreaties. In fact, everyone in the house was praying to hear the wail of a newborn. Each in his/her own little way had been pleading with Fate for two years now. And their concern always mounted to some new ritual for Gauri. Just last week (widowed) Chachi Maa (Great Aunt) had requested her to stop wearing red. Apparently it absorbed too much heat and could result in miscarriages. Then yesterday Sasujee (father-in-law) had suddenly cautioned her against going near the banyan tree next to the village pond. He feared evil spirits would bestow misfortune on her. It was a harsh rule because most of the local bazaars and fairs were held around that tree. Women often sat out broiling afternoons under that generous canopy and much local gossip was traded in those shaded recesses.
However, Gauri bore it all without rancor. She understood their worry, respected their concern. Her only hope was that in time she would prove worthy of such love. Already, most people in the village had advised Sasumaa to get a second wife for her son.
Gauri could only wonder what bizarre sense of loyalty was stopping this family from abandoning her.
Prayers over, the two women cast somber looks at each other. Today was the big day. Three days ago, after months of gentle nagging, Sasumaa had finally convinced Sasujee that Gauri needed to visit the government family planning center near by. It was an hour away by foot.
Anxious to be punctual, Sasumaa and Gauri had actually managed to arrive half-hour before their appointment. For the next three hours they had sat in timid wonder observing the ‘lady doctor’ order around several male assistants. Finally, their turn had come.
After a thorough physical exam behind a grubby green curtain, the doctor had taken Gauri’s blood and urine samples. She had informed them she would have to send the samples to the city to be properly analyzed. So could Gauri return in three days for her results? How about next Monday at 10 AM?
And today, at last, it was Monday!
*******************************************************************
“There is nothing wrong with you Gauri.” The lady doctor was smiling assurance. “You can have as many children as you want!”
The two women cast delighted looks at each other. Thank God!
But the doctor was continuing, so they turned back to her.
“You say you have been trying for two years now. And Gauri is in perfect health. So I am wondering, would you like to bring your husband in for a check-up?”
Gauri felt her breath catch in her throat. Bring in Shankar? Why did Shankar have to be checked? The temerity of this brazen woman! She opened her mouth in hot refute but Sasumaa’s calm voice reigned her in.
“We will think about it.”
Gauri was completely stupefied. In all these days, nay months, of praying and crying and obeying and agonizing, it had never once occurred to her that she was not to blame.
And here was Shankar’s mother, refusing to rise to his defense. Considering the impossible. What was happening……?
Gauri’s mind was in turmoil but she bided her time with characteristic patience.
She finally trained her questioning gaze on Sasumaa only when they settled into their trudge back home.
But Sasumaa refused to meet her eyes. And Gauri could not find the courage to voice her confusion. So they marched on in silence until suddenly, Sasumaa began without preamble.
“You are so innocent. How do I tell you?” She paused.
“These men… they are not perfect, beti (daughter). Your mother knew it. My mother knew it. And yet no one told us. They all wait for us to find out or suffer in ignorance ….” She stopped again. Then continued, choosing her words carefully.
“So I am telling you now, when there is still time. I know Shankar is my son. And I love him. But I also know he is not God- he is not your God Gauri. He can make mistakes too. Sometimes he can be at fault too. The blame is not always yours to bear.”
Gauri was dumbstruck.
Sasumaa continued in gentler tones…..
“I brought you here because I wanted you to know the truth….the villagers, our family, even Sasujee are all after you. But I know the truth. And I wanted you to know it too.”
Seeing Gauri’s face, Sasumaa’s reserve finally exploded.
“Do you still not understand? I have had the same problems with Sasujee. Shankar is not our son. We adopted him.”
Gauri could not have been more stupefied if the ground had split open and swallowed her whole.
“But I should tell you things in detail now. Here, let us stand here under this shade for sometime.”
“We had the same problems, Gauri, when we got married. For three years we tried and tried. I went to every temple I could find. Observed every fast. Followed every ritual. Sasujee’s parents, our families and even the villagers made my life a living hell. Then one day I found out my in-laws were looking for a new bride. I finally became desperate enough to seek help. So I went to visit my friend in the neighboring village. Her husband was a doctor in the government clinic there. I wanted to find the problem and correct it. I wanted to be the perfect bride.”
“The doctor arranged for my tests and came back with the astounding news that I was normal. My head was reeling. And then the doctor suggested that we should check Sasujee. I almost fainted. But my life was at stake and I had to think fast. I knew that Sasujee would never allow a test. So I tricked him into it.”
Here Sasumaa paused delicately. How do you tell your daughter-in-law about tricking your husband into giving you a sperm sample? Thankfully, Gauri vaguely understood something and nodded for her to continue.
