Personal entry: September 2021
Bearing gifts in her hand, she calls for me through my mother. And I come to smile at her. When I was young, her visit meant a respite from the tedious sessions of teaching from my mother, which if I now recall were relatively short.
Her visits now mean a chore. In the minutes when my mother goes inside to do something, I find a topic to converse. I ask of her health and she of whatever my mother has informed her.
"You came yesterday? " She asks.
I nod. "My exams are in fifteen days." At least that was true. We had come back to Bareilly almost a month ago but my mother hadn't told her. Why? So she wouldn't come all the way across town. Why? Don't ask, because even I don't know. I wasn't listening when my mother was telling me the excuse. I generally stay away from the family politics. All I knew was that I was to tell her that we came to town yesterday.
She has brought two pairs of shoes, two double bed blankets and four pyjamas for me and my mother. Mother and I have the same foot and waist size so a gift can mean to either of us. But both of us know that they are first and foremost meant for me.
I try on the pair of shoes she has brought, silencing the critic that has been bred by the comments of my father and brother, and let my unadulterated judgement peak through. One of them is white with gold stars sprinkled along the bottom and the other is baby pink with vinyl finish and 'GUCCI' written in gold letters along the side. The way it's written declares it's fake. I like the former instinctively. My face bears none of the deliberation it is going through.
But when my feet slips inside the white shoe, the sole feels hard and the back flap gnaws against my ankle. The soft touch of the pink one is instantly gratifying. The angled slope would have made it perfect were it not for the gold letters of GUCCI.
My instinct was wrong and my superficial choice bit my ankle.
I walk around the verandah, flexing my new gift for her. I tell them how nice they are.
"See they're strong. I saw their sole was sturdy." I nod. I keep them on. "I bought both of them for just Rs. 500." She smiles, proud of her thriftness.
We talk over the grunting of water cooler. The sun is hazy to my relief. She asks about my trip to Shimla, whether I bought some clothes from the money she gave me.
I have to talk loudly due to the crackling of the cooler. I tell her about my Matryoshka doll. She doesn't understand so I go inside. Nani has to sit outside in the verandah because my father does not talk with her. I bring the purple painted wooden concentric dolls, open them up and lay them out.
Dadi comes up the stairs on the farther side of the verandah, eyeing me widely, silently showing her disapproval. I hate it when she does that. Nani's back is to her and she doesn't turn.
"No namaste, no good morning, nothing." Dadi deliberately says in English. Maybe because Nani cannot understand it.
I bring out my tablet and she shifts to the edge of her seat. "What is that?" She asks at once.
My mother and I share a smile at her wonder.
I explain to her that its a big phone and hand it to her. I don't sit very close because she comes from the crowded part of the city and I don't want to catch the Corona virus. I hand over my tablet with the blue jacket. She just looks at it without touching anything.
"How much was it?" She asks. This is the first time I have seen her being close to excited.
I shrug, looking at my mom. I do know. But I don't tell her. Why?
I don't know.
I guess when you have been told by your parents to hide or cover up for so many things, you instinctively hide, in case you were not supposed to say it.
Rocky foundations.
"It must be expensive." Her tone bears no mocking, no jealousy in her gaze as I have often seen from my Dadi.
The curiosity that is the birthright of a child reflects in her wise eyes.
"I use it to study." I click on the purple colored icon of Byju's, my online learning application whose subscription I have bought. "They teach through videos." I tap on the first chapter of physics and a familiar voice rings through the speaker. "This is your teacher?" I nod. She hands it back and I make a mental note to sanitize it.
I open Blogger and begin typing this entry.
She looks towards the front garden. She sighs. "It's been so long since I received a call from Vicky." Vicky Mama is my uncle and her middle son. Her eldest son, whom she hadn't met for 16 years ever since he left for USA, died from stage 4 cancer last year. Nobody in the family had known about his diagnosis. He had been stubborn up till his last days to not go to the hospital. When his wife's mother had come to look at him, she had told her to take him to the hospital, otherwise he would die right there.
Nani always waits for Mama's call from Australia. He shifted from India four years ago. The hazel in her eyes shines with the afternoon sun and her wrinkled dusky skin is aglow. She looks beautiful.
Her beauty is not from symmetry, but the years that have left an imprint on her skin.
She doesn't deserve a son who scarcely calls or a granddaughter who cuts her calls on the same tablet she was excited about. The people she is attached to are caught in a current of society that flows too fast for them. They are caught in such a whirlwind, that they have lost all care for those who look out for them. We're just tired.
My brother after whom she has asked twice comes out to greet her. His eyes are heavy with sleep and hair messy. He sits for a while and leaves, saying he has online classes to attend.
I sit with her. My mind fails to find a way to express the contrast in our lives. Every sentence of conversation with her ends abruptly. It's like she is in a hurry to dismiss the question before she has understood it properly. But then, she does come here to relieve her loneliness.
I almost feel a pang of jealousy for her simple life but then retrace my steps. For I know I would never be content with her routine of sleeping, eating and waiting. I have a lot more to see and gain, before I give it all up, knowing that my true happiness is not in the things I was crazy for.
I go inside the house and see my brother chatting happily on the phone and my mother cooking rotis for him on the stove and think that they should be with Nani outside who is eating her food alone, asking cold water from anyone she spots.
But then again, I too am in the living room having my food while I write about her.
After I am done, I go outside to tell her goodbye. My mother tells her, "Okay, Mummy, she has to study. Her exams are in two weeks."
I smile and wave at her. Then retreat to a library of videos about gravitation, hoping somehow that maybe the mysterious force of gravity would tether me to the ground.
