Silambattam

I hate my father! He has grown so old and so blind that he cannot even recognize what he once felt for my mother. What is the point of lighting incense sticks and placing fresh marigolds in front of her photo when he has long forgotten what he once felt for her?!

What has come over me? I see myself in the full-length mirror that my father had gifted me several years ago - for "Kannamma, my dancing angel"- face bent down in shame, kohl-lined light eyes, my mother's eyes, with tears threatening to flow in angry currents, sharp nose tinged red, golden skin - isn't that what Parimal had said? And a dainty chain, my mother's gift to me. I caress the word it spells - "Kavitha" - my name; my life is anything but that. As always I turn to my mother for consolation. I wipe my tears and focus on the fading photo of my mother holding me the way only a mother can hold a child - comforting, safe, permanent...and I ask her if I have done wrong.

"Isn't three weeks enough to know when love opens its shy eye, mother? Our hearts beat as one and yet father doesn't seem to understand. His punishment is to make me stay with aaji! Oh, how I detest her house! And I'll be so far away from Parimal, for three whole weeks, stuck in Tiruchy while he pines for me here! Didn't father fall in love with you ma? Were you not from a different place, speaking a different language...why can't he understand now?"

I don't have time to bid Parimal good bye, father makes sure of that. I scribble a hasty note to Parimal declaring my love and resolve, and a day later, I sit in a musty train-compartment on my way from Bombay to Madras and from there to my aaji's house, my mother's birth place, Tiruchi.

***

"Kaapi tea, kaapi tea, kaapi tea", greets me as I step out of the train. For a moment I panic not seeing my aaji and a few seconds later hear her familiar voice, "Kavitha! Come, come, how you have grown!", she says this in Tamil. How long since I have heard my mother-tongue! Marathi will always be my preferred language but Tamil holds a special place in my heart, it reminds me of my mother. They have the same voice though my mother would say K-a-v-i-t-h-a as if it were a melody and my grandmother says it as if she is expressing her right over me. My grandmother seems not to have aged at all, clad in a maroon nine-yards saree and her trademark five-petaled diamond earrings, she peers at me through her thick-framed spectacles. Her nose ring catches the sunlight and winks at me. A quiet young girl hovers near grandmother as if her only wish in life is to fulfill grandmother's command.

We travel in an auto to grandmother's house. She keeps me occupied with a constant stream of questions and comments, "How many days will you be staying? At least for a few months, I hope! Has Abhay put on any weight? Your grandfather has gone out of town to attend his sister's grandson, Srikanth's upanayanam. Sangeetha always used to add a spoon of home-made ghee to his rice to make him fat...", and for the second time that day, thoughts of my mother carve a path through my own worries. I hide my tears from my grandmother.

We reach her house soon and I can't help but hide my disappointment, it seems old and oppressing, like my grandmother. I chide myself for these irreverent thoughts and grandmother gives a series of instructions to the maid, Shanthi - "Buy shikakai, the big box, my granddaughter's hair needs my hand's treatment, buy 1 kg of rava - she loves my kesari, have you cleaned out the guest bedroom, dusted the bed and the curtains?" Shanthi seems happy at the seemingly endless stream of tasks assigned to her.

My grandmother points to a bucket filled with water. Old customs die hard. I wash my feet and hands and follow grandmother. She appears with something in her hand and thrusts it in my mouth, jaggery! "Sweet for a sweet life ahead of you!" Ah! Finally, we broach the topic. I have already rehearsed my monologue; I am confident I will win-over grandmother and go back to Parimal. But she just fixes her disconcerting stare on me and says, "Your eyes are Sangeetha's eyes..." and as if embarrassed by her display of weakness, walks with quick, abrupt steps towards the kitchen. I let out a heavy sigh. My days of imprisonment have begun.

We sit in a small dining area facing the courtyard. The entire house is built around the courtyard - the kitchen, dining area, grandmother's room, several locked rooms and my guest bedroom. I gulp down the fluffy idlis, spicy drumstick sambhar and salty coconut chutney and feel more optimistic about my situation.

"Do you want to take some rest? You must be tired?"

Even before I shake my head, grandmother heads outside. "Come", she says and I follow meekly. We sit on the thinnai - the sitting area built around the front door, I look around self-consciously, unaccustomed to the rather public location of our personal chat.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen..."

"And you think you are mature enough to decide whom to marry?"

"I..."

"Old enough to defy your father's wishes and side a boy you have known for all of two weeks?"

"Three weeks!" my squeaky voice is quite different from how I heard it in my head during the train journey.

"Three weeks!" she spat out the words, "What does the boy do?"