“So anyway, I still don’t understand the details, but the results showed that it would be very difficult for Sasujee to ever have kids. My husband was not God. He was as vulnerable as I was. I cried for a whole week in sheer relief. And then came endless nights of helpless rage. I could hardly bear Sasujee’s touch during those days.”
Sasumaa started walking again.
“ I took the results home and hid them under the large pickle jar in the kitchen. I knew now that I was not at fault. But how did that change anything? Years of brainwashing prevented me from saying anything against Sasujee. I could not bring myself to sully his name in public. I had to protect him. That was my duty as his wife. So I bore all the pressure and taunts in silence for almost another full year….. But then Sasujee broke the sacred bond between us. He went and saw a young girl and fixed a date for marriage. They hid the news from me and I chanced upon it only a week beforehand.”
“I remember clearly, I was at the well when some women passed by arguing the matter in loud, heated voices. They stopped when they spotted me, but I had heard enough. I dropped my urn right there and ran all the way back home. I knew the time had come to move that pickle jar.”
Gauri looked over Sasumaa’s portly figure and tried to imagine the scene. It almost brought a smile to her lips. Perhaps Sasumaa understood. She abruptly met Gauri’s amused look with a twinkle of her own.
“Yes, I could run like the wind in those days. So I rushed into my kitchen. And pulled out the test results. I could not read, but I had made the doctor circle the important parts in red.”
“Then I ran again—all the way to the mustard fields where Sasujee was overseeing the field hands. I beckoned to him urgently. He must have thought I got his lunch. The poor man.”
Sasumaa chuckled.
“I did not say anything. He could read and I just thrust the paper in his hand. To make a long story short, the results were a shock to him. I threatened to make it public. He threatened to beat me. I told him he could not touch me. The doctor in the city hospital would alert the police if I did not contact him regularly. It was a lie, but it worked. Now he resorted to pleading. He could not bear the thought of his father hearing of this. His family needed an heir. What was the way out? Finally, we settled on a pact. He would not look for a second bride. I would burn the test results. And we would adopt a child secretly.”
“We returned home together. It felt awkward – it was an unusual break in our routines. And that decision changed our lives forever. We entered the house to find Chachi Maa and Sasujee’s oldest brother ...mmm...together. It’s the most sinful act I have ever witnessed – and yet one that has given me the greatest joy in my life. There is no point in saying anything more about it….but Shankar is really their son. Sasujee’s brother died before Shankar was born- I think he died of shame. We took Chachi to the city under the pretext of a new job for Sasujee and came back once all adoption procedures where final.”
There was a tiny silence. And then Sasumaa concluded.
“So you see….I always suspected the truth about Shankar. It runs in the family. And in case you are wondering, what threat do you think finally convinced your Sasujee to let you come to this clinic?”
Tears were slipping down Gauri’s cheeks. A kind hand was twisting her kaleidoscope of beliefs….and this brilliant new pattern was terrifying yet liberating.
“Sasumaa, so what should I ….?”
“What should you do now? I don’t know my dear. I just wanted you to know the truth. What you make of it is up to you. Truth can give you great power if you decide to act on it. And it will give you great comfort when you feel wronged….But I will tell you one thing though. Sasujee will never allow Shankar to be tested. And Shankar is not about to come with you willingly….”
Sasumaa looked deep into Gauri’s eyes.
“I also want you to know I will never be in favor of a second bride…but if Sasujee makes up his mind, Shankar is bound to do as he asks. I will not be able to stop them. So now do what you must to protect yourself. Gauri, I did what I could. And I hope I did right by you. I am just sorry I waited this long.”
“Sasumaa, one last thing. Did you really burn those results?”
Sasumaa smiled “Of course dear. There is no marriage without trust. Remember that.”
No more could be said. They were home.
*****************************************************************
Gauri entered the kitchen slowly. It looked different. Brighter, cleaner, happier. That’s how she felt. She was not to blame!!! She hugged her secret closer. But there was so much more to absorb. So many spicy secrets, so many startling truths.
However, as Sasujee reminded her loudly, lunch was due in an hour’s time. She could not waste time idling. So she busied herself with the task at hand.
Then all at once, she got up and crossed over to the corner shelf. She assessed the stacked contents and her yes lit upon the biggest one at the bottom.
Bending, she lifted the pickle jar and wiped it clean. She looked at it thoughtfully for a long time, then slowly set it down again.
Deep inside her was rising a new-found self-respect…A dawning desire to be given her worth. If Shankar decided to marry again, she would not beg him or trick him into staying.
