Full circle
Anuradha let the phone ring. It had to be Anuj, nobody but her husband would call her in the middle of this sleepy afternoon. She tried to soak up the bright sun a little more, she really needed sunshine in her life now. It had become grey and cloudy – in every sense. The annoying phone stopped ringing. She still didn’t feel like moving. It’s not that she felt tired, she hadn’t worked at all today even though the servant had gone on a long leave. The bed was still unmade, the dishes from breakfast were on the dining table, the kitchen was a shameful mess. The house had fallen prey to neglect much like her own heart. Why did Bhavik have to leave?
The phone rang again. This time she unchained herself from the heaviness that held her down.
“Why don’t you pick up the phone?” Anuj tried too suppress his irritation.
But Anuradha knew him too well, he hated waiting for anything. Only, she didn’t seem to care now. Whatever for?
“Listen, some of my office friends are coming home in the evening. You remember I was telling you about Nilima, she’s coming and one other person,” he was as focused as ever, always clear and to the point, “can you make some of your lovely pakoras?” his voice had softened now. It always did when he tried to persuade someone. No wonder he was a success at work. Wily, but successful. A few months ago this quick change of tone would have brought an amused smile to her lips. Not anymore.
He had already disconnected the phone, even before she could say “yes”. It had never occurred to her husband that she could refuse him anything. Without realizing it, Anuradha let out a sigh - a long, deep, cold sigh… Why did Bhavik have to leave?
She decided to pull herself up, and what better way than to clean the house, to put all the scattered things in their proper place. She didn’t want to wait for the housemaid to come and do this, perhaps it would help her to bring her mind back on track. What had happened to her, she asked herself… All she could feel was a gnawing feeling in the center of her chest, a strange sensation that was strong but she couldn’t quite identify or label. Who could she tell? Who should she turn to for help or just understanding – a doctor, a psychiatrist, a guru…?
She turned the tap on over the dirty dishes, thrusting her hands under the cold steady stream of water. The bite of the cold water brought her into present. She washed the few dishes that were there and then picked up the duster and decided to clean up. This was something that had been tried and tested by her for many years now. Whenever Anuj and she had an argument, which inevitably meant he would yell and she would listen, often a silent anger seething in her belly, she would later assiduously get involved in vigorous house work, like dusting the furniture or washing the dishes. The servants always looked forward to fights between the couple! Anuradha felt that external cleaning led to inner cleaning, putting the clothes and books of the children in their proper place helped to put her own scattered mind in order. That is what she decided to do now.
She dusted the dressing table putting her earrings back into the jewelry box, and removing the used bindis she’d stuck on the mirror. These always irritated Anuj. She folded the bed sheet and picked up her husband’s kurta pajama thrown on the bed and dropped it into the laundry basket. At the bedside table was an old framed picture of all of them Anuj, Anuradha and the children, in the days when the boys were still boys and Anuradha was beautiful besides being an ideal wife and mother. She put the picture back and plomped down on the bed again, feeling drained. She couldn’t drag herself to the children’s room and tidy up there, it was too much.
The bell rang. It was the maid.
“Madam sorry, for being late. Why you are bothering to clean? I will do everything!”
She took the duster from Anuradha’s hand and went about her business. She went into the children’s bedroom, but only to mop the floor, she knew she was not supposed to touch any of the books or clothes or cds or the computer that Bhavik had left in a state of chaos in that room. After giving the maid directions to chop the vegetables and keep everything ready for the evening Anuradha asked her to leave. She didn’t want to have any one around, especially now when she’d decided to settle the scattered state of the children’s bedroom. It was about time now, how long could she afford to neglect things.
The walls had their posters yet, and Raghu’s music collection was gathering dust again. During the first six months of his hostel life, every time he called, he would ask about it, but now he had transferred all his music into a cold ipod and his cds and cassettes were left here along with his pictures. Of course, Raghu had to go, he didn’t have a choice since he didn’t get into the IIT here in India, the US college was the next best choice. But Bhavik could have stayed, he just chose to go. Now her nest was empty. She folded his T-shirts, he would leave them scattered on the bed like his father, with them she tried to fold her thoughts and put them away in an inaccessible corner of her mind. She had done the same thing when Raghu left, but then Bhavik was with her and helped her to settle everything.
