Letting go of Ananda Nivas.

The house looks older. The A of Ananda Nivas, embossed on the wall by the side of the imposing, now rusting iron gates, has been scraped off. Nanda Nivas greets me, as an old lady would, having seen too much of life to be interested in it, existing rather than living, crumbling little by little, a pale shadow of a past vivacity, a glint here, a dazzle there, if you look closely, but sallow and spiritless for the most part.

The unctuous watchman, with his beetle-juice stained teeth, smiles ingratiatingly at me and scratches his head. The iron gates screech open grudgingly. I hand him a fifty rupee note to get rid of him. I am sweating already even in a sleeveless white t-shirt, I am still jet-lagged and tired of thinking. I stand for a few moments in front of the house, my house and for a moment, it flashes with life. Rows of meticulously maintained rose bushes, the fragrance of tulsi and jasmine, long corridors echoing the laughter of children, strains of old Urdu ghazals, diyas made of clay that are laid out in a pattern around the rangoli, the cool touch of my mother's silk saree; And suddenly the house settles back and all I see are crumbling walls with dried flakes of paint, overgrown bushes and a hollow feeling, a silence that surrounds it and anyone who enters it.

I take a deep breath and call out for Geeta Bai. Geeta Bai has grown older too, almost taking the eerie quality of the house upon herself - she looks frail and sad? "Sapna beta, you have come!" I step forward and hug her without hesitation. Ten years of American culture and I still find comfort in the smell of her home-made spices and her sweat. She is crying and to my surprise, I realize my eyes are wet too.

"We have missed you beta. My son, his wife and child live an hour away, the servant quarters is too small for a family of four na, beta? Have you met Champa? She is very fair and she takes good care of my son..."

I relax as her continuous stream of conversation replaces some of the emptiness in my heart.

"I try to take care of the house, but ever since memsaab passed away...", she quietly wipes the corner of her eye with her saree pallu. A familiar suffocating feeling threatens to overtake me, even after so many years...I swallow back my tears, now is not the time to grieve. It's five years since my mother passed away, that was the last time I saw my house. It had looked different then - bleak and gloomy.

I break out of my reverie as Geeta Bai unlocks the door for me, I step in and am momentarily blinded, the curtains are all drawn, a musty smell crawls around me, I am suddenly cold, the house is cold, I stop myself before I think of what it reminds me of. I shudder.

"I come once a week inside to clean but I am growing old and I am not doing justice to this house. Beta, are you really going to sell this house?"

"Yes, I am", I look away resolutely. I have made up my mind, after sleepless nights of struggling with guilt, after endless hours of discussing it with Ankit, I don't have the strength to be sentimentally foolish now.

"I should come with you Sapna. It's not easy selling a house. Those village folks are pretty cunning; they will take you for a ride."

"No, I need to do this alone. I want to let go, by myself..."

I open all the curtains, sunlight streams in to waken sleeping nooks and corners of the house. I turn to Geeta Bai.

"Geeta Bai, I am here on a short trip, I need to get the house clean and more presentable. I have already talked to a few people who are interested in buying the house. They will be coming next week and before that, we have a lot of work to do. Your daughter-in-law Champa, does she also do house-work?"

Geeta Bai listens carefully all the while, "Yes beta. She is very good at it too..."

"Ok good. Ask her to come at 7 am sharp tomorrow. We have work to do, Geeta Bai, to make this house, what it was."

A sad look crosses her face for an instant but she smiles and says, "Yes beta, we have to work hard...the house deserves it after all these years..."

She walks out slowly and I wonder if she meant to say, "…after all these years of your neglect"?

Ankit had insisted that I book a motel room nearby, "You can't stay alone in the house, Sapna."

"I am not scared Ankit! And Geeta Bai sleeps in the servant quarters anyway..."

"At least ask her to sleep in the house too...I am getting worried already!"

"Hey, I am not a little girl..." and then in a milder tone, I tell him, "I promise to be careful."

I don't feel that confident now. Night seems to have unveiled a different face of the house, I hear moaning sounds, I see ghosts in the dark and the whole house seems to creak. I have an urge to call Geeta Bai to sleep over or call Ankit. It's too early in the morning for him and he will unnecessarily worry for me. I turn the bedroom light on and try to sleep.

What did my mom say to put me to sleep, when I was a child? I try to recall forgotten words, hoping that their familiarity would calm me down. "So jaa Rajakumari...", sleep, my princess..."kal tera rajkumar aayega...dholi me bhitake tujhe leke jayega...", your prince will come tomorrow...to carry you in a palanquin...the sound of her voice comes rushing back to me and I hear it as if she whispers them to me now, I remember her as she was when she said the story to me, beautiful and kind, I almost smell the sandalwood paste that she used to smear on her face everyday, if I insisted too much, she would put a little bit on my palm and I would be thrilled, I see strings of jasmine flowers fluttering lightly against her long braid...and she puts me to sleep once again, after so many years.