She would never rely on a tardy little secret hidden under a large pickle jar.
Gauri gently bowed her head to the rising sun. She finished her pooja (prayers) before the sun’s rays could touch her pet jasmines. It was a routine she seldom broke.
And equally unfailing, next to her, was Sasumaa (mother-in-law) -in her beloved starched cotton saree. She too stood with hands folded, silently mouthing her daily litany.
Gauri knew what Sasuma was seeking. It wasn’t very different from her own entreaties. In fact, everyone in the house was praying to hear the wail of a newborn. Each in his/her own little way had been pleading with Fate for two years now. And their concern always mounted to some new ritual for Gauri. Just last week (widowed) Chachi Maa (Great Aunt) had requested her to stop wearing red. Apparently it absorbed too much heat and could result in miscarriages. Then yesterday Sasujee (father-in-law) had suddenly cautioned her against going near the banyan tree next to the village pond. He feared evil spirits would bestow misfortune on her. It was a harsh rule because most of the local bazaars and fairs were held around that tree. Women often sat out broiling afternoons under that generous canopy and much local gossip was traded in those shaded recesses.
However, Gauri bore it all without rancor. She understood their worry, respected their concern. Her only hope was that in time she would prove worthy of such love. Already, most people in the village had advised Sasumaa to get a second wife for her son.
Gauri could only wonder what bizarre sense of loyalty was stopping this family from abandoning her.
Prayers over, the two women cast somber looks at each other. Today was the big day. Three days ago, after months of gentle nagging, Sasumaa had finally convinced Sasujee that Gauri needed to visit the government family planning center near by. It was an hour away by foot.
Anxious to be punctual, Sasumaa and Gauri had actually managed to arrive half-hour before their appointment. For the next three hours they had sat in timid wonder observing the ‘lady doctor’ order around several male assistants. Finally, their turn had come.
After a thorough physical exam behind a grubby green curtain, the doctor had taken Gauri’s blood and urine samples. She had informed them she would have to send the samples to the city to be properly analyzed. So could Gauri return in three days for her results? How about next Monday at 10 AM?
And today, at last, it was Monday!
*******************************************************************
“There is nothing wrong with you Gauri.” The lady doctor was smiling assurance. “You can have as many children as you want!”
The two women cast delighted looks at each other. Thank God!
But the doctor was continuing, so they turned back to her.
“You say you have been trying for two years now. And Gauri is in perfect health. So I am wondering, would you like to bring your husband in for a check-up?”
Gauri felt her breath catch in her throat. Bring in Shankar? Why did Shankar have to be checked? The temerity of this brazen woman! She opened her mouth in hot refute but Sasumaa’s calm voice reigned her in.
“We will think about it.”
Gauri was completely stupefied. In all these days, nay months, of praying and crying and obeying and agonizing, it had never once occurred to her that she was not to blame.
And here was Shankar’s mother, refusing to rise to his defense. Considering the impossible. What was happening……?
Gauri’s mind was in turmoil but she bided her time with characteristic patience.
She finally trained her questioning gaze on Sasumaa only when they settled into their trudge back home.
But Sasumaa refused to meet her eyes. And Gauri could not find the courage to voice her confusion. So they marched on in silence until suddenly, Sasumaa began without preamble.
“You are so innocent. How do I tell you?” She paused.
“These men… they are not perfect, beti (daughter). Your mother knew it. My mother knew it. And yet no one told us. They all wait for us to find out or suffer in ignorance ….” She stopped again. Then continued, choosing her words carefully.
“So I am telling you now, when there is still time. I know Shankar is my son. And I love him. But I also know he is not God- he is not your God Gauri. He can make mistakes too. Sometimes he can be at fault too. The blame is not always yours to bear.”
Gauri was dumbstruck.
Sasumaa continued in gentler tones…..
“I brought you here because I wanted you to know the truth….the villagers, our family, even Sasujee are all after you. But I know the truth. And I wanted you to know it too.”
Seeing Gauri’s face, Sasumaa’s reserve finally exploded.
“Do you still not understand? I have had the same problems with Sasujee. Shankar is not our son. We adopted him.”
Gauri could not have been more stupefied if the ground had split open and swallowed her whole.
“But I should tell you things in detail now. Here, let us stand here under this shade for sometime.”
“We had the same problems, Gauri, when we got married. For three years we tried and tried. I went to every temple I could find. Observed every fast. Followed every ritual. Sasujee’s parents, our families and even the villagers made my life a living hell. Then one day I found out my in-laws were looking for a new bride. I finally became desperate enough to seek help. So I went to visit my friend in the neighboring village. Her husband was a doctor in the government clinic there. I wanted to find the problem and correct it. I wanted to be the perfect bride.”