“I think I will miss Raghu, even though I have the whole room to myself now,” he’d innocently confessed. She’d turned her face away then not wanting to show him how wounded she felt after her first born had flown away. Today there was nobody from whom she had to hide her feelings – except herself.
As she was neatly piling up his books, something caught her eye. It was a bright folder, with a cover Bhavik had made. She was amazed to see what he had pasted on top, it was an old drawing of his - ‘my mother’, one he had done when he was probably 7 or 8 years old, she didn’t remember. She opened the folder and saw the collection of her artist son. She never even knew he had kept each of his art works so carefully in a folder. She flipped through it till she came to something which made her hold her breath, “My mother the artist” he’d scribbled and below that were the yellowed, crumbling sketches she’d done in her youth when she was a teenager and dreamed to being an artist… Where did he get hold of them? Could it be from her mother before she died, Bhavik had visited her that year… She looked at them, pale pencil sketches, one of her own mother still strangely life-like. Ironically, her mother was the one who was so obsessed about domesticating her. It seemed to her some kind of crime or an aberration of the mind to sketch and paint with such passion so as to forget everything else.
“Congratulations mother, you won, and I will never forgive you for it!”
She had reconciled herself to a secure, ‘normal’ life by the time her children came into the world. They became her masterpieces, especially Bhavik in whom she saw herself, but he was stronger than her and clearer. Now, they’d moved into the world to carve out their lives… Emptiness haunted her. The hollowness picked at her heart like hungry crows at a carcass. A sharp wave of pain rose inside in her, she didn’t exactly know from where and why, but she quickly put a lid on it before it could spill over, slamming the file to a close.
The evening was quiet and colorless. Anuj came in, as always, loud and busy, with the guests from his office.
“Nalini meet my wife, Anuradha. Anu, Nalini is making a corporate film on the last 10 years journey of our office.”
“Hi Anu” Nalini had a warm smile.
Anuradha looked at her carefully, inspite of herself. She understood that her husband liked her by the tone of his voice. He only had that softness for some people. He introduced her to Shrikant who was the co-director.
“Your husband has reason to celebrate after ten years of growth and success,” Shrikant told her.
Anuradha smiled dutifully. She had never been really excited about his firm and work, but supported him because always thought it was her wifely duty, like it was to cooperate in bed. It suited Anuj just fine. He took them around the tour of the house, as he always did. It was of course, a beautiful house, and an expensive one. Only, he was careful not to take them inside the kids’ room. He knew Anu was still touchy about this and didn’t want to agitate her with guests around. So, he casually opened and shut the door dismissingly mentioned that it was the children’s room and moved to his private study where he had displayed his honours including his proud photograph, getting an award from the Chief Minister on a project by his firm.
While they walked around, Nalini noticed that Anu had escaped to the kitchen, she quietly drifted there. Anuradha was dipping finely sliced potatoes into the thick golden batter, and then dropping them into a pan of hot oil. The pakoras sizzled to a golden brownness.
“Let me help you,”
Before Anuradha could protest Nalini was scooping the steaming hot delights out of the boiling oil and onto the napkin, where the excess oil was quickly soaked up.
Anuradha smiled more awkwardly than gratefully,
“I can manage you know, you really needn’t bother, I make them quite often. Anuj loves them and he thinks all his friends will too.”
“I’m sure they do, the pakoras look terribly tempting. I think I will allow myself to indulge in this sinful oily delight for just this evening,”
Anuradha looked at her carefully when she said that, even though she was no beauty, she had a chiseled figure and a charisma about her.
“How old are you… if you don’t mind my asking?” Anuradha got curious.
“Thirty,” it was matter of fact, “Thirty and with no special culinary skills, my mother thinks that I’m still unmarried because I never learnt to cook the way she did!”
Nalini laughed spontaneously like a giggling teenager, and Anuradha found it contagious and laughed with her, suddenly feeling lighter.
