“My mother is a martinet”.
This was the first sentence little Aruna had thought up when she had learnt the meaning of the word ‘martinet’ in primary school.
She often remembered, with a grimace, the routine torture at the dinner table. “Don’t talk while eating…..Keep your mouth closed… Don’t chomp….Keep your knees together…. Why are you taking the fork in your right hand?…..” Her mother’s shrill monotone still rang in her ears. And she’d kept at her, trying to change her in to, what Aruna felt, a china doll, instead of a human being of warm flesh and blood.
In college, finally, she had rebelled. Her first act was to get a tattoo done on her left forearm, a cute little cupid. She still remembered with a satisfaction how her mother had thrown a fit when she unveiled the tattoo first time to her.
In the middle of her mother’s ranting, she had simply turned and walked away. Stopping at the door, she’d turned and said, “Mom, this is my life, and I have the right to live it my way….You’d better get used to it..”, before closing the door gently on the hysterical sobbing of her mother.
Aruna still felt a twinge of pity for her father. He was a small, almost dainty man, completely intimidated by his wife. A sharp and successful mandarin otherwise, at home Parag Verma submitted quietly to the excesses of her convent-educated, neurotic wife Nishaa.
Though Aruna’s first love was literature, she took up journalism as her major in college. She had a point to prove. Purpose of her education was not to have a good matrimonial profile, as Nishaa would insist. It was to allow her to be independent, expressive.
After college, she had thrown herself enthusiastically into the hub bub of the news industry, moving from location to location, covering events, interviewing people, sifting and sorting for information of value from a humongous volume of clutter. News, of all products, has the minimum shelf life. So it was always living on the knife edge, in tension and thrill.
But she sorely missed some things.
She missed the sense of anticipation, waiting for the launch of a new creation by her favourite authors. She missed the smell of the new book. She missed the feel of the crisp new pages with fresh ink on them. She missed the breathless expectancy of finding the climax as she neared the end of a book. Most of all, she missed debating endless hours with her friends, sitting over a cup of coffee, on any topic under the sky, especially the new literature that any of them had happened to come across.
Aruna’s professional engagement in the news section was draining, both physically and mentally. At the end of the day, she was simply too tired to read. Whenever she steeled herself to do so, after the first few pages, the letters started to crawl out of the pages like black ants, jumbling over each other to form a mindless gibberish. She had to relent after that.
This unrequited love gnawed at her and drove her to seek different pastures in her professional sphere. After much humming and hawing, she managed to get a position in the literature review section of one of the leading news dailies. Her job was to scan new books, get them reviewed by the empanelled reviewers, interact with the authors, interview them, arrange book reading sessions and manage book launches. She’d started to review books on her own too, and was sometimes allowed to go on print with her evaluation of books by lesser known litterateurs.
It was during one such pursuit, she had come across the writings of Pradyut. He was a new writer in the horizon, whose poetry and short prose were gathering critical acclaim. As she read through the lines, the beauty and poignancy of the matter and presentation coursed through her mind like a raging bonfire. Her every sinew vibrated in rhyme and rhythm with the flow of the words. Emotions swelled in her breast and threatened to wash her away in a huge wave of ecstasy. Pradyut’s poetry rang with every shade of emotions Aruna had ever felt. His prose probed every nook and cranny of her mind. With a gathering sense of urgency, she began to search for every collection of his writing, tit bits of information, blogs, twitter trails and whatever was available in the print and virtual media on Pradyut. Though she did not know whether Pradyut was a man or a woman, but the sheer aura of authority and power that rang out from the writing convinced her to guess that Pradyut was a man, likely to be in mid-thirties. The thought of meeting him and engaging him in a conversation started growing to an obsession.
Things were not so smooth at home though. A few months before Aruna had happened to find Pradyut, she had lost her father. As in his life, Parag had died in his sleep, without a fuss, probably happy in his last thoughts that he would no longer have to bear with the incessant fault finding and bickering of Nishaa. Age has a mellowing effect on most people. But Nishaa was the exception that would prove the law.
