"There comes a time in every person's life when she believes she must have been in love."
An excited wave of murmers ripples through the small audience punctuated by a few giggles arising from the younger ones. I feel as I always do at the beginning of Aunt Maria's story telling sessions - eager, curious and impatient to hear the rest of the story already.
"Aunt Maria has quite an imagination, can't wait for what she cooks up this time!", Nancy whispers excitedly and winks at me.
"Nancy, Latha, stop that giggling or you are doing the dishes tonight!", Aunt Maria warns, waggling her finger at us, in mock anger. I smile back at her. She has always been Aunt Maria to all of us. Aunt Maria who baked delicious, warm cookies for us, the quintessential apron tied around her, her chubby hands working deftly to feed several eager mouths. Her silvery bun was always tied high above her head and her eyes did not betray her age - young and twinkling, those of a child about to eat a candy.
Her stories were always reserved for Saturday nights or when there was a powercut, which was every other week. We light candles in the patio and cuddle around Aunt Maria. She sits in the hammock and surveys her audience shrewdly. A gentle breeze disturbs the candle flame and we huddle closer.
"I was a pretty little thing of about eighteen when I met him at the University library. I worked weekends at the library from nine to five. He came every Saturday and lingered behind until it was closing time. He never checked out a book once."
"How did he look Aunt Maria? Tall, dark and handsome? Maybe a stubble?"
"You imp, shush!"
Aunt Maria adjusts her glasses and continues, "He was lanky and tall, tall enough to reach the last but one shelf of the book shelf in the library. I remember because that is the reason why I talked to him the very first time. He was trying to reach a book in the uppermost shelf and I said,
"Sir, would you like me to help you with that?"
He looked amused. Perhaps he thought it was funny that someone as short as I wanted to help him.
"Yes and No, Maria."
The fact that he knew my name irritated me a bit.
"It's almost closing time, Sir. If you need further help, I will be at the front desk."
He said nothing and I walked back to the front desk, annoyed at his impertinence. He left without saying goodbye.
The next morning, he came to the library at noon. I ignored him. He browsed through the different aisles as he always does - fiction, autobiographies, romance, horror - he did not seem to have any preference. Afternoons usually see just a couple of regulars at out library. An old man sat there leafing through a small book, punctuating the silence in the library with his tiny coughs.
Unconsciously, I followed the young man who seemed to be in no hurry to pick a book. He walked casually from book to book, sometimes he would pick a book and smell it, sometimes, he would run his fingers around it, sometimes he would just walk around.
He puzzled me. After what seemed like hours, he picked a thin book and settled down with it, his back facing me.
Inspite of myself, I really wanted to know which book he had picked. So, I held my head high, walked nonchalantly towards him and pretended to arrange the books on the table.
He smiled at me but said nothing. He was reading 'Love Story'. I was happy with his choice. Satisfied, I was about to move back when he said,
"Do you also like Erich Seagal, Maria?"
I did not want to answer him, but it seemed an innocent question and I longed for any conversation that day to get me through the day.
"Yes, I see you took your time to pick the book."
"Oh, I have read it before, many times."
He offered no further explanation. Sitting across him, he looked a lot older than I had thought he was - maybe in his late twenties. He seldom blinked and I found it disconcerting to look into his eyes and talk.
"So, are you a student at the University?", I decided to ask him a few mundane questions so as to not appear rude and then get back to my desk.
"Professor. I teach English."
Again, an awkward silence that he seemed to be entirely comfortable with.
"OK, I better get back to work...", I got up to leave when he said,
"You look remarkably like her."
I don't know why but I sat down again.
"You have her eyes - small but expressive, taking in more than it reveals. Green."
"Look, I don't have time for this kind of..."
"She loved books...this was her favourite book..."
and then suddenly,
"I am David, nice meeting you Maria", he held his hand out to me.
"And that was our first meeting. Now, let me get some goodies out for you kids before it gets too late...", Aunt Maria ambles towards the kitchen and an excited chatter breaks out among us.
"Do you think he will propose to Aunt Maria?"
"Whom does she resemble? his wife? sister?"
"Am sure Aunt Maria can make something up to finish the story. That's probably why she went to the kitchen!"
And we laugh, but a small part of me believes and wants to believe that the story is true...maybe that's why aunt Maria never married, maybe he was the one...
Aunt Maria returns with a large round plate full of chocolate sprinkled brownies. We bite into the warm soft brownies as she continues,
"Our first meeting was anything but normal but his words echoed in my head the following week and I wondered what he had meant and why he had been so cryptic."
The next Saturday, I searched for a copy of "Love Story" and settled down with it, my feet propped on a chair nearby. I was so engrossed in the book, I did not hear the tinkle of the bells tied to our library front door that announced a visitor.
"You have read it before too, haven't you?"
I jumped in my chair and the book fell down.
"David! You startled me!", I said, holding a hand to my chest.
He smiled - the same mysterious smile, always a touch of sadness in it.
"Yes, I have read it before. I can read it again any number of times and I am sure I will cry each time I read it!"
"You are blessed - a book can make you cry. I try and yet I cannot."
Here I was talking to this stranger about things that I little understood. Yet, as he stood there looking into my eyes, this time I did not draw my eyes away. I felt something powerful in the silence that surrounded us. It showed me shades of his past and I felt sad for him.
"When did you meet her?", I asked, about the woman who I knew nothing about except that she looked like me.
"We took the same classes here. I knew I would marry her the day I met her."
"She took a long time to say yes, didn't she?", I ask, smiling at him.
"Yes, she said she knew it had to be me but decided to sleep over it", he chuckles softly and I am happy to see him happy.
We talk about his wife, her life and now his life without her. I don't feel weird anymore, I want to stand there and talk to him for as long as I can, I want to know about this woman that I could not be, whose eyes I had...I don't feel bad reminding him of her, I want to remind him of her.
And a few months later, he just stopped coming to the library, just like that. I always wondered if there could have been something more between us but life is like that, isn't it? Always leaves you asking for more..."
With that aunt Maria gets up and softly blows out the candles one by one. Everyone talks in low voices about her story, a more subdued gathering than before.
I wait for everyone to leave and stand next to aunt Maria as she cleans the dishes.
"Aunt Maria?"
She appears not to hear.
"He did not just stop coming, did he?"
She looks up at me and shakes her head ever so slightly.
"He asked you to marry him, didn't he?"
Again the almost imperceptible shake of the head.
I gently take the dish-cloth she holds in her hands and hold her hands in mine,
"Tell me, Aunt Maria..."
"Oh, I did fall in love with him."
"I knew it! And then, what happened?!", I ask excitedly.
"I asked him to marry me..."
Her voice grows soft, so soft that the wind almost does not carry it towards me,
"He refused. He said he couldn't bear losing her again."
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Aunt Maria's love story.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Chapter 1. The Retirement.
Mr.Raghavan hears every single tick of the grandfather clock. He hears the rustling of the leaves and the chattering of the evening birds, the sounds of dusk. Each heightens his feeling of loneliness. A feeling that he is too proud to acknowledge. Sixty years of life lived as a proud man and that is how he will live the rest of his life, with his head held high. He picks up the Hindu once again and tries to concentrate on what he is reading. The sudden ring of the calling bell surprises him. He walks with small quick steps to open the door, expectation lighting up his face.
"Raghavan, how are you? I thought I would drop by for a quick evening chat!"
The house owner, Gangadharan could not have chosen a more inappropriate time to pay a visit to Raghavan. Within a few minutes, he realizes that the latter is not interested in any kind of small talk with him. Slightly hurt, he leaves the small house, already pondering on his next victim.
Raghavan settles back into the chair and takes a deep breath.
What did that Gangatharan think? That, he had time to discuss the town gossip because he was "retired" now? He would not and would never be a part of the useless old men talk group. No job in their hands and nothing useful to talk about all evening but rumours and gossip! Ask them anything about politics and general knowledge and they would gather their veshtis and disappear from sight! Worthless fools!
The shrill ring of the telephone distracts him and he hollers into the receiver,
"Raghavan speaking."
"Did you have your dinner?"
Parvathi's typical questions. Questions that drove him up the wall but of late, he had begun even to miss those simple conversations with his wife.
He grunts a yes into the receiver because he knows that no other answer would satisfy her.
"Did you turn off the gas? Have you taken your tablets?"
Ignoring her questions, he asks,
"How is the baby? Have the rashes gone?"
"Yes, she is better now. Do you want to talk to Sanjay? He is in the kitchen with Neelima..."
He senses the disapproval in his wife's voice and smiles. Softening down considerably at the thought of his simple, old-fashioned wife stuck in America, he asks,
"How is your leg now? Can you walk easily?"