***

The house is falling apart, brick by brick. Each thud seems to send a wave of pain through me. Thud, thud, thud...

"Sapna beta, are you ok? Sapna betaaa!", Geeta Bai's raspy voice wakes me up finally, what is she doing here at this ungodly hour, breaking the door down? And then all the previous day's events come rushing back to me. I stumble down to the door and am annoyed that she looks so bright and fresh early in the morning. Behind her, a small woman stands, head bent with her pallu covering her head.

Geeta Bai introduces her daughter-in-law with a flourish, "Sapna, this is Champa, you have met her before no?" Champa looks up and gives me a shy smile and as she steps forward, an even smaller figure huddles close to her, almost hidden by her saree.

"And this is my ladla-pyaara, Kishan", she lifts the child deftly and leans towards me, the child hugs his grandmother tightly and looks scared. With my disheveled hair and white night gown, I must have looked like a ghost to the kid.

I smile and welcome Champa in and am back to business, "Champa, glad you could come. Geeta Bai must have told you that am selling the house, we need to clean the house, dust and polish everything, that's a lot of work."

She nods and says nothing. I turn to Geeta Bai, "Geeta Bai, I need a cup of your strong filter coffee, my head is pounding..."

Geeta Bai gets started on the coffee while Champa and Kishan follow me.

"So, where shall we start? Let's start cleaning my father's office room first", I pick the room that will affect me the least. I lost my father when I was ten, I remember just that he used to be a tall, well-built man with big hands, but they were gentle when he hugged me, I didn't pick up any of his traits except his reading habit. Every night, he would pick a different book to read to me, I wouldn't understand much of it, but the fact that my busy, important father took the time to read for me, compelled me to sit patiently and listen to the way the words rolled out of his mouth. He wore a turban that he removed at nights and he had the biggest mustache that I had ever seen. And that's all I knew about my father. Years later, when I would ignore mom's calls, lost in a book, she would come into the library irritated, but the worry lines on her face would always crease into a smile when she saw me cuddled in dad's huge rocking chair. That's when I felt closest to my father, she probably sensed that, or perhaps she was reminded of her husband that she admired, maybe even dared to love and lost so early in life.

The bolt creaks open and I turn to Champa, "Tomorrow morning, get some oil and make sure these bolts become smooth."

Besides the dust that the room has accumulated, it looks just the same. I walk to the ornate rosewood table - it retains its distinctive smell, and pick the open book lying on the table, "Did I leave it there, leaving the story incomplete? How long has it been lying there - my precious childhood memory, left carelessly on the table?" I suddenly have an urge to get the table shipped to America. I can easily afford it – Ankit earns enough for both of us - and Ankit might end up loving such a well-made table and...I stop myself and turn to Champa who is studying me with a not-so-shy curiosity, "Umm...I'll dust the table, open the curtains and start dusting the bookshelves. Keep the kid away, all that dust is not good for him."

And to my surprise, the child starts dusting the lowermost shelf - that's all he can reach - Champa just smiles and starts cleaning the higher shelves.

I dawdle over my task, trying to concentrate as conflicting feelings fight for attention in my head, I want to let go while holding on as fast as I could…back at home, it had seemed foolish for me to hold on to this house, a waste of money and effort spent dealing with the maintenance people who I knew were charging us double the normal rate…

"Memsaab, the shelves are done. I am going to sweep and clean the floor with a wet cloth."

"Call me Sapna", I say it more rudely than I want to but I am not memsaab, my mother, sentimental and stubborn...

"You can't make me sell the house Sapna. I can sell my wedding jewellery and maintain it. I will not sell it", obstinate, like a child. When my mom got into these moods, there was no arguing with her.

"Ma, all am asking you to do is to think about it. You can come and live with us in America. Ankit will be more than happy...and who is here anyway?"

"This is my place, Sapna. I let you select your husband but I can't let you govern my life. This is the house my husband lived in and I will breathe my last here..."

And she did, my stubborn, beautiful mother...

"Sapna beta, your coffee...", Geeta Bai is about to place the steaming hot cup of coffee on the table when I say, "Careful, you might stain the finish!" and Geeta Bai asks, "Does it matter beta? Isn't it all going away anyway?"

I would probably not have put up with her insolence any other time but am already tired today and I take my coffee, wordlessly.