With the demise of her husband, her entire attention was now focused on Aruna. She probed, prodded Aruna, scanned her personal belongings in her absence and did all she could, to find out her personal and professional acquaintances. She had even started to call some of them before Aruna had to resort to a shouting match to put a stop to that nonsense.
Every now and then Nishaa would break down into fits of hysterical sobbing, “I only want to see you settled, my dear… Why don’t you understand… I’ve borne you in my stomach…I’ve held you to my breasts…You know so little about the world… Let me help you, darling…”
At the very next instance, there would be a manic gleam in her eyes, as she would scream, “How dare you cut your hair so short…. Why are you dressed like a harlot… Why can’t you behave like a normal girl?…Who’ll ever marry you??!!..”
Nishaa’s constant haranguing had started to get on Aruna’s nerves. She had started to spend lesser and lesser time at home. Her state of depression had started affecting her work. Aruna had even consulted a psycho-analyst of repute, who clearly told her that it was her mother Nishaa who needed the treatment, rather than her. When she had suggested this to Nishaa, she had thrown a fit of epic proportions. She beat her chest and tore her hair accusing Aruna of trying to send her off to a mental asylum so that she can continue with her immoral ways of life in her absence. Restraining her took all the strength of Aruna and their maid. They were surprised at the vehement power within Nishaa’s wasted frame. Aruna did not have the heart to force the issue thereafter.
Nishaa’s tenderness, at times, also surprised Aruna. Sometimes at night, when she fell asleep with the lights on, Nishaa would walk in, draw the covers and put off the light. Aruna couldn’t but help notice how the bony and rather stern lines of her mother’s countenance would mellow down to a soft and gentle contour in those moments of tenderness.
Sometimes, when Aruna stretched in her desk, weary from the editing of her reports, she would find her mother’s cool hand caressing her beleaguered brow, and a cup of steaming hot coffee sitting on the table. Coffee was one of the lasting passions in Nishaa’s life. She was a regular at the Starbucks outlet near their apartment in Greater Kailash.
It was at this crossroad that Aruna found Pradyut and his writings. Reading him was almost like a catharsis to Aruna. Each composition peeled away a layer of suffering from her mind. She felt that she must meet Pradyut and take his interview, more for herself rather than for her news paper.
Aruna started sending feelers through her network and also through the virtual world of twitter and facebook to Pradyut. There was no response to start with. But she never stopped sending the requests and finally she got the response from Pradyut, who agreed to meet her at a Coffee House in Connaught Place. She knew the place as an old travelers haunt, sparsely crowded most of the times. It was a place that allowed both seclusion and latitude to its patrons. It was fitting perhaps, that their first meeting would be in a place rooted to tradition, rather than a glitzy modern day setup.
Aruna had chosen to dress in muted orange and felt rather like a teenager going out on a first date, as she walked into the café. The diffused glow from the recessed lights bathed the place in soft luminescence. Pradyut had messaged that they would use the north-west corner table. As she neared the table, she saw, waiting there in complete contrast to the old world décor, was a man almost of her age. The man was of sallow complexion. He wore a pristine white shirt with sleeves rolled up. Both his forearms were covered in tattoos, garishly coloured. His hair was close cropped and spiky and he wore a stud in one ear. “Mother would have a fit if she saw him”, the thought instinctively flitted across Aruna’s mind. Inwardly, she was disappointed. She had conjured up a different image of Pradyut in her imagination.
“Your dress is the colour of the first sun. It complements your name, Aruna”.
The soft voice forced Aruna to look at his eyes. All her doubts vanished in that instance. She saw warmth and wisdom in those dark cesspools. Pradyut spoke again, “I see that you don’t take to my exterior much. Never mind, they are just the props, the one inside is a little different”, he chuckled softly. “Do take a seat, you wanted to meet me, so here I am”.
Aruna blushed in different shades of red and pink. She had never felt a torrent of conflicting emotions like this before. How her innermost thoughts would lay bare before the young man was quite beyond her comprehension. It had taken a large black coffee and several awkward moments before she’d managed to gather her wits together and launch into a conversation. It lasted for nearly two hours, before Pradyut excused himself, as he had a prior engagement.