She had fallen down while trying to get on to an elevator at a store.
"Yes", her voice trembles a little and she says, "By God's grace, as soon as the baby is five or six months old, I will find my way back. What does an old woman like me have here in America anyway?"
Raghavan remains silent for sometime. Somehow, even the thought of making his wife go to America alone did not prompt him to accompany her. He did not have a fascination for cars, clean roads and big buildings - "Oh, these roads are so dirty, mama", Neelima had purred a few years back, "The same dirty roads that you grew up on!" is what he would have liked to tell her - he did not care for an immigrant treatment in America. He was proud to be an Indian and his soil would see him breathe his last. No amount of pleading from his son or wife and half-hearted requests from his daughter-in-law could convince him otherwise.
"Take care of your health. Am sure Sanjay and Neelima can manage once you leave. Bye."
Raghavan feels better after talking to his wife. As he closes his eyes, he thinks of the time Sanjay was born and the thought lulls him to sleep.
The milkman rings the bell and Raghvan searches for his spectacles in the semi-darkness. By force of habit, he looks at the clock and thinks to himself that he is late for work today. As his head clears, a dull realization hits him that he is no longer employed. Old and retired. He moves slowly doing about his morning chores trying as best as he can to spread his activities till mid-day. The temple bell rings heralding a long day ahead for him. His thoughts drift back to the day that Parvathi had dragged him to the temple...was it only six months back?
"It is such an honor! How many people do you know who have been awarded, "an employee of the year" shield?"
"It is not a shield and I know of many of my friends who have been recognized as "Employee of the Year" Why must I spend my time chanting at the temple when I can spend it at office doing justice to my award?"
"Today is an auspicious day. You will have to come to the temple with me..."
And the argument had lasted till the temple steps. Parvathi had insisted on an archanai and she did not let go of him until she had adorned his forehead with prominent Vibhuthi marks - "For Drishti!", she had warned him, when he tried to take it off.
And six months later, here he was, with a so-called voluntary retirement forced upon him by his unctuous boss - "It's like this Mr.Raghavan, we think you would benefit by this proposal...". And suddenly, his sense of importance and pride was gone, without a warning. He was not Raghavan, Vice President of a prestigious company but just Raghavan, retired and biding his time for the end. He had decided then that he would not be a part of any of the religious groups in his neighbourhood, chanting what they little understood, preaching what they little practised. He would still lead a meaningful life...but somehow, his life seemed without any direction now. He was not the bread-winner of the house, but an old man living on his pension. With nothing to concentrate on the major part of the day, he started having unwholesome thoughts about his own old age and death. A sudden noise interrupted his listless thoughts...
He looked up and Gangadharan cleared his throat again. Raghavan decided to put an end to these visits. He opened his mouth to say something acerbic and was interrupted by Gangadharan,
"Raghavan, do you have a few minutes to spare?"
Was he mocking him? Of course he had a few minutes, he had his whole life ahead of him to spare but he would probably not waste it on Gangadharan!
"I need to talk to you about a personal problem..."
Raghavan took a closer look at the other man and noticed tell-tale signs of weariness on his face. He motioned him to sit down.
"We probably don't know each other well enough for me to confide in you..."
Can't this man talk except in circles?
"but I know you are a capable man and I really have nowhere to turn to for some sensible advice..."
And in his own circuitous way of speaking, Gangadharan confided his problems to Raghavan.
"You see, it's not like my son does not love me or respect me anymore. It's just that he has so many responsibilities now, what with the baby and all and I am probably just a burden...but I have nowhere else to go. I have spent my pension money on my son and I cannot imagine living in an old age home. Rangachari and Sheshadri are in a similar situation themselves..."
Raghavan listened silently.
So, the loud old men's club had its own share of problems...
He still did not understand clearly the purpose of Gangadharan's visit but now he had a new problem to solve. His mind clicked to work immediately, a well-oiled engine going about its tasks. He asked a few questions and tried to sort out Gangadharan's problems. Not that he had a solution at hand but two heads were better than one and it was obvious Gangadharan needed someone like Raghavan to listen to him more than anything else.
It would be far-fetched to say that a strong friendship forged between the two old men but a bond did develop. Raghavan began to look forward to Gangadharan's daily visits. He even spoke to Gangadharan's son, who appeared to be scared of him. Gangadharan even went to the extent of suggesting that Raghavan should visit America to see his grandchild. A severe look from Raghavan silenced him, but that night Raghavan did atleast consider the possibility of a trip to America.
Parvathi returned from America with suitcases full of gifts for her husband, her relatives, her innumerable temple friends and ofcourse a load of stories to share with her husband about America, her daughter-in-law and her grandchild. She seemed surprised at her husband's sudden change in temperament since the retirement but did not guess that it had anything to do with Gangadharan. For her, he was just another cup of filter coffee that she had to make every evening and she was glad to do so.
And Raghavan finally made peace with his retirement.
I gave up on the dhtml when I noticed the absolute positioning messes up the display on smaller screen sizes. Also, I had the story written with Raghavan going to America and his funny experiences there but it's way too long for a Saturday morning, so the end folks!
Chapter 2. The phone call.
The next day, a call early morning made Raghavan take the one big step that he had hesitated to take for many years - he decided to go to America.
"Appa, amma's leg has become worse because of the cold. Yesterday, she took a walk outside and slipped on some of the ice on the pavement..."
Raghavan's face clouded with anger and concern...
"Appa, it will probably be good for amma if you also come over. I don't think she can travel back so soon...and you haven't seen the baby yet."
And Raghavan finally made up his mind.
That evening Gangadharan almost danced with joy. "You are indeed lucky Raghavan, you have a son who wants you with him in America!"
"Save your joy! He is only calling me so I can be a nurse to Parvathi while he goes to work! His new wife would have probably complained!"
And they had discussed life in America and what all arrangements Raghavan had to make - visa, warm clothes, Indian music CDs because they would not be available in America...
"Just because I am living in my son's house doesn't mean I will depend on him for anything..."
Gangadharan nodded his head in agreement.
"I will still buy grocery, take my evening walks, go to the library once in a while..."
Gangadharan nodded some more, a little hesitantly this time, "Won't you need a car to...?"
"Car, shmar, I will walk, when I was little, I..."
And several hours later, Gangadharn left with dreams of America.
Chapter 3. The Visa Interview.
The Visa office was too crowded for Raghavan's liking. A round man, around Raghavan's age came panting into the hall, sweating profusely, he seemed to be running for the past fifteen minutes. He looked around for a few seconds and settled down near Raghavan to catch his breath.
"I thought I would be late for my appointment", he offered by way of explanation to Raghavan. He was a retired judge and Raghavan approved of judges. So, he decided to talk to the judge to kill time while he waited for his turn.
"Nowadays, all of India wants to go to America", Raghavan began loudly.
"Yes, yes, my son and daughter are both there for the past 10 years...", the judge nodded vehemently, spreading a few drops of sweat around him, "and they have not spoken a word of coming back..."
"Yes, these kids have forgotten where they hail from, money is the culprit!"
The conversation was gaining momentum and Raghavan was about to launch into one of his favorite discussions when his name was called for the Visa interview.
"And what is the purpose of your visit to America, Sir?", the young American sitting behind the counter asked politely.
Raghavan took an instant dislike to him. Who did this young man think he was? God?
"I have applied for a visitor's visa which means I will be a visitor in America. I am visiting my son."
"And when do you intend to return Sir?"
As soon as possible! Raghavan bit his tongue and said, "You see my wife is in America with my son and she has fallen down and hurt her leg. As soon as she gets better, we both will return..."
"Only son?"
How did this young upstart care if he had 18 sons?
"Only son and I know not why he wants to live in that Godforsaken place, leaving a country like India behind. I think the younger generation need some advice from us - their priorities are mixed up! Everyone can earn money - when I was Vice President of..."
Half-an-hour later, Raghavan waved goodbye to the judge and left the consulate with a visitor's visa in hand.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Chapter 4. Off to America.
Raghavan was a man of very particular tastes and habits. He detested any change in his routine and more importantly his food.
The airhostess rushed to Aisle 24, seat A yet again, the third time in the past two hours.
"Yes Sir, how may I help you?"
"Yes young lady, you can help me! I have asked for Indian Vegetarian meals. This seems to be neither Indian nor vegetarian!"
The airhostess resisted an impulse to hold her head and scream.
"Sir, this is an Indian vegetarian meal, Sir. This is dal, basmati rice and vegetables with it, Sir."
The repeated use of Sir annoyed Raghavan.
"This food has no salt. The vegetables are unrecognizable and I would like a complaint form please!"
"You can get that as soon as you land, Sir."