“The doctor arranged for my tests and came back with the astounding news that I was normal. My head was reeling. And then the doctor suggested that we should check Sasujee. I almost fainted. But my life was at stake and I had to think fast. I knew that Sasujee would never allow a test. So I tricked him into it.”
Here Sasumaa paused delicately. How do you tell your daughter-in-law about tricking your husband into giving you a sperm sample? Thankfully, Gauri vaguely understood something and nodded for her to continue.
“So anyway, I still don’t understand the details, but the results showed that it would be very difficult for Sasujee to ever have kids. My husband was not God. He was as vulnerable as I was. I cried for a whole week in sheer relief. And then came endless nights of helpless rage. I could hardly bear Sasujee’s touch during those days.”
Sasumaa started walking again.
“ I took the results home and hid them under the large pickle jar in the kitchen. I knew now that I was not at fault. But how did that change anything? Years of brainwashing prevented me from saying anything against Sasujee. I could not bring myself to sully his name in public. I had to protect him. That was my duty as his wife. So I bore all the pressure and taunts in silence for almost another full year….. But then Sasujee broke the sacred bond between us. He went and saw a young girl and fixed a date for marriage. They hid the news from me and I chanced upon it only a week beforehand.”
“I remember clearly, I was at the well when some women passed by arguing the matter in loud, heated voices. They stopped when they spotted me, but I had heard enough. I dropped my urn right there and ran all the way back home. I knew the time had come to move that pickle jar.”
Gauri looked over Sasumaa’s portly figure and tried to imagine the scene. It almost brought a smile to her lips. Perhaps Sasumaa understood. She abruptly met Gauri’s amused look with a twinkle of her own.
“Yes, I could run like the wind in those days. So I rushed into my kitchen. And pulled out the test results. I could not read, but I had made the doctor circle the important parts in red.”
“Then I ran again—all the way to the mustard fields where Sasujee was overseeing the field hands. I beckoned to him urgently. He must have thought I got his lunch. The poor man.”
Sasumaa chuckled.
“I did not say anything. He could read and I just thrust the paper in his hand. To make a long story short, the results were a shock to him. I threatened to make it public. He threatened to beat me. I told him he could not touch me. The doctor in the city hospital would alert the police if I did not contact him regularly. It was a lie, but it worked. Now he resorted to pleading. He could not bear the thought of his father hearing of this. His family needed an heir. What was the way out? Finally, we settled on a pact. He would not look for a second bride. I would burn the test results. And we would adopt a child secretly.”
“We returned home together. It felt awkward – it was an unusual break in our routines. And that decision changed our lives forever. We entered the house to find Chachi Maa and Sasujee’s oldest brother ...mmm...together. It’s the most sinful act I have ever witnessed – and yet one that has given me the greatest joy in my life. There is no point in saying anything more about it….but Shankar is really their son. Sasujee’s brother died before Shankar was born- I think he died of shame. We took Chachi to the city under the pretext of a new job for Sasujee and came back once all adoption procedures where final.”
There was a tiny silence. And then Sasumaa concluded.
“So you see….I always suspected the truth about Shankar. It runs in the family. And in case you are wondering, what threat do you think finally convinced your Sasujee to let you come to this clinic?”
Tears were slipping down Gauri’s cheeks. A kind hand was twisting her kaleidoscope of beliefs….and this brilliant new pattern was terrifying yet liberating.
“Sasumaa, so what should I ….?”
“What should you do now? I don’t know my dear. I just wanted you to know the truth. What you make of it is up to you. Truth can give you great power if you decide to act on it. And it will give you great comfort when you feel wronged….But I will tell you one thing though. Sasujee will never allow Shankar to be tested. And Shankar is not about to come with you willingly….”
Sasumaa looked deep into Gauri’s eyes.
“I also want you to know I will never be in favor of a second bride…but if Sasujee makes up his mind, Shankar is bound to do as he asks. I will not be able to stop them. So now do what you must to protect yourself. Gauri, I did what I could. And I hope I did right by you. I am just sorry I waited this long.”
“Sasumaa, one last thing. Did you really burn those results?”
Sasumaa smiled “Of course dear. There is no marriage without trust. Remember that.”
No more could be said. They were home.
*****************************************************************
Gauri entered the kitchen slowly. It looked different. Brighter, cleaner, happier. That’s how she felt. She was not to blame!!! She hugged her secret closer. But there was so much more to absorb. So many spicy secrets, so many startling truths.
However, as Sasujee reminded her loudly, lunch was due in an hour’s time. She could not waste time idling. So she busied herself with the task at hand.