Anuradha gathered that she must be a talented woman simply because she’d detected some kind of admiration in her husband’s voice when he spoke of her. She knew that Anuj recognized talent and appreciated it. What she had not gathered was that she was also a sensitive person.
They brought the pakoras and some coconut cookies with a pot full of ginger tea. The men joined them. They chit-chatted cheerfully, till the talk drifted to children.
“So, both of your children have moved out of the country?” Shrikant asked matter-of-factly
Anuj threw a quick glance at Anuradha checking out for signs of sentimentalism. But there weren’t any. She pretended not to hear.
“Oh yes,” he covered up, “Raghu is in his final year of engineering now, but Bhavik, our younger one, left just a week ago. He’s joined Parson’s college in London to do Fine Arts.”
“Oh! an artist in the family? Who does he get his art genes from?” Nalini asked chirply
“Not me!” Anuj laughed, “I can’t manage a straight line. In fact, nobody in our family has this talent. Bhavik is a mutation!”
Nalini noticed a stubborn silence had engulfed Anuradha. But Anuj’s eyes had lit up,
“You know he painted his brother’s motorbike. Used spray and various other paints, and made it look like a dragon breathing fire. He rode it around town every single day before flying to London. Everyone looks at it when you zoom past. Umm… you want to take a look at it Shrikant, it’s in the garage?” Anuj never missed an opportunity for boasting.
“Sure, love to. May be we can go for a spin?”
“Great! Let’s go.”
They quickly wolfed down the last of the pakoras and ran off like young boys on a treasure hunt. They never even thought of asking her or Anuradha to join them, Nalini noticed. Was it because the motorbike couldn’t accommodate more than two, or they were just two men being boys!
Nalini watched Anuradha take the empty plates to the kitchen. Nalini didn’t offer to help or follow her. There was stiffness and a touch-me-not feel in the way Anuradha stacked the plates and carried them off that daunted Nalini. Instead she walked to the music system and decided to look at the collection. There were hundreds of CDs. Nalini noticed that some of them had a hand designed cover, instead of the original company one. She saw Pink Floyd, it had an improvised collage for the cover, no doubt done by one of the children, probably Bhavik. She also noticed some old hindi song CDs tastefully done with pencil sketches.
“This is Bhavik’s doing. He would lose the cover and then create one which he always insisted was better than the original,” there was some pride and amusement in Anuradha’s voice and she looked over Nalini’s shoulder.
“I noticed an amazing sketch of you in the passage, that your son has made,” Nalini mentioned.
The two women instinctively walked to the framed sketch that was just outside the children’s room. Under it, was a quote by T.S. Eliot:
"We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started...
and know the place for the first time."
“Yes, he gave it to me on my birthday,” Anuradha quietly accepted.
The door of the children’s room was ajar, and Anuradha noticed that the table lamp on the study table was on, she entered to switch it off, when Nalini followed her in.
“So this is where your children spent most of their time,” it was hardly a question, so Anuradha kept quiet.
Some how she was not irritated at Nalini walking in without permission, or her standing and looking at her children’s room. She gaze was sensitive and gentle, her curiosity sincere, not probing.
Nalini stood in front of Beckham’s poster.
“I used to love Beckham and football too… I still love Beckham I guess.”
Anuradha smiled, “Do you play?”
“I used to when I was in school, but my mother thought there was something wrong with me. She was afraid I was too tomboyish!”
“But you are not, at least I don’t get that impression,”
“No I’m not, I just fell in love with Beckham! Since I couldn’t get him, I settled for football!”
“That’s the only settling?” Anuradha hesitated, she didn’t want to ask a direct question and left it at that.
“Oh no! that was the beginning. I guess I didn’t find anyone as interesting as Beckham that’s all!”
“You have any plans for the future?”
“I suppose you mean marriage – no, not really. I had a relationship once but it didn’t culminate in marriage. Now I’m happily unmarried I suppose, though my family is not very happy about it. Especially my mother, she thinks it’s an incomplete life.”
“Do you…think it’s an incomplete life?”
Nalini paused to think.
“I don’t know whether it is complete, but I don’t miss marriage. I guess if you have known intimacy then you don’t feel inclined to get into the institution of marriage unless it offers anything deeper.”