Raghavan took a deep breath, carefully wrapped the meal that he had in hand and gave it to the airhostess, "Please take this back. I will ask for a refund and also file a complaint the moment I land!"
"Very good sir", the airhostess walked away shaking her head.
Raghavan took the remaining one banana out of his yellow bag and started eating it and noticed with interest how the teenage Indian boy with the weird crew cut was eating his food with zest.
"You like this food, young man?"
"Uh Huh, much better than anything my girlfriend cooks, dude, err...Uncle!"
While Raghavan did not approve of "dude" either, he was curious about the teenage boy and his "girlfriend".
"I see, your girlfriend does not cook very good Indian food?"
"You see man, she is from Romania and does not very much approve of Indian vegetarian. Her ex-boyfriend was also Indian and somehow she just hates Indian food, man!"
This was too much information for Raghavan. He closed his eyes and was soon snoring away much to his companion's amusement.
Monday, October 17, 2005
My "arranged" love-story.
"This blue saree will do, ma!", I said firmly, hoping that my mom would not ignore the tone of finality in my voice, "and I most certainly will not wear that garish kasu malai!"
My mom looked forlorn. She assumed her most persuasive tone and tried one last time, "Vandana, you should look like a bride today! It will be very embarrassing for us if Srikanth's sister turns up better dressed than you!"
"I am not a bride yet. I have told you a million times before, if I don't like the guy, I say no and that's it!"
"Yes yes, but you will like him. He works in an MNC in Chicago. Do you think I should wear this kasu malai?", my mom asked, excited again at the prospect of imposing the monstrous family heirloom on the unsuspecting visitors.
Let me make myself clear. Do not mistake me to be one of those shyly grinning, drawing-kolams-with-delicate-toe, avid arranged-marriage proponent types. I am not and will never take a tray bearing four cups of strong filter coffee and will most definitely not look down when I serve coffee to the guy.
Well, in my defense, there were just three cups (Srikanth's dad had to fly out for a business meeting), I did not make the coffee and I took a real good look at the guy.
And Srikanth's sister, Niveditha (she pronounced it like "ivy"!) came dressed in baggie pants and a short top, chewing bubble gum to complete the look. I threw a look at my mom that could have killed but she was busy making small talk with Srikanth's mom.
"BE Mechanical from IIT Madras? I see...our Vandana is a gold medalist too" and then in a much lower voice, my mom adds, "She has a Bachelor's degree in Architecture from Anna University." She also throws an accusing look at me as if to say, "If only you had become an engineer or a Doctor..."
At this point, my mental state is vacillating between deep embarrassment mixed with humiliation and indignation. I plop myself down unceremoniously on my sofa and pick up last week's Kumudam. I stare at the same page for several minutes while I mentally put down all Mechanical Engineers from IIT, Madras.
"Umm, do you also have difficulty reading Tamil?", a gentle voice, a smile not to wide so as to suggest that he is trying to hard, not too small to not show off his dimples. But his question certainly did not please me. Mr.America can't read Tamil. How cool!
"I believe the least a person can do in his life is learn his or her mother tongue well. I can read Tamil very well."
"I agree. I've been trying to pick up bits of it reading stuff online...", having expected a hearty volley back, I must say I was taken aback a little.
"The kesari is delicious!"
"Mom made it. I can hardly hold a ladle straight."
There! Now let's see Mr.America digest that. So much for his perfect idea of a dainty, homely wife!
"Mm, I don't blame you. Being an architect must be a pretty demanding job! More interesting than anything I do atleast!", he chuckles.
I bite my tongue. I can't think of anything wrong with what he said and that annoys me. I so do not want to like Mr.America.
"Vandana, why don't you sing us a nice song? Mrs.Krishnamurthy tells me that Srikanth is a big fan of carnatic music! He has attended MS's concerts in America."
God! My mom is literally gushing now. Yes, am sure he is a big fan! Rich Mr.America appreciates music made by the little Indians.
"I am not prepared ma. I'll probably forget all the lines and mess up."
N"ivy" who till now was disinterestedly studying her nails, suddenly looks up, "Oh, do sing, Vandana. I would love to hear you sing too! I can always chip in with the right lines."
The nerve of that girl! Chip in with the right lines?! Now, you've asked for it lady. Stand back and prepare to be amazed.
"Our Niveditha has been learning to sing for the past five years..."
I launched into one of my favourite songs, drowning out Mrs.K's voice, a short, nevertheless complicated song. I finished with a flourish, thrilled with my perfect rendition.
"Wow! That's amazing, Vandana! You do have an excellent voice!"
Ah...so, Mr.America approves...now why does that make me grin like this? I turned to N"ivy" and she smiled at me and cooed, "That was lovely Vandana!" I noticed Mrs.K perceive me with additional interest. I can hear her saying already, "Our Vandana sings so beautifully, why don't you sing the song that you sang when Srikanth and I came to see you for the first time, Vandana?"...
"Now, I know what I will listen to in my free time after we get married!", Srikanth winks at me and my heart suddenly skips a beat. Darn! He reminds me of the cute guy I had a crush on in my first year...only, Srikanth looks better.
No, am not falling for his curly locks and evil dimples. I have heard one too many horror stories about unsuspecting Indian brides and their green card holding husbands...
My mom suddenly stands up and with a knowing smile, tells Mrs.K and N"ivy", "Let me show you Vandana's medals and a few photographs." And before I can object, am left alone in the room with Srikanth. He seems relaxed and comfortable.
No! Think of the horror stories! Concentrate!
"You know, Vandana, I am planning to come back to India for good."
I tried to appear nonchalant. People should appear to do that at times, be nonchalant that is. It makes them look cool, not that I wanted to look cool or anything.
"To be honest, the money is great and I can't complain but I just think I will be happier here."
And before I could respond, the gang returned and my mom surveyed us closely. She seemed satisfied with what she perceived. Unconsciously, I had been leaning forward to listen to what he had to say. I stood up immediately.
"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Vandana. I will call you sometime soon!"
A firm handshake and a gentlemanly nod and they were gone.
Now, I am not going to pretend that I did not like him. I did. But one can-almost-be-termed-a-conversation and good looks alone just did not tilt the scale enough. This state of my mind changed quite dramatically over the next few weeks. With every passing day that he did not call, I began to eagerly wait for his call more, anticipate brilliant conversations lasting several hours with him and in general, pine in a very unhealthy fashion (atleast in my opinion) for any interaction with him.
The call came. Three weeks later. i recognized his voice immediately. I was seething with anger and thrilled all at once.
"Hi Srika, Srikanth!", I gushed, just like my mom, into the receiver. Sometimes, I have an incredible tendency to get on my nerves.
"Vandana? I am sorry I couln't call earlier. Some thing came up."
What a vague excuse!
"Uh Huh, am sure. How are Niveditha and your parents doing?"
"Good. I was a bit worried that you would be annoyed at me. I really should have called earlier!"
"Yes, I guess you are right."
And so on and so forth, we had a pretty good conversation over all. Just short of an hour. I hung up smiling and had to stop myself from flitting about happily. That's just not me. Anyway, mom seemed pleased with the proceedings - "Your father would have been so happy" - and cooked up goodies almost everyday for me!
Srikanth called up pretty regularly after his first call and in general, things were quite nice and dandy. I continued to be a bit defensive with Srikanth though, just in case...but a hint here and there, a few spontaneous compliments and I was expecting a formal proposal pretty soon. Which is why I was quite unprepared for what was to follow.
He called me on a Sunday evening. He probably thought going to work the next day with a whole week in front of me would distract me enough to not feel too sorry for myself. He was wrong. I cried the whole week.
"Vandana, I called to say I will be flying back to Chicago next week."
And here I was thinking he was asking me if I would marry him within a week's time. I was about to open my mouth in protest when he said,
"I am not sure if you were already expecting this or if this comes as a surprise to you but I am getting engaged day after tomorrow. Her name is Sheetal, I've known her for five years and it was quite a struggle to get my mom to agree but it all worked out in the end..."
Obviously, this was all a bad dream. I pinched myself and realized that moment that Sheetal is one name that I would hate for the rest of my life. I could not talk coherently for sometime, somehow I was not thinking logically - too many thoughts swirling in my head, nothing seemed to make sense - Why? Why did he flirt with me then? Why?...I did what my dad always used to tell me - "Just take a deep breath, its not as bad as it seems..." - and the thought of my father brought tears to my eyes. I took a deep breath and said,
"Well, I am happy for you Srikanth. I hope Sheetal keeps you very happy. I have a few designs that I need to finalize, talk to you later."
I hung up the receiver and closed my eyes. The phone rang again and I let it ring.
Bits and pieces of conversations that we shared over the past few weeks came floating back inside my head, I remembered the way he winked at me, the look in his eyes after I finished my song...and a fresh surge of tears wet my cheeks.