Then all at once, she got up and crossed over to the corner shelf. She assessed the stacked contents and her yes lit upon the biggest one at the bottom.
Bending, she lifted the pickle jar and wiped it clean. She looked at it thoughtfully for a long time, then slowly set it down again.
Deep inside her was rising a new-found self-respect…A dawning desire to be given her worth. If Shankar decided to marry again, she would not beg him or trick him into staying.
She would never rely on a tardy little secret hidden under a large pickle jar.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The Perfect Act
The doctor leans forward, his eyes spilling sympathy. "Do you understand what I just told you Mrs. Koreshi?" He speaks slowly. I watch his mouth form the words. What if I lean over and kiss him? Suppressing a smile I try to match Dr. Kakkar's gravity. I have just been informed I have ovarian cancer. Quite advanced. They also found some growth in my uterus that needs further testing. I suppose I should pay attention to all the details pouring forth from Dr. Kakkar. He is a nice man- and nice men are not to be taken for granted.
At least that’s what my mom believes. “Ananya you should thank god every day girl! Such a nice husband. What other man helps around the house like he does? He even makes your dinner on days you are tired- even with all his work! You lucky, lucky girl! God is kind to you.” I would smile but wonder at the inflection in her voice. Was it sadness for her lot or resignation at mine?
“Mrs. Koreshi, perhaps you need some time alone.” Dr. Kakkar is graceful in his retreat. He briefly lays a hand on my shoulder. I shudder softly. “You will be fine,” he says, misreading my reaction. Should I call him back and tell him it was a pleasure feeling his touch?
I look down at the white robe covering my length. I am naked underneath. The cold gooey lubricator is sliding down my thigh, making damp pools on the examination table. I pity the person cleaning up after me. Sliding off, I reach for my clothes. I catch sight of my reports lying on the side-table and suddenly I get it- I have cancer. Me, Ananya Koreshi, mother of two, wife of one, daughter of two, sister of none- has cancer – that may prove fatal.
God Willing- adds a small voice, startling me.
My fingers are deftly wrapping the sari around me. I am busy toying with the word ‘cancer.’ Very apt that it should have two ‘c’s in it. C is such a cold letter. Not like a sunny S or a pretty P. I get a mental picture of cancer written large in bold letters, flashing in the skies on a dark stormy sky or wavering at the precipice of a steep cliff. It comes with painful violins, a deluge of tears, a final attempt at a smile, a screeching crescendo and then --- silence. Limp hand resting still in the clasp of a loved one.
And yet, here I am - and not a single violin has sounded. Outside the doctor’s office hums with busy routines. I have to just pull open the door and they will envelope me as well. Next check-up to be scheduled, medicines to be prescribed, tests to be ordered- even death has a decorum to follow. You can’t just let go and ride to it for free.
It’s not time yet to step out. I sink back into Dr. Kakkar’s chair. What will I tell Sanjeev? When should I tell him? Nice, considerate, wonderful Sanjeev. Then why am I here alone?
Because you wanted it so –there’s that small voice again.
Sanjeev must be in office. Watching the clock. Waiting for my call. I feel irritation rising in me again. I can see his smoothly sculpted face, light handsome eyes- always kind, always expectant. How can anyone be this perfect? And why would that perfection choose to marry someone called Ananya Tallavi?
Ananya Tallavi grew up happy. An independent child- a bit lonely for want of siblings. But enjoying the undivided focus of loving, well-to-do parents. Secure in her talent of painting and acting. Proud of her slender beauty, expecting a fantastic future. Everyone in the colony agreed she was going to be ‘something.’ She was ‘going to make it big.’ And Ananya set about doing just that. She won every competition she entered, represented her school at state level and got admission to the top arts college in her city. She was well on her way to fame and adventure.
Her only shameful secret was her mother—her dull, suburban mother. With a world of good in her heart and worry in her eyes. Always a step behind Dada. Always a step ahead of Ananya. Ma with nothing to call her own- not even her husband who would often disappear for several nights, and re-appear looking smug. Ananya once caught Ma meditating at the kitchen window. It was difficult to tell if she was thanking God for her comfortable life or imagining the flight of free will. Ma had turned abruptly, before Ananya could hide the scorn on her face.
Ma was aware of Ananya’s silent contempt and accepted it. Ananya was aware of Ma’s acceptance and was doubly angered by the guilt it caused her. If there was one thing Ananya Tallavi was NOT going to be, it was her mother.