“What about children? Don’t you want to have children?”
“I think most women marry for children and ultimately children take the cake for both parents. That relationship counts the most in a marriage – it’s biology and nature doing their bit… but I don’t know, till now, I haven’t felt the urge to produce children and call them my own. It’s a huge responsibility and sacrifice.”
“You are at your best with children. They bring out the best in you,” Anuradha opened up.
“Perhaps, you sacrifice your whole life, sometimes give up your dreams and then they leave…I find asking myself why?”
Nalini almost wished she hadn’t said that when she looked at Anuradha’s wounded expression, she realised she had touched a raw nerve in Anuradha, and tried to cover up.
“But I guess I’m too selfish!” she said, half believing it.
“No, you are just honest,” Anuradha’s voice had softened, her eyes pensive.
She got up and took out Bhavik’s drawing file, she’d hurriedly hidden in the morning. She didn’t say anything to Nalini, just placed it on the study table where she was sitting. A silent offering.
Nalini immediately realised, this was someone’s heart whose pages she would be turning.
Anuradha was not boasting of her son’s talent, she was disrobing her heart. The sketches spoke of the incredible talent of her son no doubt. It was when she came to “My mother the artist” and saw yellow, crumbling pages with amazing sketches now faded by time that she understood everything. So, the genetic source was clear now! Anuradha sat there almost as if she disappeared into a different world, a world no one knew of. Words were superfluous, an impregnated silence said it all.
“Why don’t you sketch anymore?” Nalini dared to ask.
“I wanted to do fine arts in college, but my parents didn’t let me. We were a traditional family in a small town where girls were raised to be obedient wives and mothers alone and they thought this was too unconventional. It hurt me so much that I never sketched again,” the confession fell like a tear.
“You didn’t insist or rebel?”
The words stabbed Anuradha’s heart, she shrieked silently within, a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to be reminded … her not eating for three days after her father didn’t let her go to Delhi from Dehradun to pursue art in college. Her not talking to her mother, for months, for having provoked this end. How perfectly they navigated her into a life of ‘secure domesticity’ as they’d said then, her desire and talent buried and forgotten like a stolen treasure. Secure for whom she’d wondered often…
“I never had the guts,” words fell like rocks on a stone floor.
“And now after all these years, how do you feel about it… don’t you want to pick up the threads again? Don’t you want to release the artist in you?” Nalini probed tenderly.
It was something she’d never dared to ask herself. Was there yet life buried anywhere? Could something lie dormant all these years and knock at the heart’s door begging to be heard. Perhaps it had been knocking forever, and she’d been too busy to hear it. Now when everyone was busy and happy she had no choice but to face the ghosts of her heart. The ache of half lived desires was a force she had to reckon with. She had no choice but to ask herself if she had an identity other than that of a mother bird whose little ones had flown. She almost wished she hadn’t.
“I don’t know… you think I can?”
Before Nalini could say anything, the men stormed in.
“Oh you are here?” Anuj was surprised to find them in the children’s room.
“Nalini, the bike’s a dream!” Shrikant was crazily excited “Their son is a bit of a crazy genius, you must a take a look at it on your way out.”
“What were you two talking about?” Anuj was a little curious. The air seemed changed, somewhat cleared, though he didn’t know how or why.
“Oh, about art and heart!” Nalini laughed and picked up her purse.
They exchanged goodbyes. Anuradha held Nalini in a warm embrace at the door, as they readied to leave. After they left, Anuj hit the shower and changed while Anuradha tidied the kitchen. By the time she reached the bedroom, Anuj had already fallen asleep, stupendously snoring, the newspaper resting on his heaving chest. She got up to switch off the table lamp, but paused and observed him. The light fell at an interesting angle, highlighting his sharp nose and neat mustache. Anuradha sat herself down, noting how his face was tilted back showing the cleft chin, and the hint of stubble. Interesting pose, she thought. On the table next to her, lay Bhavik’s sketch pad with a pencil, where she had scribbled a few things for shopping. She picked it up and on it she sketched her snoring husband… Life came to a full circle.