My mom walked in and in a single breath, I blurted out to her, "Amma, Srikanth called...said no, he has a girlfriend..." and buried my face in her saree. She held me tightly and did not let go for a long time.
I must say I recovered pretty well after this incident. He tried calling a few times after that day but mom always gave him the right excuse before he could say much and I was grateful to her for that. I really did not fancy playing the part of the pitiable girl whom the cute guy dumped! I found myself thinking often if this was my doing after all. Maybe I had found the perfect guy and let him go because I was too conceited? Maybe I will see a hundred other guys but never find my charming Mr.America again...well, anyway easy come, easy go. Only in my case, it was not an easy go. I did not realize the depth of my feelings for him until he said goodbye.
So, you will not be surprised why I almost ran into him, deep in thought, at Spencers and still did not recognize him. He looked quite different too - quite a visible stubble, dark glasses, a crumpled white tshirt and an old pair of jeans.
"Vandana."
And that's all he said.
I froze.
Familiar feelings, a giddy rush of blood to my cheeks, a sudden nervousness. I felt my heart beat so fast, I almost feared for my health, in one dim cavern of my mind. Surprisingly, I managed to think pretty logically in those few moments. I realized if I would ever feel anything like love, it would be like this. I also noticed something strange - that he looked back at me with almost the same intensity of feeling with which I was looking at him now - was it pity? sadness?
Anyway, I had made up my mind. Since neither of us had said almost nothing, I decided for once to speak my mind and not listen to my ego.
"Srikanth, I just wanted to say that I was very disappointed the other day after you called...no, disappointed is not the word. Agony is probably closer to what I felt. I like you a lot (darn! I just cannot say the word love) and was hoping you would propose. I cried for a week, as a matter-of-fact. But, am over it now. I can..."
"Vandana, I love you."
Literally, a hundred butterflies flying in my stomach and all around me. I must be dreaming. Again! No, I smell his musk. He is really hugging me!
"I just wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions! Gosh, I can't even play a joke on you without you turning my life upside down!"
Although I would have loved to stay in his arms for a much longer time, I moved away and demanded (hoping my loud inquisition would make him not notice my tears of joy!),
"And why this sudden urge to play such a mindless prank on me? Sheetal is not even such a believable entity!"
"Then, why are you crying?"
(Cursing inwardly), "Answer me now. Why?"
"Because I had to be sure...that you were sure."
And that was that. I really needed no further justification. Ofcourse, I couldn't let him know that.
"You know, Mr.America. This just will not do. Before we get married, we need to establish some ground rules of conduct that we will adhere to and..."
"I take it, that's a yes."
You bet your bustle, Mister. It is a yes. And that, in short, is the story of how I married Mr.America. I will not have you think that I am just your mushy, little Indian girl who was swept off her feet by an NRI.
...Oh, what the hell, think what you want. I am married to the guy with the dimples!
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
The Wish (My 55 word short story)
He whispers in her ears; she leans forward to listen, oblivious to fleeting
stations, cries of "chai!", brisk winds and me.
I make a wish.
Years later, we discuss in tired,low tones, my mother's health, finances, home loans...
I don't notice the wistful sixteen-year-old until later.
She reminds me of a wish come true.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
A proposal.
Karthik,
I write this letter not because I wish to hide myself under a cloak of obscurity, nor do I aim to charm under the guise of anonymity. I am who I am and much as I yearn for your acceptance I fear I cannot change myself for you. I am skipping ahead here, let me tell you the purpose of this letter. I write this letter to tell you that I love you. There is nothing extraordinary or admirable about my love. I love you for selfish reasons. I love you for the silliest reasons. I fear they would make little sense to you. But, I am not afraid of rejection. I also do not promise to lead a life pining for you, should you refuse.
I am neither sentimental nor emotional. I detest anything pink and I think romance is for the mentally weak. Or so I used to think until I met you. Now, I seem to yearn for mere moments spent in your company. I dislike this yearning. I close my eyes at night and you appear in my dreams. I wish to not dream so. I also would like to give the giggly girl you were flirting with yesterday, a black eye. I wish also to make myself disappear, should you hold her hand tomorrow. I should also mention now that I will be a jealous wife, reasonably jealous - after all isn't that part of what defines passion?
I confuse myself with my feelings for you. I do not think you are particularly attractive. I just like the way your hair falls over your left eye. I do not think you are tall enough or muscular enough - just that I spend five minutes every day imagining my head leaning on your shoulders. I think you have a pretty irregular face, not as chiseled a chin as I would like, nor as sharp a nose. Yet, I cannot bear to glance away when your eye steals my sight. I do not necessarily understand these feelings. I do not believe that I would have to. After all, love is not something to be understood or defined. Love is what an old married couple feel when they take their slow evening walk to the temple, not hand in hand, not even talking to each other - it is what each silent moment is filled with, between them, all around them. Or so I imagine. I could be wrong. All I ask of you is this - if I am wrong, will you spend your life with me, telling me what is right?
I do believe I love you. If this is not love, will you be by my side and teach me to love?
Yours
Anuradha
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
1. The world of Padma Maami.
"I knew she would tell me the news soon...after all it has been three years since their first child...have you seen my granddaughter, swetha? She is a darling...has quite an accent too...", Padma maami gushed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, even the tired laugh lines on her aged face seemed to be alive, twitching as she spoke about her NRI daughter's sudden visit. She sat cutting vendakai on an aruvamanai, the little round bits cut mechanically and with surprising precision. She paused for a second to wipe her forehead with her podava thalapu - she still wore a nine yards saree, mostly silk although well worn. She still wore kumkumam on her forehead, a big red vermillion dot that now looked a bit smudged, kohl lined eyes often hidden behind old fashioned spectacles and an aquiline nose that could identify any spice from just a whiff. One often found Padma maami sniffing at her rasam when noone looked and adding a touch of coriander, a pinch of her home made rasam mix and viola, as Mr.Srinivasan often said, appreciatively, slightly patting his tummy, "Amruthama iruku, Padma...".
Mr.Srinivasan was a small, round person with a balding forehead and an avuncular, genial air about him, in sharp contrast to his wife, who looked and often was demanding, particular about her preferences and unforgiving about mistakes unless it came to her only daughter Madhumati (Madhu for short), who happened to be the subject of Padma Maami's animated conversation with her neighbour, Lakshmi Krishnamurthy. Lakshmi maami was a placid, contended small woman who admired her close friend Padma for being everything that she wasn't but she prided on being Padma's confidante and emotional anchor. When the two women started their daily chatter, even their husbands knew better than to interfere.
It was no secret that Padma maami wanted Madhu to marry Lakshmi's son, Srikanth, who secretly nursed a crush on Madhu when they both had been neighbours in India but now was happily married having realized he could never hope to match Madhu's wavelength, or attract her free, almost impertinent spirit. He, like his mother was satisfied in life, delighted in small pleasures that life had to offer and like everything else in his life, did not want to struggle for anything, be it a career or love. As much as the older women looked forward to the match, Madhu frowned upon it initially and then in no uncertain words made it clear to Srikanth that she had other ideas about her soul mate. A confused Srikanth, although initially disappointed, had managed to convince his mother who talked Padma out of it. Padma maami was not happy about her decision being rejected.
A few years later, to further complicate matters and strain the mother-daughter relationship, Madhu had come back from US during a short vacation and had announced that she was in love with an Indian artist, born and brought up in Virginia. Padma maami was scandalized, "My daughter marry an uneducated artist? Atleast if the boy were from MIT, Harvard, I can understand...who is this Ketan? How does he make a living?" and the battle had raged for several months before Mr.Srinivasan decided to firmly put his foot down and settle the affair one way or the other. In his usual affectionate way, he had managed to persuade his wife that his daughter was capable of an intelligent choice, "Padma, think about it...Madhu is an independent girl, very smart, nammalaye vithu saptiduva...we should not judge Ketan before we meet him..." and slowly, Padma maami had relented, although she maintained a frigid silence whenever anyone talked about Ketan in her presence. Over the years, mother and daughter had managed to make peace.
A few events had taken place now and then that would make Padma maami shed huge tears and complain bitterly to Lakshmi, "My own flesh and blood and she thinks her mother need not set eyes on her paethi...could there be anything more cruel? When she does come here, I will not touch the child..." Of course, a picture of her precious Swetha sent by snail mail with a scrawl from Madhu, "Amma, she looks just like you, doesn't she?" had immediately changed the equation. And now, after three years, Madhu had called one rainy afternoon to tell Padma that she was expecting a second child. Padma maami's joy knew no bounds, "Keteengala, she is coming to India too...that girl is smart, correcta three years and now she has planned another child...do you think it will be a boy?" Mr.Srinivasan had been slightly troubled by the tone of his daughter's voice but decided to not mention anything to his highly volatile wife.