In all her 29 years, Aruna had never felt the pangs of love. She had often heard her friends gush about that feeling, but was rather dismissive of it. Caught in that vortex now, she was equal parts anticipation and apprehension. “What’d I do if Pradyut called again? What’d I do if he didn’t?’
The start was the beginning, not the end. Pradyut did call and they met again, and again, and again. Their friendship budded, blossomed to a deep mutual liking and gradually they started to look forward to having a life together.
Coming to this decision was transcendental for Aruna. She had to fight all the bias Nishaa’s constant invective had embedded deep inside her psyche, albeit unknowingly. She also had to gauge whether this was what she really wanted, or whether she was simply rebelling. Finally, with the decision made, she was just happy to have chosen to live life in her own terms.
Still, Aruna dreaded the day when she’d have to broach the subject with Nishaa. She and Pradyut decided to go together and convey their decision and ask for her blessings. They chose Aruna’s thirtieth birthday for this.
As Aruna introduced Pradyut to Nishaa, she had a good look at him, taking in his spiky hair, tattoos, ear stud all in one long glance and asked him to take a seat. Her eyes, normally flashing with disgust and contempt at anything that did not match her idea of sobriety, were strangely veiled. She looked questioningly at Aruna first and then towards Pradyut. Slowly, between themselves, they told her about their mutual liking and their decision to live a life together. Nishaa’s wasted frame seemed to shrink even smaller. After a while, she whispered, almost sotto voice, “Ah.. How they have grown… They can decide on their lives now…They don’t need me….”. Then her voice firmed up as she looked at both of them and said, “You’re adults and you’ll lead your lives as you wish. I’m old and tired, and this is sudden news for me. I’d like to rest a little now..”
A huge wave of relief washed over Aruna and Pradyut at this tacit approval. As Pradyut was leaving, Aruna briefly glanced at her mother. Nishaa was looking at them, a fleeting moment of burning hatred seemed to pass across her eyes. Aruna felt uneasy, but shrugged it off as her imagination.
During their dinner together, Nishaa was strangely quiet. Aruna tried to draw her into a conversation, but she kept to herself. After a point Aruna stopped trying, tidied the table and went to her room.
It was deep into the night when Aruna suddenly felt a choking grip holding her immobile. She peered uncomprehendingly in the semi-darkness, writhing to get free. The bony hand across her mouth stifled her screams, and try as she might, she could not get free from the demonic grip. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the wicked gleam of the carving knife descend and start piercing her throat. Her senses started to swim. Suddenly she caught a whiff of the Burberry perfume Nishaa loved to use. With the last of her strength, she wrenched off the hand from her mouth and cried, “Mother…!!! No….!!! No…!!!”.
“You filthy harlot..!! You dare to take my daughter away from me.??!!! I’ll not let you live…I’ll kill you….I’ll Kill you…!!”
–
–
–
She sat in the Starbucks café, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf…
This was her favourite corner. They would not notice even if she’d sit for hours. The espresso, her favourite, tasted a little odd. The Nembutal inside the coffee was bitterly sweet. The drug was slowly diffusing into her blood, flowing to every nerve and sinew, numbing, paralyzing.
Nishaa will end with the sunrise. Aruna would survive the scare and the scratch on her throat. ‘Life’ is to be lived, and not to be grudged, not to be shackled by petty rules.
Some garishly dressed youngsters were jabbering in the far table. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. No manners at all.
Nishaa turned her eyes. Looking out at the rain drenched roads, where the street lamps and neon shimmered and melted together in the rain splattered puddles, she felt a strange peace come over her.
_________________________________________________________________________
I simply could not depart your web site before suggesting that I extremely enjoyed the standard info a person supply to your guests? Is gonna be again regularly to check up on new posts
I simply want to say I’m very new to blogs and really loved you’re blog. Almost certainly I’m want to bookmark your blog post . You definitely come with remarkable articles and reviews. Kudos for revealing your web page.