- Harvinder Kaur
(Published in New Woman Jan 2010)
Anuradha let the phone ring. It had to be Anuj, nobody but her husband would call her in the middle of this sleepy afternoon. She tried to soak up the bright sun a little more, she really needed sunshine in her life now. It had become grey and cloudy – in every sense. The annoying phone stopped ringing. She still didn’t feel like moving. It’s not that she felt tired, she hadn’t worked at all today even though the servant had gone on a long leave. The bed was still unmade, the dishes from breakfast were on the dining table, the kitchen was a shameful mess. The house had fallen prey to neglect much like her own heart. Why did Bhavik have to leave?
The phone rang again. This time she unchained herself from the heaviness that held her down.
“Why don’t you pick up the phone?” Anuj tried too suppress his irritation.
But Anuradha knew him too well, he hated waiting for anything. Only, she didn’t seem to care now. Whatever for?
“Listen, some of my office friends are coming home in the evening. You remember I was telling you about Nilima, she’s coming and one other person,” he was as focused as ever, always clear and to the point, “can you make some of your lovely pakoras?” his voice had softened now. It always did when he tried to persuade someone. No wonder he was a success at work. Wily, but successful. A few months ago this quick change of tone would have brought an amused smile to her lips. Not anymore.
He had already disconnected the phone, even before she could say “yes”. It had never occurred to her husband that she could refuse him anything. Without realizing it, Anuradha let out a sigh - a long, deep, cold sigh… Why did Bhavik have to leave?
She decided to pull herself up, and what better way than to clean the house, to put all the scattered things in their proper place. She didn’t want to wait for the housemaid to come and do this, perhaps it would help her to bring her mind back on track. What had happened to her, she asked herself… All she could feel was a gnawing feeling in the center of her chest, a strange sensation that was strong but she couldn’t quite identify or label. Who could she tell? Who should she turn to for help or just understanding – a doctor, a psychiatrist, a guru…?
She turned the tap on over the dirty dishes, thrusting her hands under the cold steady stream of water. The bite of the cold water brought her into present. She washed the few dishes that were there and then picked up the duster and decided to clean up. This was something that had been tried and tested by her for many years now. Whenever Anuj and she had an argument, which inevitably meant he would yell and she would listen, often a silent anger seething in her belly, she would later assiduously get involved in vigorous house work, like dusting the furniture or washing the dishes. The servants always looked forward to fights between the couple! Anuradha felt that external cleaning led to inner cleaning, putting the clothes and books of the children in their proper place helped to put her own scattered mind in order. That is what she decided to do now.
She dusted the dressing table putting her earrings back into the jewelry box, and removing the used bindis she’d stuck on the mirror. These always irritated Anuj. She folded the bed sheet and picked up her husband’s kurta pajama thrown on the bed and dropped it into the laundry basket. At the bedside table was an old framed picture of all of them Anuj, Anuradha and the children, in the days when the boys were still boys and Anuradha was beautiful besides being an ideal wife and mother. She put the picture back and plomped down on the bed again, feeling drained. She couldn’t drag herself to the children’s room and tidy up there, it was too much.
The bell rang. It was the maid.
“Madam sorry, for being late. Why you are bothering to clean? I will do everything!”
She took the duster from Anuradha’s hand and went about her business. She went into the children’s bedroom, but only to mop the floor, she knew she was not supposed to touch any of the books or clothes or cds or the computer that Bhavik had left in a state of chaos in that room. After giving the maid directions to chop the vegetables and keep everything ready for the evening Anuradha asked her to leave. She didn’t want to have any one around, especially now when she’d decided to settle the scattered state of the children’s bedroom. It was about time now, how long could she afford to neglect things.
The walls had their posters yet, and Raghu’s music collection was gathering dust again. During the first six months of his hostel life, every time he called, he would ask about it, but now he had transferred all his music into a cold ipod and his cds and cassettes were left here along with his pictures. Of course, Raghu had to go, he didn’t have a choice since he didn’t get into the IIT here in India, the US college was the next best choice. But Bhavik could have stayed, he just chose to go. Now her nest was empty. She folded his T-shirts, he would leave them scattered on the bed like his father, with them she tried to fold her thoughts and put them away in an inaccessible corner of her mind. She had done the same thing when Raghu left, but then Bhavik was with her and helped her to settle everything.