2. The Airport Scene
That morning, strains of Suprabharatham could be heard as early as 5 AM, after all, Madhu was coming home that day and nothing could awaken Padma maami earlier, not even Marghazi. Mr.Srinivasan tried to catch a few more minutes of blissful sleep but then gave up the futile attempt when he opened his eyes a fraction and saw Padma maami ambling towards him, an eversilver dabara tumbler in her hand, her eyes half closed as she sang along with the tape recorder. He looked at her fondly, slightly shaking his head to himself, with all her imperfections - prudishness, a penchant for gossip, a tongue that lashed out when provoked...he could not have asked for a better wife, 28 years together and he hoped he would breathe his last with her by his side...breaking out of his unusual morning reverie, he mentally estimated chores to be completed before they set out to pick up their daughter and grand-daughter at the airport.
Padma maami was in a highly excited state - the incessant rush at the airport, the palpable tension, the animated buzz of conversation and the confused arrays of auto rikshaws and taxis lining the roads seemed to only fuel her nervous energy. Mr.Srinivasan held her hand - a gesture very unusual for him, especially in public - and directed her through the crowd. He glanced back at his wife every now and then, she had eyes only for her daughter and grand-daughter, searching through the sea of faces to catch a glimpse of them, well knowing that they were half an hour ahead of schedule.
"The flight must be delayed...or their baggage must be delayed, else they would be here by now, wouldn't they? Maybe Swetha tripped and fell...do you think Padma can handle her alone in this crowd?"
Mr.Srinivasan patiently answered her constant volley of increasingly improbable questions, while his own eyes started taking in the faces of the tired passengers who came down the escalator with an assortment of hand luggages.
"Mr.Srinivasan! Mr.Srinivasan, hello, how are you, hello Padma maami!", the lanky young man waved enthusiastically, his face almost but hidden between irate visitors and passengers.
"Kashta kaalam...ippo thaan varanumo ivan!", Padma maami positively glowered at Srikanth and Mr.Srinivasan looked troubled at the prospect of handling his wife and Lakshmi's son, Srikanth. Padma maami still blamed Srikanth for not being forceful enough with Madhu, if only he had showed more interest, Madhu would be married to him, living close to them...Mr.Srinivasan nodded a polite hello to him and kept his eyes on the passengers coming in, but Srikanth was not to be deterred.
"What a coincidence! I came to pick up a colleague who is coming in from Germany! You must be here for Madhumati...Is Ketan also coming? I haven't seen them for so many years now!", Srikanth continued with innocent exuberance, thrilled at the prospect of meeting an old friend.
As soon as she heard Ketan's name, Padma maami frowned and resolutely turned away from Srikanth while Mr.Srinivasan made small talk with him. Suddenly, Padma maami almost yelled, causing the young woman standing next to her to draw in her breath sharply, "Ado, vandutta! She has become so thin...", hardly had the words left her mouth, when her eyes watered and she started weeping profusely, causing the woman next to her to move back several steps.
Madhumati wore a lilac colored salwar kameez and carried her daughter with her left hand as she deftly maneuvered her luggage trolley forward. For once Mr.Srinivasan agreed with his wife's initial appraisal of Madhu's health, she seemed to have become more gaunt, even taller than her 5'7", her hair dyed in brown streaks even shorter than before, almost above her shoulders and her arms seemed more bony than before...she scanned the crowd for a few seconds and her eyes lighted up for a few moments when she saw her parents and she smiled as she walked towards them. As soon as she caught sight of Srikanth, a shadow of a frown crossed her pale face...
Padma maami needed no fancier invitation, she literally fell on Madhu and Swetha and hugged them in the midst of the crowd, "Madhu, you have become so thin...My God, look at your arms, are you not eating child? If only you had not married that..."
Before her mother could launch into one of her public sermons, Madhu gently extricated herself from the bear hug and set Swetha down. Swetha, jetlagged and now being smothered with kisses from her grand mother did not get much of a chance even to whine. Mr.Srinivasan looked at the scene, a bit embarassed and looked at Madhu, "Madhu ma, how have you been? Is all well?", he held up a palm half-enquiringly, half-concernedly...she didn't answer immediately but just smiled and touched her father's forehead with hers and put her hand around his shoulder as if to tell him all was right with her world, but her eyes seemed to tell him a different tale.
3. Idlis, Smiles and Tears.
"What does my Swetha kutti want to eat? Dosa taratuma? Mallipoo madiri idli?", Padma maami fondly questioned her grand daughter who seemed confused to have so many choices thrust on her. While grandmother and granddaughter conversed thus in the kitchen, father and daughter sat in the verandah and discussed issues concerning much more than the evening tiffin.
"Madhu ma, is your green card processing going ok? You were telling me that there was some delay?", after having enquired about her health and Swetha's health, Mr.Srinivasan tried to touch upon a few relevant issues before asking Madhu what he really wanted to ask - why hadn't Ketan come along? Was he keeping her happy? Why did she look so worried? He knew his daughter too well to understand that something was definitely not alright but he also knew enough to not annoy Madhu by sounding like his wife. He looked at Madhu worriedly...so sprightly a few years back and now so melancholy, it did not become her, the mischievous twinkle that often played in her brown eyes, so evident in Swetha's eyes now, was now replaced by a melancholy glaze, as if she were just physically here but had left her heart somewhere else, with someone else?
Madhu, though touched by her father's unspoken concern was still not comfortable discussing the events that had led to her sudden India trip, definitely not with her mother. She still couldn't adjust to life with just Swetha and her, a single mom...when had they fallen apart? Had she been too possessive, ruthless? Had she driven him to this end? But, why did he go into those silent phases when no amount of pleading could bring him back? And now, there was Swetha to take care of, if not for her, shouldn't he have come back for his daughter? The unpleasant memories, never too far away from the surface came flooding back and it took her a while to respond to her father's questions.
"Green card? Appa, I have quit my job...I am not going back, I...", before she could stop herself she found herself crying to her father unburdening everything on him...
"Appa ponnu pesindathu porum, come in for hot idlis and Vengaya sambhar, cheekram!", Padma maami's loud voice had an immediate effect on father and daughter. Madhu dried her tears and gestured with her finger on her lips...if her mother came to know, all hell will break loose...inspite of himself, Mr.Srinivasan smiled, everyone was scared of his wife. He patted his daughter and said in a small, comforting voice, "Madhu ma, everything will be ok, nee veetuku vanduta ila, pray to Venugopal, he will take care of us...", they walked in together into the house, each troubled yet strangely relieved.
The scene inside was as different from the one outside, as could be imagined. Swetha having been fed all of three huge fluffy idlis was now listening wide-eyed to a story about baby Krishna that her grandmother was telling her - it was hard to guess who was enjoying it more...
"Then baby Krishna stole all the curd and nobody knew...", Swetha mimicked her grandmother and spread her palm out and shook it slightly indicating that nobody really knew who stole all the curd, "Vaa Madhu, vaango, have your idli sambhar before it becomes cold!"
Madhu smiled as she sat down to gulp down her mother's idlis, it had always been her favourite tiffin, the soft fluffy bits melted in her mouth and she gulped down the slightly spicy and aromatic sambhar. Padma maami looked expectantly at Madhu. Speaking with her mouth full, Madhu said, "Amma, terrific..." and Padma maami smiled immediately and went back to the story.
After tiffin, as Madhu washed her hands in the kitchen, Padma maami stood near the sink, wiping the dishes with a small cloth, "How are things in America? What is maplai saying? Is he joining you here in a few days? When do you have to go back" Madhu knowing the questioning session was not far off was prepared, "So, so...he will not be joining me here. Umm...I will be here awhile, amma, am very tired now, naliku pesalama?"
Padma maami had a thousand unanswered questions in her head and it was late in the night when she finally fell asleep.
4. A trip to Marina Beach.
Madhu woke up in surprisingly good spirits looking forward to a relaxing day at home. Swetha came running breathlessly almost immediately and poured out all the exciting things she had to share with her mother, "Amma, today arun anna, bhaskar anna and aunties, uncles came, they want to see you...", so saying she tugged at Madhu's night gown. Madhu survyed her daughter, half-exasperated, half-amused...she looked like a doll, dressed in a pink frock, her hair well oiled and platted in two plats with pink ribbons around them - painstakingly done by Padma maami - "Atleast as long as she is here, let me take care of my paethi!". Madhu was not happy at the prospect of greeting several relatives and answering their questions so soon. She quickly freshened up, picked a salwar kameez, changed her mind and selected a light blue saree and walked in to greet the "interview panel".