***

Three hours later, my father's office is ready for visitors, gleaming and proud, like my father was. Is that what happens to a house eventually, after decades? Does it don the qualities and quirks of the person who lived there the most and made it their own? I know I should probably call Ankit but the ISD phone booth is fifteen minutes away and I don't have the strength to go there, I tell myself I will call tomorrow. My stomach growls as I wonder which room I should take on next.

Geeta Bai calls for me, "Sapna beta, come down and have your lunch. Hai Ram, what will memsaab say if she finds you working like this?", why does she always talk in present-tense as if my mother were around watching us sell what is hers...

Onion Sambhar, rotis, crisp, roasted potatoes and rice and my irritation melts away, "Thank you, Geeta Bai..."

"Hush beta, eat first", I silently follow her command. There is something about her that makes me do that.

She has set a place for me at the dining table and today, of all days, I don't wish to eat alone. I carry my plate to the kitchen and settle down on the floor amidst loud protests from Geeta Bai.

"Sapna beta, the people buying this house, when are they coming beta?"

"Day after tomorrow. I think they said morning works for them."

"Ah ok. So...", she makes a round ball with rice and alu curry in it and plops it into her mouth and asks, "do you know what they plan to do with the house?"

"What do you mean 'plan to do'? They will live in it, like everyone else..."

"But, that's not what Sevanthi says..."

I am getting annoyed with all this circuitous talk, "Who is Sevanthi now?"

"She works for the memsaab that wants to buy this house..."

I gape at Geeta Bai, was she playing me all along? "If you knew who was going to buy the house, why did you ask me? You might as well tell me what you know since you seem to know much more than me!"

"What does this old woman know beta? All Sevanthi told me was that they were planning to remodel the house, they thought the current design will probably not work for them...they also thought the entrance was too...loud, maybe rebuild the entrance..."

"What? I love the entrance, its beautiful! I love the Ganesh and elephant carvings on the door...", I am angry at this memsaab who is already bad-mouthing my house.

"What to do beta? When we sell the house, we should not care about all this...it is difficult to maintain after all..."

"No, of course not, it's a wonderful house and ...", what am I saying? I look at Geeta Bai's face closely and her eyes seem to challenge me, "It's a wonderful house, isn't it beta?"

"Yes, but am sure we needn't worry about them. They will take good care of the house. Let's get back to work."

And through-out the day, that nagging thought stays behind - "Will they really bring down the entrance and remodel my house, the house that belonged to my parents?"

***

It's dusk and Champa and I sit down on make-shift chairs in the backyard - inverted plastic buckets. I realize she is quite beautiful, dusk has a way of adding beauty to everything that it embraces, I listen as Champa talks, once she became comfortable with me and I became aware that how efficient she was with her work, we warmed up to each other and she became quite talkative.

"He is also very attached to this house...", she doesn't call her husband by name and I think it's charming...

"Ok, enough about the house...tell me..."

"No Sapna didi...I can understand why...look how she stands...no wonder memsaab was proud of it..."

And we both look at the house. I wonder what it is about the house that has drawn my mother, Geeta Bai and now her son and daughter-in-law into its arms...and as I take in each feature of the house, I notice a delicate glow to the house and am almost proud. I begin to understand why Champa says, "She"...I close my eyes and pray that I am taking the right decision.


***

The next morning, Champa greets me with a "What next didi?"

"Let's take my room next..."

I walk in behind Champa and Kishan and Kishan immediately runs to a rocking horse, my rocking horse, and sits on it. Champa begins to chide him when I gesture that it's ok.

I open my old cupboard, the one that mother wouldn't sell or give away even after I left to America. A few salwar kameez and skirts, an old box of trinkets, I turn to Champa, "Here, take them."

"No Sapna didi..."

"Take them. I want you to have them. It will remind you of me later."

For a second I think she will hug me but she just nods happily.

An hour later, we are almost done with my room and I am surprised, almost disappointed that nothing in there brought back any memories at all, it was as if when I packed to leave to the US, I had packed away all my memories too...

By evening we have finished almost the entire house, except Mom's room. But hey, if I managed my room, mom's room would be easy too.

Kishan rushes into the room first and we follow him inside. I know she is there, my mother, I can smell her as soon as I walk in. Even Kishan seems to slow down and walk with us inside. Champa turns to me and says, "I will be right back memsaab, I want to check if ma needs my help to cut vegetables for dinner..." and she leaves me alone with the child. I smile reassuringly at him and walk towards my mother's cupboard. Her room is small, a small, neatly-made bed - has it been this way since she left me? - a cupboard with a few pictures of Gods and Goddesses and an old photo of my father on top of it and a night stand. Something catches in my throat when I look at the lone photo frame on the night stand - a picture taken years ago of our family leaning against our new car...Geeta Bai stands behind, deferentially, she seems younger, happier...we all do. And standing behind us, as if guarding us, with its arms around us, is Ananda Nivas.