“I think I will miss Raghu, even though I have the whole room to myself now,” he’d innocently confessed. She’d turned her face away then not wanting to show him how wounded she felt after her first born had flown away. Today there was nobody from whom she had to hide her feelings – except herself.
As she was neatly piling up his books, something caught her eye. It was a bright folder, with a cover Bhavik had made. She was amazed to see what he had pasted on top, it was an old drawing of his - ‘my mother’, one he had done when he was probably 7 or 8 years old, she didn’t remember. She opened the folder and saw the collection of her artist son. She never even knew he had kept each of his art works so carefully in a folder. She flipped through it till she came to something which made her hold her breath, “My mother the artist” he’d scribbled and below that were the yellowed, crumbling sketches she’d done in her youth when she was a teenager and dreamed to being an artist… Where did he get hold of them? Could it be from her mother before she died, Bhavik had visited her that year… She looked at them, pale pencil sketches, one of her own mother still strangely life-like. Ironically, her mother was the one who was so obsessed about domesticating her. It seemed to her some kind of crime or an aberration of the mind to sketch and paint with such passion so as to forget everything else.
“Congratulations mother, you won, and I will never forgive you for it!”
She had reconciled herself to a secure, ‘normal’ life by the time her children came into the world. They became her masterpieces, especially Bhavik in whom she saw herself, but he was stronger than her and clearer. Now, they’d moved into the world to carve out their lives… Emptiness haunted her. The hollowness picked at her heart like hungry crows at a carcass. A sharp wave of pain rose inside in her, she didn’t exactly know from where and why, but she quickly put a lid on it before it could spill over, slamming the file to a close.
The evening was quiet and colorless. Anuj came in, as always, loud and busy, with the guests from his office.
“Nalini meet my wife, Anuradha. Anu, Nalini is making a corporate film on the last 10 years journey of our office.”
“Hi Anu” Nalini had a warm smile.
Anuradha looked at her carefully, inspite of herself. She understood that her husband liked her by the tone of his voice. He only had that softness for some people. He introduced her to Shrikant who was the co-director.
“Your husband has reason to celebrate after ten years of growth and success,” Shrikant told her.
Anuradha smiled dutifully. She had never been really excited about his firm and work, but supported him because always thought it was her wifely duty, like it was to cooperate in bed. It suited Anuj just fine. He took them around the tour of the house, as he always did. It was of course, a beautiful house, and an expensive one. Only, he was careful not to take them inside the kids’ room. He knew Anu was still touchy about this and didn’t want to agitate her with guests around. So, he casually opened and shut the door dismissingly mentioned that it was the children’s room and moved to his private study where he had displayed his honours including his proud photograph, getting an award from the Chief Minister on a project by his firm.
While they walked around, Nalini noticed that Anu had escaped to the kitchen, she quietly drifted there. Anuradha was dipping finely sliced potatoes into the thick golden batter, and then dropping them into a pan of hot oil. The pakoras sizzled to a golden brownness.
“Let me help you,”
Before Anuradha could protest Nalini was scooping the steaming hot delights out of the boiling oil and onto the napkin, where the excess oil was quickly soaked up.
Anuradha smiled more awkwardly than gratefully,
“I can manage you know, you really needn’t bother, I make them quite often. Anuj loves them and he thinks all his friends will too.”
“I’m sure they do, the pakoras look terribly tempting. I think I will allow myself to indulge in this sinful oily delight for just this evening,”
Anuradha looked at her carefully when she said that, even though she was no beauty, she had a chiseled figure and a charisma about her.
“How old are you… if you don’t mind my asking?” Anuradha got curious.
“Thirty,” it was matter of fact, “Thirty and with no special culinary skills, my mother thinks that I’m still unmarried because I never learnt to cook the way she did!”
Nalini laughed spontaneously like a giggling teenager, and Anuradha found it contagious and laughed with her, suddenly feeling lighter.