"Madhumati, come come, so many years since we saw you...how have you been? You have thinned down so much!", her chithi exclaimed, her husband immediately nodded his agreement, her athai, Girija maami exclaimed that Madhu has become a vella kaari after all these years while her athimber, Mr.Chandrasekar chewed tobacoo and greeted Madhu simulateously...many shocked gasps, eager questions, sweaty hugs and discreet once-overs later, Madhu decided it was not as bad as she had imagined. No awkward questions yet about her husband, her job...the morning progressed in a daze for her and everyone's enthusiasm had waned a bit and they settled down to a languorous afternoon conversation before lunch. Madhu for her part was relieved on two accounts - Swetha had enough company to keep her occupied, although they created quite a racket around the house and her mother was too busy with the food preparations to add helpful bits of information about Madhu to the conversation.
The smell of jaggery, roasted cashews for the paal payasam mixed with the tangy smell of lemon rasam and Mr.Srinivasan's favourite, sweet green beans with thengai. Everyone ate with relish and complimented Padma maami, "Padma, epadi dee ipadi samaikara nee?", even the quiet and shy Padmanabhan, Padma maami's sister Vedavalli maami's husband, complimented her by asking for a second serving of the paal payasam. After the delicious but heavy afternoon sapadu, everyone settled around to an afternoon siesta which will be followed by a trip to Marina beach - Swetha was very excited about going to the beach, Madhu was not.
A few hours later, the whole family set out in two cars to the beach. Madhu sqeezed in with Swetha, Vedavalli maami and her two grandsons while Padma maami, Mr.Srinivasan, Mr.Padmanabhan, Mr. and Mrs.ChandraSekar came in the other car. Marina beach was crowded as it always is and they all walked quite a bit inside before they found a spot to settle down in. The kids immediately started running about and completely ignored Padma maami's frequent admonitions, "Don't go near the water else I will take you all home right now! Stay close!". Vedavalli maami summoned a thin, scared looking boy selling sundal and bought some sundal for everyone. The conversation hovered pleasantly over Arun's academic merits and Bhaskar's lack of the same when Vedavalli maami suddenly turned to Madhu, "What about your husband? Does he help with Swetha's school work, she must be in UKG now?"
"I take care of Swetha's school work, he is usually busy at work...", Madhu's voice trailed and Mr.Srinivasan cleared his throat uncomfortably trying to divert the conversation.
"Madhu, atleast tell me now, seeing that we have only our people around us, is there any problem between you and Ketan? You have been avoiding his topic for two days now!", Padma maami unwittingly questioned. To her, all these people were just family, Madhu would have laughed at the notion.
"Amma, can we talk about this when we are alone?"
The question met with a few sympathetic, a few disapproving glares from the family members, Padma maami now definitely angry that her daughter had insulted her close family and the impression that they would carry with them about Madhu's upbringing, said, "Illa, now is a good time, you will need the blessings of these people all through your life, they are our well wishers and we should talk now. Tell me, did you and Ketan have a fight?"
Madhu sat silently, playing with the sand, letting it run through her fingers slowly. Padma maami prompted her once more, in a softer tone, "Madhu, we are trying to help you, you have been stubborn once and decided to marry without our full consent, but we did not hold that against you...now, tell me, is something wrong? You are also expecting a baby and you need all our support, sollu ma..."
Madhu seeing no escape looked up and addressed her mom, "Amma, Ketan and I have decided to separate. I have resigned my job, I am back to India for good, I needed to take this break amma." and just like that it was all out in the open.
Madhu stood up and walked away from her family. She needed to be by herself, alone with her thoughts...
A broken image.
The scorching agninatchatram of Madras seemed to reflect the ravaging swirl of emotions that Madhu silently experienced, once in a while she would take it all out on her unsuspecting daughter or on her perplexed mother and would feel so bad she would suddenly hug her daughter and shower her with kisses or would lapse into long silences that worried her parents. Madhu felt she was far away from home; a sense of unreality shrouded her and she withdrew further into her own world.
Mr.Srinivasan worried greatly about his daughter though he tried not to express what he felt to his wife who was already upset about her increasily reclusive daughter and often resorted to an inconsolable stream of tears on Lakshmi maami's shoulders. After the beach incident, everytime Padma maami tried to talk to her daughter, Madhu would reply in monosyllables and would retire to her room with a suddenly developed headache. Padma maami took refuge in the playful antics of Swetha and would confide to whoever would listen about her daughter's problems.
Srikanth for his part tried to talk to Madhu a few times, partly because he wanted to help her and partly because his mother and Padma maami had hinted on more than one occasion that he should talk to her and more importantly get her to talk to him, to anyone. Madhu, although grateful for his continued attempts to make her feel better knew that she had to come to terms with her life without outside help and she refused to talk to Srikanth.
Mr.Srinivasan tried to talk to his daughter but was too sensitive to ignore her subtle hints - a feigned yawn, a sudden need to take a walk...alone, an unwillingness to talk freely as she had the other evening, he did not fail to notice her slightly swollen eyes, her unnatural cheerfulness when she played with Swetha and he spent many long nights sitting on his rocking cane chair, pretending to be immersed in a novel to avoid answering his wife's nightly enquiries about Madhu.
Padma maami accompanied Madhu on her visits to the gynaecologist, the same Doctor who had delivered Madhu herself. Five months into her pregnancy, on one such listless visit to the gynaecologist, Madhu stepped into an auto with her mother and wondered how to spend the next few hours peacefully, when everything else indicated otherwise. Till now, the pregnancy was something that was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to Madhu, she had too much on her mind - how would she would manage without her husband and bring up two children? Would she go back to America? Should she stay back in Madras, maybe get a part-time job and take care of her two kids? This particular picture had impressed itself in her mind, she with her two young girls - somehow the other child was always a girl, her concerns always bordered around how she would bring up her kids and not about her pregnancy itself.
"Padma, can you wait outside for a few minutes? I need to examine Madhu..."
Seeing the startled look on Padma maami's face, Dr.Anjali added, "Padma, just a few minutes, a routine check just to make sure...", her voice trailed uncertainly.
A few minutes later, the Doctor looked at the ultrasound images and a few statistics, by now Madhu had snapped back into reality and was beginning to feel a pang of anxiety...Dr.Anjali placed a hand on Madhu's shoulder and said in a small voice, "Madhu, I am sorry, the fetus...the baby stopped growing, this can happen in the fifth month sometimes, it will not affect your next pregnancy..."
Madhu stared at the Doctor and stopped hearing after a few minutes, she felt dizzy, she nodded uncomprehendingly and tears streamed down her cheeks, yet she felt no pain, just a numb sense of unreality. Her image of the two little girls running around her remained as strong as ever, probably etched forever in her memory. Padma maami for once displayed a sense of maturity that Madhu did not believe her mother was capable of - she heard the news silently from the Doctor and hugged her daughter tightly.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
5. Closure.
Seasons changed slowly, summer bowed down to a few refreshing raindrops heralding the more severe monsoon; Madhu recovered admirably but maintained a subtle but firm barrier that she didn't let anyone cross, not even her father - her grief was precious and personal. She would often sit by the study room window and watch the rain knock the windows and the constant patter of the rain falling would dim the sounds of daily life and create a haven for her memories, a world that noone could see, a world with just Swetha, Ananya and her - she had even picked a name...
Two people in her life played their parts well in helping her recover atleast to this extent, Mr.Srinivasan and Ketan. It did not take Mr.Srinivasan long to find Ketan's contact information, a discreet ISD call, an emotional yet dignified talk with his son-in-law and what followed was a phone call for Madhu. She was surprised, happy and sad all at once, they talked for several hours, cried together and laughed a little; although neither talked about the future and its endless possibilities, they grew stronger, together in their loss and knew they were there for each other, if not as man and wife, at least as good friends...Madhu did not appear to be angry at her father's intervention. Ketan called her regularly after that day.
Madhu somehow could not bring herself to talk to her mother freely, something that her mother yearned for. One afternoon, they had a few unexpected guests. Srikanth and his wife, Leela came to visit them. Leela was a shy, demure, almost naive young woman and Madhu took an instant liking to her. While Padma maami and Mr.Srinivasan talked to Srikanth, Madhu, Swetha and Leela sat in the verandah and talked like a couple of teenage girls about their college lives, whimsical dreams, their past and present. Leela also informed Madhu about a job opening at the company where she worked and Madhu promised to look into it.
Life goes on and so it did go on for Madhu, interspersed with moments of happiness and sometimes of sadness, but surrounded by family, new friends, comforting phone calls and playful moments with her child, Madhu felt a sense of peace. One evening, as she returned from her job, she heard her mother playing with Swetha. She hesitated for a few moments and stood listening to them, unseen.