I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath. Kishan stands next to me and I notice that he has his hand on mine - for support, for him or me?

Is this a sign? Is mom trying to tell me something? Why didn't I just let Champa clean this room...and I am suddenly angry with my mom for having played such a mean trick on me.

When Champa walks in a few minutes later, I have already dried my tears and have removed the photo from the frame.

"Start cleaning here, I will be right back", I instruct and rush out before she can say anything. I place the photo carefully in my file of house papers and decide to take a walk to the phone booth, Ankit can get up early once for me.

I get the connection almost immediately, the shop keeper offers me cool drinks twice and I decline politely twice.

"Ankit, Good morning..."

"Sapna....Sapna, is that you", I feel sorry for him as I listen to his groggy, sleep-filled voice, "Why didn't you call yesterday, I don't even have a number to reach you!"

I cut him off, "They are coming tomorrow..."

"They who?"

"The people who want to buy the house...Geeta Bai says they might want to remodel the house..."

"That's good, so they really intend to buy the house, if they are already making plans to remodel..."

"No, you don't understand. I don't want them to..."

"You don't want them to buy the house?"

"No, to remodel the house..."

"But you want them to buy it, don't you? You told me you wanted to let go and it was just a big maintenance hassle and..."

"I know all that...I found this old photo...of our family..."

"Sapna, are you ok? Listen, if you are not ready to sell the house, then don't."

"No!", I am angry that he thinks I will go back on my decision, "I want to sell the house, so wish me luck. Will call you tomorrow once they sign the deal."

"Ok...good luck and Sapna?"

"Uh Huh?"

"Take care of you for me."

I smile as I walk in the light rain towards my house. By night, I am running a temperature and Geeta Bai insists on sleeping on a mat, on the floor beside my bed, "What? Leave you alone with such a fever, memsaab will..."

By now, I have given up on her. Yes, memsaab will be angry. I know. As thunder rumbles in the distance, I am unable to sleep - excited, confused, anxious, feverish all at once. So, Geeta Bai and I talk through the night,

"Do you remember Sapna beta, you used to such a naughty little girl, never listening to memsaab. But she would never lay a hand on you...you would pull out all her roses, get your hands pricked with the thorns and bawl loudly and would demand a gift to sop crying...memsaab never got angry with you..."

And suddenly I remember mom's flashing eyes when she refused to sell the house. Had I finally made her angry? I hear the angry sound of thunder in response.

After a few more hours, after Geeta Bai has smeared Tiger balm all around my forehead and neck, I fall asleep as she talks in a soft voice about her past and mine.

***

The next morning, I try to be or at least appear cheerful, in spite of a stuffy nose and a dull headache.

Geeta Bai stands next to my bed and announces even more cheerfully, "The streets are all water-logged, it's difficult to even walk, leave alone drive anywhere...", and hands me a hot cup of coffee.

I groan. And now the next obstacle presents itself, is there no end?

The day passes by sluggishly, imitating the weather. Kishan is cranky, stuck inside the house all day long and even Champa appears frazzled.

By evening, I am about to run to the phone booth to call up the buyers - they are five hours late - when the bell rings. Geeta Bai appears not to have heard it from the kitchen and Champa is busy pacifying Kishan and so I walk down to greet the potential buyers.

I am not impressed. I expected a traditional aunty in a salwar kameez if not a saree, an uncle equally traditional and instead a lady barely my age, in jeans and a t-shirt and a nervous looking young man stand at my door step.

"Hi, How are you? You must be Sapna!" The accent tells all. This kind of faked, polite accent cannot be anything but an NRI accent. Geeta Bai has suddenly become cheerful, did she read my mind again? and is asking them whether they would like some coffee.

"So you see, I was like, chalo Rahul, why don't we buy this quaint house here? I love the place, it's charming and ancient...and Rahul loves it too."

Rahul nods unhappily and keeps looking around the house and I want his wife to shut up, so I stand up and say, "Feel free to look around. Geeta Bai will get your coffee here in a minute."

They walk upstairs, the woman looking lost and quite foolish, she keeps up her babble as her husband still looks around him nervously as if the house were going to attack him.

"What shall I do Kishan? Will you also turn against me?"

But Kishan just smiles back, clearly not understanding a word of what I said.

"Did you say something Sapna beta? Such nice people no? I am sure they will take good care of the house..."