Anuradha gathered that she must be a talented woman simply because she’d detected some kind of admiration in her husband’s voice when he spoke of her. She knew that Anuj recognized talent and appreciated it. What she had not gathered was that she was also a sensitive person.
They brought the pakoras and some coconut cookies with a pot full of ginger tea. The men joined them. They chit-chatted cheerfully, till the talk drifted to children.
“So, both of your children have moved out of the country?” Shrikant asked matter-of-factly
Anuj threw a quick glance at Anuradha checking out for signs of sentimentalism. But there weren’t any. She pretended not to hear.
“Oh yes,” he covered up, “Raghu is in his final year of engineering now, but Bhavik, our younger one, left just a week ago. He’s joined Parson’s college in London to do Fine Arts.”
“Oh! an artist in the family? Who does he get his art genes from?” Nalini asked chirply
“Not me!” Anuj laughed, “I can’t manage a straight line. In fact, nobody in our family has this talent. Bhavik is a mutation!”
Nalini noticed a stubborn silence had engulfed Anuradha. But Anuj’s eyes had lit up,
“You know he painted his brother’s motorbike. Used spray and various other paints, and made it look like a dragon breathing fire. He rode it around town every single day before flying to London. Everyone looks at it when you zoom past. Umm… you want to take a look at it Shrikant, it’s in the garage?” Anuj never missed an opportunity for boasting.
“Sure, love to. May be we can go for a spin?”
“Great! Let’s go.”
They quickly wolfed down the last of the pakoras and ran off like young boys on a treasure hunt. They never even thought of asking her or Anuradha to join them, Nalini noticed. Was it because the motorbike couldn’t accommodate more than two, or they were just two men being boys!
Nalini watched Anuradha take the empty plates to the kitchen. Nalini didn’t offer to help or follow her. There was stiffness and a touch-me-not feel in the way Anuradha stacked the plates and carried them off that daunted Nalini. Instead she walked to the music system and decided to look at the collection. There were hundreds of CDs. Nalini noticed that some of them had a hand designed cover, instead of the original company one. She saw Pink Floyd, it had an improvised collage for the cover, no doubt done by one of the children, probably Bhavik. She also noticed some old hindi song CDs tastefully done with pencil sketches.
“This is Bhavik’s doing. He would lose the cover and then create one which he always insisted was better than the original,” there was some pride and amusement in Anuradha’s voice and she looked over Nalini’s shoulder.
“I noticed an amazing sketch of you in the passage, that your son has made,” Nalini mentioned.
The two women instinctively walked to the framed sketch that was just outside the children’s room. Under it, was a quote by T.S. Eliot:
"We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started...
and know the place for the first time."
“Yes, he gave it to me on my birthday,” Anuradha quietly accepted.
The door of the children’s room was ajar, and Anuradha noticed that the table lamp on the study table was on, she entered to switch it off, when Nalini followed her in.
“So this is where your children spent most of their time,” it was hardly a question, so Anuradha kept quiet.
Some how she was not irritated at Nalini walking in without permission, or her standing and looking at her children’s room. She gaze was sensitive and gentle, her curiosity sincere, not probing.
Nalini stood in front of Beckham’s poster.
“I used to love Beckham and football too… I still love Beckham I guess.”
Anuradha smiled, “Do you play?”
“I used to when I was in school, but my mother thought there was something wrong with me. She was afraid I was too tomboyish!”
“But you are not, at least I don’t get that impression,”
“No I’m not, I just fell in love with Beckham! Since I couldn’t get him, I settled for football!”
“That’s the only settling?” Anuradha hesitated, she didn’t want to ask a direct question and left it at that.
“Oh no! that was the beginning. I guess I didn’t find anyone as interesting as Beckham that’s all!”
“You have any plans for the future?”
“I suppose you mean marriage – no, not really. I had a relationship once but it didn’t culminate in marriage. Now I’m happily unmarried I suppose, though my family is not very happy about it. Especially my mother, she thinks it’s an incomplete life.”
“Do you…think it’s an incomplete life?”
Nalini paused to think.
“I don’t know whether it is complete, but I don’t miss marriage. I guess if you have known intimacy then you don’t feel inclined to get into the institution of marriage unless it offers anything deeper.”