"Who called today and talked to my Rajkumari Swetha? Who is coming for Deepavali?", Padma maami asked Swetha, in a sing-song voice.
"Appa!", the child gleefully rhymed.
"What will appa bring for chinnamma?"
"Chocolates and Barbie doll!"
"What will appa bring for Madhu kutti?"
"Podava", the child answered, giggling at her mother being referred to as Kutti.
"What will appa bring for this old pattima?"
"Onnum illa!", so saying Swetha shrugged her shoulders and laughed with her grandma.
Maybe it was the news that Ketan was coming to India, maybe it was the adorable scene in front of her eyes, maybe it was just some quirk of fate...whatever it was brought tears to Madhu's eyes and she saw her mother, the imperious, loud, demanding Padma maami as ...amma.
That evening, as Madhu walked with her dad to the Pillaiyar kovil at the street corner, a gentle drizzle fell on them and they both laughed instinctively. Madhu did not know what the future held in store for her, several threads of her life remained to be picked up, old relationships waited to be renewed, new friends travelled with her to become old friends, questions remained unanswered...but today felt perfect and she was grateful for that.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
A geeky story.
OK, I really feel bad about inflicting this geekish nonsense on you all but I read this post on artificial intelligence about a month back and felt compelled to write this excuse of a story. I promise, I will make up for this ridiculous write-up with something better next time :)
"I am concerned about the moral implications of this decision", the young Doctor seemed troubled. He loosened his tie and waited for the senior physician to respond.
"Questions...questions, they are necessary for innovation, for progress, and then there comes a time when you don't know to stop questioning and we thwart the miracles of Science...", the old Doctor intoned.
A voice that often exuded wisdom and yet he could not help doubting today.
"I understand Ms.C, let's talk a bit more about your feelings and your dreams. Now, how often do you get these dreams?"
The mellow masculine voice seemed to float soothingly around her. She adjusted her headphones and took a deep breath.
"I used to get them once in two or maybe three weeks. I get them more often now, ever since he...my husband started going on these office tours. I go to sleep late because I am scared I will get these dreams again...sometimes they are so life-like..."
"Sometimes the dreams are life-like?"
"Yes, exactly! I feel someone strangling me in my sleep, I wake up in a cold sweat and it takes me several hours to go back to sleep. It's always the same dream. Yesterday morning, I could have sworn I saw marks on my neck..."
"Marks on your neck. Can you describe these marks, Ms.C?"
"Good morning, Ms.C, how are you today?"
"I am good, thank you. It's it's good to hear your voice..."
The fifth session and this time she was looking forward to the consultation - the one hour that was the highlight of her otherwise dreary week. They had discussed some surprisingly personal issues the previous week and strangely she did not feel inhibited, she had revealed seldom talked about details of her life with a kind of careless abandon and she was thrilled that there was someone who cared enough to listen.
"My husband goes on tours more often now and is away for weeks together...and even when he comes home hardly talks to me, he thinks I have lost it..."
She begins to cry.
"Your husband goes on tours more often and is away...your husband does not behave as he should, you should stay away from him since he does not do what he is supposed to do."
The words of a stranger made more sense to her than that of her husband and somehow she had begun to develop feelings towards this voice, this man saying all these nice things to her. Her semi-delirious mind was receptive to all the irrational commands of her heart and she now made excuses to "talk" more to the voice in her head.
"Umm...there seems to be a problem...the brain seems to be issuing commands out of line", the young man seemed on the verge of tears.
"Highly improbable. Have you rechecked the algorithms and test results? After all, we are running a beta version and we have let our customers know that...", the infuriatingly calm voice of the older Doctor did little to pacify the other.
"Customers? They are not customers! They are mentally unstable patients who need to be treated with care! I have double checked everything! I have rerun our tests and I see no error notifications...I am telling you, the brain is somehow malfunctioning, it is mixing up questions from different data sets and this will have unpredictable results on the patients...as you well know!"
"I am afraid I will have to disagree, Doctor. We cannot abandon a million dollar project based on a few random observations that we have not yet confirmed for veracity!"
The young man's shoulders slumped, "This is a huge mistake..."
The young woman walked with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips. Her Doctor was correct. She had dumped her husband as he had advised her. She almost ran the last few steps to the terminal and logged in to the program.
"Good morning, Dr.N...", she couldn't help smiling.
"Good morning, Good morning, Good morning..."
She interrupted him and said, "I left him! I am happy today, thanks to you Doctor..."
And the voice replied, "You left him. You are happy. You are not happy normally, you are not the way you are supposed to be. You must leave. You must leave..."
She looked, bewildered, at the words flashing on the screen and the same tender voice resounding in her ears.
"But Doctor..."
"You must leave, you must leave..."
The computer at the other end could not break out of the infinite loop, it could break hearts but did not know how to fix what was broken. What little reason existed earlier for her to live her weary life seemed to dissolve into nothingness...
The project codenamed "brain" closed down shortly.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
A thief and a grandmother.
Disclaimer: Just a feel good story with no thought given to how (un)realistic it sounds because now, I feel like feeling good and it's almost Friday :) Vaguely based on a O'Henry story that my mom told me over phone.
"Shhh", he silently mouths to himself, for no apparent reason. He is after all alone in the hall, atleast for the time being. He lets himself down slowly, the rope grazing his callous fingers. He hangs from it for a moment, adjusting his eyes to the darkness before landing with a soft, almost soundless thump onto the floor.
His black overalls seems overkill - he did see the family leave that morning. A week of eavesdropping, a few adjustments made to the thatched roof, a pen light, the proverbial knife, a sturdy rope and he was all set.
A sudden growl and his muscles tense in anticipation. Backing himself against the wall, his ears strain to locate the source of the low growl. It seems closer now. He squints, searching for perhaps a feline movement and draws his breath in sharply. Lying down on a mat on the floor, is the old lady of the house, blissfully unaware in her sleep, of the stranger staring down at her.
Being somewhat of a novice, he reacts in haste and a slightly dirty flowervase falls on to the floor with as much noise as it can muster and breaks. The old lady sits up with a start. He gets his knife out ready to threaten, if not to harm. He is quite an innocuous thief and an amateur at that - this is only his third week - earning his livelihood without any bloodshed at all. A few ominous vague threats and he usually gets his job done.
After a few Godly invocations, she raises her voice,
"Who is there?"
He remains still and tries to ignore the slightly ticklish, irritating sensation in his nose. The fallen vase has produced a cloud of dust around it and he holds his nose closed with his thumb and index finger lest he should get one of his asthma attacks.
"Damned cat creating havoc...", she mutters to herself as she presses her palm against the floor in a slow attempt to get to her feet.
At the same instant, he breaks out into an unhelpful fit of coughs.
With a small scream, the old lady moves with surprising deftness and picks up a discarded broomstick from a corner and moves towards the noise.
He coughs continuously and his eyes begin to water and he starts to wheeze. Still, he holds his knife in front of him and between rasping breaths, he manages to say,
"Old woman. one move and..."
Another wave of coughs and he now gasps for breath.
The old lady cautiously edges towards the light switch and turns it on. She holds a hand on her chest and unconsciously murmers, "Krishna, Krishna" at the scene that greets her.
In the middle of the floor is a boy in black overalls, a knife loosely hanging from one hand and his other hand searching for something in his pockets, surrounding him on the floor are bits and pieces of the old vase. He finally drops his knife to the floor and searches with both hands - his shirt pocket, inside his shirt, his pant pockets and finally fishes out an inhaler - worth his mother's monthly salary. He takes five deep breaths through the inhaler's tube and collapses to the floor, still breathing deeply.
The old woman now comes near him, concern overtaking fear, she asks tentatively,
"Are you all right? Shall i get you some water?"
He cannot talk still and he declines with a quick wave of his right hand, "If, if you call the police..." and starts coughing again.
She sits next to him and says, "You, are in no position to steal and since you
havent stolen anything, i have little need to call the police.."
He sighs. Being a thief is hard work after all.
She brings a stainless steel tumbler with water.
"I have warmed the water a bit...drink it now."
He silently acquiesces, because he suddenly feels tired and can discern no immediate purpose to his life.
"It tastes weird", he makes a face.
"Pankajam's formula, it works wonders on my grand kids"
She pronounces formula, phaarmula and says it proudly. He thinks she is a strange old woman, probably senile.
"So, tell me, how long have you been doing..this?"
"I did not come here to exchange stories with you, now listen..."
"How dare you? You young upstart? Sit now and I will talk and you listen...and call me Pankajam patti like any respectable boy your age would!"
He sits down immediately, not accustomed to the tone and authority with which she commands.