I laugh out loud at this thought. Twenty-three years later, with seventeen years of marriage behind me. Who am I? Mrs. Koreshi- the perfect wife to the perfect husband. The perfect mother to near-perfect children. In a perfect home, on the perfect street with a perfect black iron gate guarding my perfect lawn. No less a prisoner to routines and expectations than Ma had been. No more able to break free than my Ma.
It started on a sunny afternoon as I stood for an audition outside Zee TV’s corporate office. The slight heat made my hair curl and I was counting on this flushed appearance to get me the protagonist’s part. It was to be a 36 episode serial. My ticket to fame. Page 3 here I come! Lost in thought I was barely looking at my book until a brown hand gently turned it in my hands. I realized I had been holding it upside down and looked up with an embarrassed smile. My heart skipped a beat and my smile died on my lips. I saw the man’s expression mirror mine. It was the same shocked look of unexpected love.
This was Sanjeev Koreshi- assistant production manager for the show I was auditioning for.
That day I landed a part bigger than I imagined. It has lasted me a lifetime, severely tested my skills as an actress. How else can someone function day after day with bored resentment in their heart and no one come to know of it?
I have my expressions pat down. To share a few,
Surprised Delight – expressed with wide, slightly damp eyes and a slow spreading smile: to be used for birthday gifts, anniversary gifts, romantic dinners, romantic gifts …you get my drift.
Maternal Pride – expressed with a slight straightening of the back, direct eye contact, a bright supportive smile, arms stretched out to embrace and a line or two on ‘always having full faith.’
Dutiful Wife- a cup of tea in hand, softly lowered eyes, a gentle inviting half-smile. Used to lead to sex. Past few years it elicits a finely rendered ‘thank you.’ Apparently sex is outlawed once you get over the hill- I personally feel tumbling together down the other side could be fun. But Sanjeev has lost interest. Perhaps Mr. Kakkar……
I laugh out loud again. Then stop. Am I in shock? Is this how people react when they find out they have cancer? My mind is now busy trying to picture the best way to react.
That’s how I am. For every situation I flip through my dossier of responses and settle on the perfect one to display. Because people cannot survive my truth. What will happen if I tell Sanjeev how bored I am? How I hate the routine in our lives? How I resent the dependence of our children? How disappointed I am with my life? What will happen if I run away leaving all these people behind? With no note or explanation? Would anyone feel I was justified? Can I say “my life is too comfortable.” Does that count for a reason?
You could find out now- comes that small voice again. What is there to lose? You have cancer. Not many days to go. Have fun. Do what you want to do. To hell with rest.
Its tempting- but I know I won’t. I can’t. I could not bear being wrong in their eyes. NO! I stand up suddenly and knock the chair against the wall. Almost immediately Dr. Kakkar appears at the door. (Was he outside all this time? The dear man!) “Are you all right Mrs. Koreshi?
How do you feel?”How do I feel? Indeed, how do I feel? Should I tell him I feel relieved? Hopeful? For the first time in years there is an end in sight. A natural, dignified end to this life – with hopes of starting fresh again somewhere. Without fault or blame or bitterness. I will be free at last. God is kind- Ma was right.
A tear escapes me. My body is being racked by sobs. Dr. Kakkar’s arms are around me. Comforting me. He has misread me again. I turn my face up to meet his….
****************************************************************************There There is a knock on the door. My assistant pops her head in to say “Dr. Kakkar, Mr. Koreshi is waiting outside for his wife.”
Ananya straightens her sari. She turns to me and winks. I am confused by her shining eyes, her light-hearted smile.
Then she adjusts her dark glasses firmly on her nose. What’s the need I wonder. Without a backward glance she opens the door to the bustling corridor. I can see her husband’s silhouette. “Darling, how do you feel?” a concerned baritone.
I am startled to hear a teary voice answer “Oh Sweetheart! We must be brave. I am just devastated. What will you all do if something happens to me? What will I do without you? Oh Sanjeev why has God done this to us……”
The door closes shut. I am alone now – with Mrs. Koreshi’s cancer reports.
*******************************************************************
At least that’s what my mom believes. “Ananya you should thank god every day girl! Such a nice husband. What other man helps around the house like he does? He even makes your dinner on days you are tired- even with all his work! You lucky, lucky girl! God is kind to you.” I would smile but wonder at the inflection in her voice. Was it sadness for her lot or resignation at mine?
“Mrs. Koreshi, perhaps you need some time alone.” Dr. Kakkar is graceful in his retreat. He briefly lays a hand on my shoulder. I shudder softly. “You will be fine,” he says, misreading my reaction. Should I call him back and tell him it was a pleasure feeling his touch?