"BA, Economics...we study at the same college..."

"And you think by eloping with this boy, you will have the life of your dreams?"

My mouth fell open. "Elope? I don't plan to elope, aaji! Father saw me with him at an ice-cream shop and lost his temper...what made you think..."

"So why don't you?"

She caught me by surprise again, "Why don't I...?"

"Elope?"

"We...we want to finish our education first, get good jobs and then..."

"And what if you don't?"

"We will...that's why we need to wait..."

"I see...or is it because you want to hide under this convenient excuse of jobs and security while you weigh your options and ask yourself if you really want to spend all your life with him?"

"What? No! I love Parimal, I will marry him today if only...appa agrees and you give your blessings..."

"Yes, I am sure you would, Kavitha."

I lose my temper. Is grandmother questioning my love, love for which I am willing to sacrifice anything?! I raise my voice, "And what would you know Aaji, of young love? Of pining for him? Of aching hearts and sleepless nights? Do you even remember what it was to be young and in love?"

Aaji becomes silent and I wonder if I have crossed the line.

"Do I remember? Yes, my dear naive girl, I remember. Your old grandmother remembers what it is like to be eighteen! She remembers it as if it were yesterday!"

I shiver in the silence that follows, scared but curious about the story that is about to unfold...

"Come here Kavitha", aaji holds me my hand and pulls me towards her room. Even as a child, I had never ventured into aaji's room, it was off-limits for everyone except my mother. Perhaps, the two were privy to a secret that will explode out in the open today...

Aaji closes the door behind us and the room plunges in darkness. She switches on the light and a flickering bulb throws an expectant light in the room...aaji moves purposefully towards her cot and commands, "Bend down and pull the trunk from under the cot." I peer under the cot and sneeze at the cobwebs that greet me, I pull the trunk out with all the energy I can muster.

Grandma removes the spotlessly clean white handkerchief tucked at her waist and hands it to me. As I clear out the layer of dust, the iron trunk reveals a rich dark-brown texture. Aaji selects a key from her keyring and extends it to me.

The contents of the trunk surprise and delight me. Neatly organized in one corner are a few expensive-looking sarees and a sweater, a sheaf of papers and files separate it from the velvet-covered jewel boxes...before I can continue my visual journey further, aaji interrupts me, "Look below the sweater."

Under the sweater is a delicate keepsake box with a bright bluish-green peacock feather painted on it, I lift it carefully and hand it to aaji. She holds it in her hand adoringly and settles her heavy body on the cot. Her voice sounds soft, almost vulnerable as she says, "Sit next to me Kavitha...I will tell you a story that your mother would have told you if only...she hadn't become dearer to God...

You know Kavitha, as we grow older, some memories become so ingrained in our minds that they seem more real than ever, it's as if they have the ability to hurt, to please, just as the actual events did when they happened...and such is this story that I am about to tell you."

I steal a glance at the box in aaji's hands, I want to see what stories it hides even before aaji tells me hers...

"It was a day after my eighteenth birthday. I had always been a precocious child and my teenage years proved to be an even more trying time for my parents. I would go swimming with boys my age, pick fights with them, even come back with bruises some days - all of which shocked my parents, provided food for local gossip...and secretly I enjoyed the attention", aaji smiles and I notice perhaps for the first time, how her smile transforms her face, I see traces of the eighteen-year-old mischievous girl she describes...

"That day, I wore the new half-saree that my parents had given to me on my birthday, wore malli-poo on my hair and went to the market with my girl-friends. Your grandfather used to say, the smell of jasmine reminded him of me...anyway, that day, I had planned to buy matching bangles and other trinkets that would match my new half-saree. My friends teased me as we went to the market, a good thirty minute walk away from home.

"Raji, you look so beautiful in this peacock-blue half-saree, the whole market is going to follow your every step!"

Raji, that was how I was known before I became Rajalakshmi paati.

"Hush, and the moment a good man sets eyes on me, I bet you would want him for yourself!"

We laughed and walked towards the bangle shop called "Fancy Mart", the shop had so many varieties of bangles - plastic, glass, metal, in every color you could possibly want - copper suplhate blue, chestnut brown, Ramar color...we eagerly proceeded to try on the bangles. I had almost settled on the dozen bangles that matched my dress when I heard a loud applause nearby. A small crowd had collected in a circle and they seemed to be cheering someone.

I purchased the bangles and walked with my friends towards the commotion. I heard the words "Silambattam", "Sivan" several times and was about to ask an old man nearby when two men with long wooden sticks walked towards the center of the circle. The crowd fell silent almost instantaneously. A man walked in between the two men and counted to three. And the silambattam began.