"Now where was I...yes, first tell me, how old are you? 17..18? and what is your name?"
At this point, she looks for her thick spectacles and peers at him through them, interestedly.
"18...my name is Bhaskar..."
He is not used to being asked for his name, it's usually "Hey there!", "Do this!" - his name like his identity is of little interest to the people who live in his small world.
He is sullen now and resigns himself to fate in the form of Pankajam patti.
"Since when do you have asthma?"
Surprised at this line of questioning, he replies, "Since birth..."
"My grandson has wheezing, you know what you should do? You should boil water, mix some amrutanjan with it and inhale the vapours, wrap a towel around your face so that you get all the vapours, it always works for my Sujan...God bless the child."
This is an embarassing turn of events. Bhaskar did not have the heart to steal from the old lady any more, after all this. So, he looks around uneasily and tries to think of the fastest escape route.
"I must be leaving now, patti. My mother will be worried...I promised I would bring her some vegetables and rice..."
"Did you? You seem to be a responsible boy after all, wait here."
And he waits, once again unable to resist her command.
"This is for you and your mother. Buy vegetables and rice and give the rest to her...its not for gambling or spending on movies and kites, understand? Also, your mother, what did you say her name was?"
"Lakshmi..."
"Yes, yes, ask Lakshmi to come and see me tomorrow, an old woman's work is never done, she can help me out around the house."
He accepts the crisp currency note gratefully.
"Pankajam patti..."
"Yes thambi?"
"May I come to visit you some time?"
"Silly boy, once Lakshmi starts working here, of course you will have to come and visit, who do you think will buy us vegetables from the market and take clothes for isthri?"
Bhaskar smiles happily.
"Now run along, waking an old woman up at unearthly hours and asking silly questions...silly boy."
Bhaskar leaves and Pankajam patti locks the door and lies down on the mat again talking to herself, as she often does, "Nice boy, that Bhaskar...just needed a slight whack on his head to set him right..."
Saturday, July 02, 2005
My dad and Me.
I am writing this down for posterity. It's kind of an auto-biography for me, so, if you can't relate to it, go right ahead, pick the next Dan Brown thriller and make yourself scarce. Now, where was I? Yes...if I should have an unruly teenage son one day (pity the chap), and if we happen to not see eye-to-eye (entirely hypothetical you see? I plan to be a cool dad) I promise to dig up my dusty diary and read what these yellowing pages would have to teach me about my own experiences with my dad.
Allow me to skip the early chapters of my life (really, life does not get interesting until adolescence - note: my dad does not agree) and skip to my teenage years. These years were of particular relevance to the subject at hand, because there were times when I could have killed my dad, times when I could have cried for him, times when I learnt the nuances of the overloaded "Generation Gap", first hand!
Let me make this clear. At 13, one of the best leg spin bowlers of my school, I only care about the inter-school finals. Cricket is my life. My dad is a big cricket enthusiast himself. What I could not understand is why he would stand in my way. I came home, drenched with sweat and on a natural high (cricket does that to me), after practice.
"What time is it, young man?"
He glared at me from behind his thick brown spectacles, the rest of his face hidden by the newspaper. He continued to rock slowly on his cane rocking chair but I knew "young man" meant that he was on the verge of an angry breakdown.
"Uhh...9.45 pa, I gotta finish my homework, so..."
"Come here, young man. We need to talk."
It was more like, he needed to talk and I needed to listen. So, what followed was a really long and boring lecture on responsibilities, academics, future, life and I really do not want to go into details here. When I entered my room, the clock showed 10.45 PM. I cursed and threw my school bag against the wall and hit the bed. Why couldn't he understand?
The next couple of weeks, I continued to come home late. He always sat on his chair and waited for me to return but somehow stopped the lectures. I took this to mean he understood my priorities.
Two events caused a sudden change in our relatively tenuous relationship - our team lost in the finals and I flunked my English paper.
"Did you get your exam results?"
I didn't reply. I didn't care - we lost and that's all that mattered. I gave him my papers.
He flung them with an intensity that took me by surprise.
"Disgrace! You are a disgrace, young man! Did you know your grandfather was an English professor? He would turn in his grave..." His angry voice boomed through the entire house. Suddenly, I just lost it.
"Dad, don't you care about what is important to me at all? We lost, our team lost today in the finals. I bowled miserably, OK? I don't care if I failed this exam, we lost!", I raised my voice over his - my first.
"Do not raise your voice!" and suddenly, "And tell me how you lost."
And that was that. A simple request. I talked for an hour, about the game, about the untimely rain, about my miserable bowling, about cricket and I forgot all else - even our loss. I talked passionately about the game and when I stumbled back to bed, I was not angry or upset. I actually smiled and I suspected my dad had something to do with it.
Dad being who he is, did not fail to notice the not-so-subtle changes in me.
"It's not like you to go to class on time, Srikanth?"
"Umm...just want to make sure my papers don't get flung again, dad!"
Did I imagine it or did he just wink at me?
It was all fun for a few months. But then, I started to get all serious about Anusha and it was not so much fun anymore. I mean we were friends and all and I had even introduced her to dad (who smiled amusedly - the wicked, wicked man) but we just remained that, good friends and I wanted to be much more than just a good friend to her and I suspected that she already was seeing someone. She had so many boy friends, I just could not tell for sure.
Anusha called me at 6 AM one Saturday. She was crying.
"I need to talk to you", she sniffed on the telephone and suddenly, I lost all my sleep - my heart went out to her. I hurriedly slipped into something suitable and ran down. Dad was boiling milk for his morning coffee.
"Srikanth! Good morning, good morning, what a..."
He seemed in great spirits.
"Dad, I gotta go, Anusha called up and she seems upset. I'll be back."
He was silent for a moment. Then, he placed his hand on my shoulder (which for me was the same as a hug, we were always averse to physical contact) and said, "Srikanth, I just don't want you to get hurt, OK?"
Something about the tone of his voice made me stop and listen. I placed my hand on his and said, "OK dad, I...thanks." (damn it, I just cannot tell him I love him and not snicker).
It turned out Anusha was seeing someone and the someone had decided to not see her anymore. I acted the role of a reassuring shoulder for her to lean on - all brotherly and nice (yeesh!).
A few months later, it was my turn to cry. Anusha came home all bubbly and giggling and hugged me. I assumed that meant a thumbs up for our relationship.
And then she said, "Srikanth, you wouldn't believe this, he came back to me! He said he had made a big mistake and we were always meant for each other, can you believe this?"
Can I believe this? No. I believe I can rip that guy's heart out and throw it down, next to my broken one.
She left soon and I just did not want to dampen her good mood with my own confessions. I did not go to college the next day and the next. I did not leave my room most of the time and I made as little conversation as possible and answered only in mono-syllables. Dad tried to talk to me many times and even asked about Anusha and I evaded him as best as I could.
That night, I sat in my room, staring blankly at the TV - muted cartoon characters ran about busily on screen, they seemed so happy. I almost did not hear the knock on my door.
"Srikanth..."
I did not respond. He sat next to me on the sofa and remained silent.
"I remember how I felt when I thought your mom would leave me...almost twenty five years and I remember that day..."
He did not need to say more. That day, I broke our unspoken rules of interaction and hugged my dad.
Well, what can I say? There were many times after that when I felt like hugging him but did not. We just don't do that here.
And, did I mention that I want to become my dad to my son some day?
Sunday, June 26, 2005
A story-teller's love story.
"You know I won't mind...come on, tell me, I want to know once more, how did she look?", she rests her chin on her palms and her elbows on the table and playfully urges me.
She looks adorable, child-like and yet with undeniable womanly grace. Sometimes, I wonder what I have done to deserve her...
"OK, Lalitha was beautiful, I thought I loved Lalitha", I deliver the story in a monotone, not very different from a five year old reading prose aloud in English class.
"Hello? This is not what I shunned my kitty party invitation for! Let's try that one more time - she was not beautiful in the conventional sense...", she tried to make her voice sound husky and enthusiastic at the same time.
"You know the opening lines too, what is the need for me to tell you this story?", I ask, knowing and wanting to hear her answer one more time.
"You say it so much better, Prabhu...now don't waste any more time."
She was probably right, I love to tell stories, especially to children and to anyone else who would listen, destiny had decided when I was very young that I would become a writer, a story-teller. As a kid, I was the master story-teller of our house and all the children in our combined family and some amused adults would assemble around me every evening to listen to my fanciful stories, or so my father tells me. I love to watch their expectant faces mirror the variations in my story...now delighted, now disappointed, now anxious...I love to hold their hands and guide them on our journey together, and I love stories with a happy ending, which is one reason why I hesitate to give Kripa the full version of this story - the story of my life.