I look down at the white robe covering my length. I am naked underneath. The cold gooey lubricator is sliding down my thigh, making damp pools on the examination table. I pity the person cleaning up after me. Sliding off, I reach for my clothes. I catch sight of my reports lying on the side-table and suddenly I get it- I have cancer. Me, Ananya Koreshi, mother of two, wife of one, daughter of two, sister of none- has cancer – that may prove fatal.
God Willing- adds a small voice, startling me.
My fingers are deftly wrapping the sari around me. I am busy toying with the word ‘cancer.’ Very apt that it should have two ‘c’s in it. C is such a cold letter. Not like a sunny S or a pretty P. I get a mental picture of cancer written large in bold letters, flashing in the skies on a dark stormy sky or wavering at the precipice of a steep cliff. It comes with painful violins, a deluge of tears, a final attempt at a smile, a screeching crescendo and then --- silence. Limp hand resting still in the clasp of a loved one.
And yet, here I am - and not a single violin has sounded. Outside the doctor’s office hums with busy routines. I have to just pull open the door and they will envelope me as well. Next check-up to be scheduled, medicines to be prescribed, tests to be ordered- even death has a decorum to follow. You can’t just let go and ride to it for free.
It’s not time yet to step out. I sink back into Dr. Kakkar’s chair. What will I tell Sanjeev? When should I tell him? Nice, considerate, wonderful Sanjeev. Then why am I here alone?
Because you wanted it so –there’s that small voice again.
Sanjeev must be in office. Watching the clock. Waiting for my call. I feel irritation rising in me again. I can see his smoothly sculpted face, light handsome eyes- always kind, always expectant. How can anyone be this perfect? And why would that perfection choose to marry someone called Ananya Tallavi?
Ananya Tallavi grew up happy. An independent child- a bit lonely for want of siblings. But enjoying the undivided focus of loving, well-to-do parents. Secure in her talent of painting and acting. Proud of her slender beauty, expecting a fantastic future. Everyone in the colony agreed she was going to be ‘something.’ She was ‘going to make it big.’ And Ananya set about doing just that. She won every competition she entered, represented her school at state level and got admission to the top arts college in her city. She was well on her way to fame and adventure.
Her only shameful secret was her mother—her dull, suburban mother. With a world of good in her heart and worry in her eyes. Always a step behind Dada. Always a step ahead of Ananya. Ma with nothing to call her own- not even her husband who would often disappear for several nights, and re-appear looking smug. Ananya once caught Ma meditating at the kitchen window. It was difficult to tell if she was thanking God for her comfortable life or imagining the flight of free will. Ma had turned abruptly, before Ananya could hide the scorn on her face.
Ma was aware of Ananya’s silent contempt and accepted it. Ananya was aware of Ma’s acceptance and was doubly angered by the guilt it caused her. If there was one thing Ananya Tallavi was NOT going to be, it was her mother.
I laugh out loud at this thought. Twenty-three years later, with seventeen years of marriage behind me. Who am I? Mrs. Koreshi- the perfect wife to the perfect husband. The perfect mother to near-perfect children. In a perfect home, on the perfect street with a perfect black iron gate guarding my perfect lawn. No less a prisoner to routines and expectations than Ma had been. No more able to break free than my Ma.
It started on a sunny afternoon as I stood for an audition outside Zee TV’s corporate office. The slight heat made my hair curl and I was counting on this flushed appearance to get me the protagonist’s part. It was to be a 36 episode serial. My ticket to fame. Page 3 here I come! Lost in thought I was barely looking at my book until a brown hand gently turned it in my hands. I realized I had been holding it upside down and looked up with an embarrassed smile. My heart skipped a beat and my smile died on my lips. I saw the man’s expression mirror mine. It was the same shocked look of unexpected love.
This was Sanjeev Koreshi- assistant production manager for the show I was auditioning for.
That day I landed a part bigger than I imagined. It has lasted me a lifetime, severely tested my skills as an actress. How else can someone function day after day with bored resentment in their heart and no one come to know of it?
I have my expressions pat down. To share a few,
Surprised Delight – expressed with wide, slightly damp eyes and a slow spreading smile: to be used for birthday gifts, anniversary gifts, romantic dinners, romantic gifts …you get my drift.
Maternal Pride – expressed with a slight straightening of the back, direct eye contact, a bright supportive smile, arms stretched out to embrace and a line or two on ‘always having full faith.’
Dutiful Wife- a cup of tea in hand, softly lowered eyes, a gentle inviting half-smile. Used to lead to sex. Past few years it elicits a finely rendered ‘thank you.’ Apparently sex is outlawed once you get over the hill- I personally feel tumbling together down the other side could be fun. But Sanjeev has lost interest. Perhaps Mr. Kakkar……
I laugh out loud again. Then stop. Am I in shock? Is this how people react when they find out they have cancer? My mind is now busy trying to picture the best way to react.