One of the men, the larger of the two roared often, moved quickly and waved his stick often as if trying to control a large herd of cows, I turned my attention to the other man, he was about 5 feet 6 inches, well-built but much smaller than the other man. His movements were more controlled, he moved purposefully and used his silambu in carefully coordinated movements, either to block an attack or place a blow, he rarely missed, he was like a maestro controlling the flow of music...I watched his hands, mesmerized; slowly the noise around me seemed to fade and I could only hear the swoosh that his silambu made as he expertly matched his rival.

The game ended in fifteen minutes and I almost heaved a sigh of relief when my favourite contestant, Sivan, won. As the crowd dispersed, I stood rooted to the spot - I am not sure what I was thinking, perhaps that I would talk to Sivan or at least catch his glance. Just as I was about to leave, someone in the crowd asked him when the next trial run was before the silambattam festival. I pretended to pick at something stuck to my feet and waited to hear his voice. "Friday 5 PM". His deep, guttural voice seemed to echo several times in the house before I returned to the market place on Friday, alone this time.

On Friday, I dressed with care, washed my face with turmeric, even buffed some powder on my cheeks. I platted my unruly hair and adorned it with several strands of jasmine. I selected a green saree with a yellow border that looked flattering on me. All the while, I did not question myself. It was as if I knew exactly what I had to do. I was on a mission.

At the market place, Sivan was alone. He dipped a rag cloth in a bottle containing a clean solution and rubbed it on his silambu, gently. I pretended to browse at Fancy Mart, all the while stealing glances at Sivan. Finally, I made up my mind and sat on a rock a few feet away from Sivan. By then, a small crowd had begun to collect around him. He finished his task, held his silambu and rotated it effortlessly between the fingers of his hands. The orchestra had begun. I stared, unabashedly. He lowered his silambu, just as his opponent joined him and started flexing his muscles. I didn't blink an eye and then, he saw me. Standing majestic, like Paramasivan himself, with a stick in one hand and his other hand on his waist, he stared for a brief moment at me, his lips parted as if he had something grave to discuss, but soon he turned away and faced his opponent. I remember the steely, ink-black eyes that held mine in a hypnotic hold, I remember it today, Kavitha..."

I blink. It's as if I am transported to reality with a thud. "Sivan", I roll the name in my mouth unconsciously...I felt as if I were a part of that story too, witnessing Sivan and Raji. It was then that a thought struck me. "Aaji, grandpa's name is not Sivan!" A sad smile plays on aaji's lips and she continues,

"Sivan", she whispers his name, with reverence and fondness, "was not destined to be your grandfather. He was the first man I lost my heart too, your grandfather managed to heal most of my wounds...but the scars remain..."

Did she just blink away tears? She breathes heavily and continues,

"From that day, I regularly went to watch Sivan do his energetic dance. Several times, I felt his eyes on me, but the moment I looked up at him, he would be looking elsewhere. One day, after three or four months, I decided it was time we talked. I played the scenario in my head a thousand times. Finally, when the moment came after a particularly grueling silambattam practice, I waited for the crowd to thin out, walked to him and called out his name."

I drew in a sharp breath, my prim and proper grandmother had been even more daring than me in her days! Seeing my expression, aaji smiled and ruffled my hair.

"He turned towards me, startled.

"I am Raji..."

By now, a hint of a smile had begun to play on his lips, he said, "Silambattam is hardly the sport for a delicate girl such as you to be interested in."

"Well, then, you would be even more surprised to know that I seek you not just to discuss this sport but to learn it!"

I don't know why I said that. I spoke out the words that tumbled out of my mouth at that moment.

He seemed taken aback. "My dear rajakumari," he said teasingly, "this is a sport of sweat and struggles, blood and dirt, your delicate hands and jasmine scent would be lost in its embrace..."

He walked closer to me and I could smell the sweat and dirt that he talked about. I looked into his eyes and said, "And what if I welcome the embrace?"

He smiled and it was as if they drove away all my worries, I stood still, wanting the moment to last forever. He shook his head and walked away with his silambu."

Aaji stops here. She calls for Shanthi and asks her to prepare tea for us. "It is getting late, my child and we have dwelt enough in the past. It is time to move on...I shall not bore you further with this old woman's life-story."

"Aaji, I want to hear the rest of the story. Please...?"

Shanthi walks in with the tea and we both sip in silence. The sweet smell of cardamom and ginger elicits a pleasant smile from aaji.

"Kannamma, there is not much to tell, I am not even sure I should have told you this story...things don't always turn out the way we imagine..."