No more games, Geeta Bai. I stand up, "I am not selling the house, Geeta Bai. Not to these people."

"I see..."

The lost couple saunters back in and start sipping their coffee.

"You have a lovely house", I hate, hate her accent, "it's quite sad in places, almost falling apart but I am sure we can fix that." I would like to fix your face now, lady.

"Err...how old did you say the house was?", Mr.Nervous wants to know.

"Atleast a hundren years old."

He draws in such a shaky breath, I am afraid he will have an attack of sorts. I wait for them to finish their coffee. They sounded so different on the phone and didn't they say they were from this place? Maybe I spoke to someone else? I need to find that crazy agent who convinced me they were "solid buyers". And now I realize the depth of my foolishness, coming here depending on this one proposal. No matter, I will find another buyer...I must.

"I thought you lived around here..."

"Oh mummy and pappa used to. They said they even talked to you about this house. We have been in American for God knows how long...", she laughs, "we just thought, it'd be cool to buy a house in my native village, memories and all, you know?"

I know. That's why I cannot sell this house to you. Aloud, I say, "I talked to my husband last night and he seems to be having second thoughts about selling the house. I might have to call you back."

"Oh...", she seems disappointed, the husband, relieved.

A few minutes later, they find themselves outside the house and I close the door behind them, mentally preparing myself for the confrontation.

"Geeta Bai. You can clear out the cups later, I want to talk to you."

"Sure beta. Shall I get you some coffee too?" Could this innocent woman be as crafty as I think she is? I don't know yet.

"What do you want Geeta Bai?"

"This old woman wants a million things beta..."

"No, I mean why did you not want me to sell this house? What could you possibly gain by it?"

I don't care if I hurt her feelings, I needed to know.

"I didn't say that beta and what could I possibly gain by it?"

"Don't turn around my questions back to me! I am going to find a buyer for this house before I leave, I have made up my mind, is that clear?"

"Of course beta, whatever you wish. I am sure memsaab would have agreed..."

"Don't drag my mother into this!" and then I lower my voice and ask her once again, "Geeta Bai, you are like a mother to me, please tell me what's on your mind...I know all along, you have been hinting that I should not sell this house...and I am having second thoughts now...maybe you are right, mom wouldn't approve...maybe I shouldn't sell this house...Geeta Bai, will you live in this house with your family if I did not sell this house?"

Maybe that's what the old woman wanted and I don't blame her. She has done enough for the family...

She straightens up suddenly and her voice changes abruptly, "I can never accept this offer Sapna beta. This house is where memsaab lived, I am here to provide service to her and now to you. I had no intentions of taking over the house..."

"No, I am sorry, that came out wrong...", did it really?

To my surprise, she says, "Yes, it did", and I notice her pride, hidden from my eyes till today, "You hurt an old lady beta by thinking you can bribe her with this house. Memsaab loved this house, every brick in it and you sitting in your America thought you could sell this house with a few phone calls? Did you find out if those people cared? What would happen to this house once they bought it? Don't you still hear memsaab's voice in these old walls? I hear them beta...I lost your mother, who was like a daughter to me, I can't afford to lose her again..."

And here she cries, but proudly, each tear drop falling for a precise reason, the right reason, unlike mine, falling down for my mistakes. I am not crying for my mother now, I am crying because I hurt a woman who was like a mother to me...I am crying for Geeta Bai, I am crying for my home that I almost lost...

***

It's as if everything happened in fast-forward, it's already time for me to leave and I don't want to leave. But this time, I know that Geeta Bai and Champa will take good care of the house ("No Sapna didi, that is too much, I can't accept that much money from you", Champa had said, but I insisted, she deserved it), I know I have taken the right decision, no doubts to haunt me during dark nights, no flashing eyes to remind me of attachment and heritage...just the comforting smell of chandan and jasmine; I have made peace with my mom. I have let go...

I wake him up, early in the morning again,

"Hey Ankit"

"Hey yourself. So, did it all work out as you planned?"

"No, my whole plan fell apart...thank God. I know I'll be annoyed with the huge maintenance bills we get and all but I know we can at least show our child where grandma lived and where grandpa told me his stories..."

"Sounds like something a wise man told you not long ago...", darn, I remember now, he did say that, didn't he?, "I guessed that you wouldn't sell the house, Sapna"

"Yes, I bet you read my mind...I don't buy your story Ankit and how do you know I didn't sell the house?"

"I know."

"Because....?"

"Because you are your mother's daughter."

And I walk back to my house, smiling in the rain again. I am still smiling as the flight takes off to take me home, away from my home.

***