That’s how I am. For every situation I flip through my dossier of responses and settle on the perfect one to display. Because people cannot survive my truth. What will happen if I tell Sanjeev how bored I am? How I hate the routine in our lives? How I resent the dependence of our children? How disappointed I am with my life? What will happen if I run away leaving all these people behind? With no note or explanation? Would anyone feel I was justified? Can I say “my life is too comfortable.” Does that count for a reason?
You could find out now- comes that small voice again. What is there to lose? You have cancer. Not many days to go. Have fun. Do what you want to do. To hell with rest.
Its tempting- but I know I won’t. I can’t. I could not bear being wrong in their eyes. NO! I stand up suddenly and knock the chair against the wall. Almost immediately Dr. Kakkar appears at the door. (Was he outside all this time? The dear man!) “Are you all right Mrs. Koreshi?
How do you feel?”How do I feel? Indeed, how do I feel? Should I tell him I feel relieved? Hopeful? For the first time in years there is an end in sight. A natural, dignified end to this life – with hopes of starting fresh again somewhere. Without fault or blame or bitterness. I will be free at last. God is kind- Ma was right.
A tear escapes me. My body is being racked by sobs. Dr. Kakkar’s arms are around me. Comforting me. He has misread me again. I turn my face up to meet his….
****************************************************************************There There is a knock on the door. My assistant pops her head in to say “Dr. Kakkar, Mr. Koreshi is waiting outside for his wife.”
Ananya straightens her sari. She turns to me and winks. I am confused by her shining eyes, her light-hearted smile.
Then she adjusts her dark glasses firmly on her nose. What’s the need I wonder. Without a backward glance she opens the door to the bustling corridor. I can see her husband’s silhouette. “Darling, how do you feel?” a concerned baritone.
I am startled to hear a teary voice answer “Oh Sweetheart! We must be brave. I am just devastated. What will you all do if something happens to me? What will I do without you? Oh Sanjeev why has God done this to us……”
The door closes shut. I am alone now – with Mrs. Koreshi’s cancer reports.
*******************************************************************
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Think not twice
Here between us-
Sure as a slap
Softly disappointed
Sticky with compromise
Soggy with tears
Baking in frustration
Crusty with anger
Bemused by misperception
Abandoned with indifference
Wide-eyed on unslept bedsheets
Hicupping alone at the breakfast table-
Here between us
Lies our love
Shall we pick it up gently
And soothe its frantic heart
And kiss it into silence
And give it some water to drink?
Shall we let go of this mile
And rest for a while?
And think not twice before saying "I love you."
Sure as a slap
Softly disappointed
Sticky with compromise
Soggy with tears
Baking in frustration
Crusty with anger
Bemused by misperception
Abandoned with indifference
Wide-eyed on unslept bedsheets
Hicupping alone at the breakfast table-
Here between us
Lies our love
Shall we pick it up gently
And soothe its frantic heart
And kiss it into silence
And give it some water to drink?
Shall we let go of this mile
And rest for a while?
And think not twice before saying "I love you."
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Different
In their search for individualism, America has created the blandest, most homogenic society possible. Its costs too much to be individualistic in this country. You don't believe me? Try any of the following:
1. customize the house you are building: nothing special: just try to change the color of the facade ...or just put in a window where others have none.
2. alter a pair of trousers to suit your length
3. get a doctor to visit you at home
4. get a personal trainer so you don't have to attend group classes
5. get dresses tailor-made for yourself
6. try to get a vegetable seller to come to personally deliver your favorite vegetables - fresh - to your doorstep
7. get window dressings an inch shorter and half an inch wider than the standard available
The list can go on. Be it economies of scale in a capitalist environment or the philosophical views of a communist dictator- the end results are the same: you cannot afford to be different. The price is too high.
Shows you life comes full circle. In the end, hate is nothing but love turned inside out.
1. customize the house you are building: nothing special: just try to change the color of the facade ...or just put in a window where others have none.
2. alter a pair of trousers to suit your length
3. get a doctor to visit you at home
4. get a personal trainer so you don't have to attend group classes
5. get dresses tailor-made for yourself
6. try to get a vegetable seller to come to personally deliver your favorite vegetables - fresh - to your doorstep
7. get window dressings an inch shorter and half an inch wider than the standard available
The list can go on. Be it economies of scale in a capitalist environment or the philosophical views of a communist dictator- the end results are the same: you cannot afford to be different. The price is too high.
Shows you life comes full circle. In the end, hate is nothing but love turned inside out.
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