Kannamma, that's how mother used to call me; I have an urge to hug aaji, to wipe away the worry-lines on her forehead, to see her eyes twinkle in laughter...

"Aaji, please, please tell me. I really want to know..."

"...I continued to talk to Sivan whenever I could steal a moment with him and I maintained that I wanted to learn Silambattam. So, one day, he conceded and asked me to meet him early morning and to wear a man's clothes!

The next morning, I woke up at 3 AM, picked an old nightshirt and pant that my father did not wear often and I stitched it so that it would fit me. By 4.30, I was ready and sneaked out of my house. My poor parents, bless their soul, detected no foul play!" Aaji and I share a laugh at this escapade.

"Sivan waited for me, just as he had promised, but this time I could tell from his eyes that he was looking forward to seeing me too...

"Ah, so our brave girl returns in a man's attire!"

"Yes, and she wishes to learn the art from the master himself."

He handed a smaller silambu to me and our lessons started.

"You hold the silambu like this...", I watched him, trying not to be too distracted...

"...it becomes your other hand, your eyes only need to follow the opponent's silambu, your hand will function as you command...", and he twirls his silambu, first using his right and then his left hand.

I clapped gleefully, perhaps this embarrassed him, he blushed and soon announced that class was done.

Our lessons went on for a month and perhaps at the end of it, we both knew that we were not meeting to learn the art of silambattam. It was just a powerful excuse to bring us together...the last time we met, he seemed strangely silent.

"I have to visit my uncle in Chennai to borrow some money for my father."

His family earned their livelihood through agriculture and that year had not been good for them.

My heart fluttered at the prospect of leaving my Sivan and his ananda narthanam, his heavenly dance.

"I have something for you..."

He opened his palm to reveal a pair of shiny silver anklets.

"Something to remind you of me...Cilampu.[1]"

Ah, my poet, his clever word play at our last meeting only increased the ache in my heart.

And then aaji remains silent.

"And then? What happened?" I am not sure I want to hear how this tale ends...

"And then, people say, men belonging to rival teams from the neighbouring village attacked him so that they could earn the cash prize at the Silambattam festival...some say, he had a fatal accident in Chennai...I never heard from him again. Several years later, I saw the same spark in your grandfather that I saw in Sivan, he was ready to accept me with my past and I married him. He is not my Sivan but I would die happily for your grandfather. He is my savior..."

For a moment, I wonder if aaji's story is real. Was there a Sivan who danced like the wind? Was there a young and vulnerable Raji who waited for him to return? Perhaps, aaji reads my thoughts, she opens the keepsake box on her lap.

Inside lie a pair of anklets and two carefully preserved photos. The first photo shows a young girl in a pale-blue half-saree - aaji stands smiling coyly at the camera and almost hidden behind the bangle shop, I discern the profile of the man who stole aaji's heart. Sivan stands with his silambu, oblivious of everything around him but his art. The second photo shows a dancer in Bharathanatyam regalia, aaji at her Arangetram. Perhaps she learnt to dance because it reminded her of Sivan?

"I spent my entire life for others...for Sangeetha, for you, for your grandfather...but when I danced, I was Raji, Raji with Sivan."

The words sound incongruous, coming from aaji's mouth. I had failed to recognize the tenderness and passion that lurked beneath the surface; I only saw aaji as a strict, unforgiving grandmother...perhaps, that was her way of compromising with her past?

Her eyes seem to be searching for even a glimmer of understanding in mine. I nod. I understand, aaji. I do. I hug her and I am surprised to feel the tears that fall from my eyes on aaji's shoulders.

***

The remaining days pass so quickly, I can't believe I have spent three weeks away from my father and Parimal. Aaji hugs me tearfully at the railway station and I hug her back. She plans to come to Bombay to spend time with me.

As the train leaves the station, I think of the story my aaji told me. Why did she tell me her story? Did she think my love for Parimal would fade in comparison? Did she want to protect me from heart-break? Or was this her subtle way of testing my love and giving me the go-ahead sign? I don't know. I don't know why I broke-up with Parimal a few months after I reached Bombay. Somehow, it was different, the magic was lost. I tried in vain to feel what I felt before talking to aaji. And then I gave up. Perhaps I was searching for the intensity that shone in my grandmother's eyes several decades after she had lost her love, perhaps I wanted to wait for my own experience of Silambattam.

***

Key:
[1]: Cilampu, the origin of Cilampam (Silambattam) means either a mountain or an anklet or merely ‘to sound’ (as a verb)
[2]: More on Silambattam.


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