“What about children? Don’t you want to have children?”
“I think most women marry for children and ultimately children take the cake for both parents. That relationship counts the most in a marriage – it’s biology and nature doing their bit… but I don’t know, till now, I haven’t felt the urge to produce children and call them my own. It’s a huge responsibility and sacrifice.”
“You are at your best with children. They bring out the best in you,” Anuradha opened up.
“Perhaps, you sacrifice your whole life, sometimes give up your dreams and then they leave…I find asking myself why?”
Nalini almost wished she hadn’t said that when she looked at Anuradha’s wounded expression, she realised she had touched a raw nerve in Anuradha, and tried to cover up.
“But I guess I’m too selfish!” she said, half believing it.
“No, you are just honest,” Anuradha’s voice had softened, her eyes pensive.
She got up and took out Bhavik’s drawing file, she’d hurriedly hidden in the morning. She didn’t say anything to Nalini, just placed it on the study table where she was sitting. A silent offering.
Nalini immediately realised, this was someone’s heart whose pages she would be turning.
Anuradha was not boasting of her son’s talent, she was disrobing her heart. The sketches spoke of the incredible talent of her son no doubt. It was when she came to “My mother the artist” and saw yellow, crumbling pages with amazing sketches now faded by time that she understood everything. So, the genetic source was clear now! Anuradha sat there almost as if she disappeared into a different world, a world no one knew of. Words were superfluous, an impregnated silence said it all.
“Why don’t you sketch anymore?” Nalini dared to ask.
“I wanted to do fine arts in college, but my parents didn’t let me. We were a traditional family in a small town where girls were raised to be obedient wives and mothers alone and they thought this was too unconventional. It hurt me so much that I never sketched again,” the confession fell like a tear.
“You didn’t insist or rebel?”
The words stabbed Anuradha’s heart, she shrieked silently within, a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to be reminded … her not eating for three days after her father didn’t let her go to Delhi from Dehradun to pursue art in college. Her not talking to her mother, for months, for having provoked this end. How perfectly they navigated her into a life of ‘secure domesticity’ as they’d said then, her desire and talent buried and forgotten like a stolen treasure. Secure for whom she’d wondered often…
“I never had the guts,” words fell like rocks on a stone floor.
“And now after all these years, how do you feel about it… don’t you want to pick up the threads again? Don’t you want to release the artist in you?” Nalini probed tenderly.
It was something she’d never dared to ask herself. Was there yet life buried anywhere? Could something lie dormant all these years and knock at the heart’s door begging to be heard. Perhaps it had been knocking forever, and she’d been too busy to hear it. Now when everyone was busy and happy she had no choice but to face the ghosts of her heart. The ache of half lived desires was a force she had to reckon with. She had no choice but to ask herself if she had an identity other than that of a mother bird whose little ones had flown. She almost wished she hadn’t.
“I don’t know… you think I can?”
Before Nalini could say anything, the men stormed in.
“Oh you are here?” Anuj was surprised to find them in the children’s room.
“Nalini, the bike’s a dream!” Shrikant was crazily excited “Their son is a bit of a crazy genius, you must a take a look at it on your way out.”
“What were you two talking about?” Anuj was a little curious. The air seemed changed, somewhat cleared, though he didn’t know how or why.
“Oh, about art and heart!” Nalini laughed and picked up her purse.
They exchanged goodbyes. Anuradha held Nalini in a warm embrace at the door, as they readied to leave. After they left, Anuj hit the shower and changed while Anuradha tidied the kitchen. By the time she reached the bedroom, Anuj had already fallen asleep, stupendously snoring, the newspaper resting on his heaving chest. She got up to switch off the table lamp, but paused and observed him. The light fell at an interesting angle, highlighting his sharp nose and neat mustache. Anuradha sat herself down, noting how his face was tilted back showing the cleft chin, and the hint of stubble. Interesting pose, she thought. On the table next to her, lay Bhavik’s sketch pad with a pencil, where she had scribbled a few things for shopping. She picked it up and on it she sketched her snoring husband… Life came to a full circle.
- Harvinder Kaur
(Published in New Woman Jan 2010)
