SUJATHA KATHALU - The balanced life

Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University

It was raining cats and dogs when the office was closed for the day. I was standing in the canteen, sipping tea and wondering whether I would be able to catch the bus. At that moment Sundarama appeared there and proposed to me. I only felt the blood suddenly rush into my face but nothing more.
‘You too want it, don’t you?’ he asked.
He wanted to reassure himself. What would I say? I just nodded my head. He blushed. Wiping the water trickling down his eyes with a handkerchief he said, ‘Okay then! We will meet again.’ Waving his hand he disappeared in the rain. I stood there rooted to the spot.

The way he rushed out without even bothering to ask me, ‘how do you go?’ really irritated me. But there was little that I could do about it. There was no use getting angry with him, as I knew his nature very well. I thought of enjoying myself for sometime by indulging in an imaginary poetic and romantic excursion with Sundaram.

…Down pour …….. solitude …..then enters Sundaram …… I couldn’t think any further. Can you ever be lonely? Is there any chance for fantasy? The cook in the canteen was shouting at the top of his voice at his assistant.

“I won’t go in the rain to fetch the tumblers” said the boy.
‘If you don’t go I will thrash you to death’ shouted the cook angrily.
It was against this background that I heard Sundaram’s proposal. Unmindful of the happenings around me, I wanted to imagine a romantic scene with Sundaram while sipping a cup of hot tea. But no avail….. My attention was drawn again and again to the unclean canteen and the teacups piled up in the sink…. No use….. Then it became clear that I was no poetic genius. For a second, I toyed with the idea of flying on the wings of fantasy while walking in the rain, revealing my slender silver anklets. But my ironed saree would get crumpled. Quite a lot of money was spent every month on ironing alone. With a deep sigh I put an end to the action part and came to reality, only to be stared by a host of problems.
‘Next month we’ll shift to a place of our own Vijaya’ said Sundaram.
It was much better. He proposed to me in a better way than the routine, ‘will you marry me?’ But I didn’t know where to shift? Sundaram was living in a single room somewhere at the other end of the world. On tope of it, there were two other bachelors sharing the room with him. So our living there was out of the question. We had to rent a house. It would be very convenient if it was close to the office. But rents were very high in that area as it was a posh colony. First of all my room in the working women’s hostel was to be vacated. I didn’t know cooking. I only knew how to eat if mother or a cook did it for me. After marrying Sundaram I would have to get up early in the morning to cook food for both of us and to attend to all other domestic chores……. Again my thoughts had gone astray. When I was happily getting married to Sundaram why think of all those damn things….. Chii! Chii! Were these the so-called sweet dreams? He and I merrily becoming flowers among flowers…….

By the way, after working hard in the office the whole day would it be possible for me to have any energy left for outings or even to chat with him in the everning? I was not sure! For a while I was angry with myself. When Sundaram proposed to me after three long years of friendship was I in a position to translate my happiness into sweet dreams?
I could hardly suppress my laughter when I recalled how Sundaram proposed to me. The way he looked at me and called me in a soft voice, contrary to his usual commanding tone, as his hands were trembling slightly due to nervousness, made me burst out laughing. Then brushing aside all thoughts I paid attention to the shining raindrops, the fluttering of the soft leaves as the rain drops fall on them and the drops of water slipping down from the leaves. But the same anxiety started pricking me again.

Couldn’t I be romantic? Couldn’t I experience the love within myself? Was this experience to be so dull and dry?

One thing I could surely tell you. I was thinking more of the daily chores at home than the pleasant moments and was naturally terrified.

A month passed by quickly. Many things happened in a jiffy – finding a house and the arrival of the happy parents, both his and mine. I was more confused by the comments made by the guests. At lunch they said, ‘the salaries of these two in this town would just be enough to pay the rent and make both ends meet’. Long after we came out of the registrar’s office, our friends and relatives went their ways leaving Sundaram and me alone in the new house.

‘Vijaya, how do you find this house?’ asked Sundaram.

I felt like saying ‘wonderful, excellent’ running around the room but I couldn’t because every inch of space in the room was occupied by all sorts of bags and boxes. There were several odd things – buckets, mats and pillows brought from Sundaram’s room, cardboard boxes brought from my hostel room and the kitchenware we both bought together. I killed my desire to run around and asked Sundaram disinterestedly ‘are we going to unpack these things now?’
‘No, no, let’s leave them as they are. We can do that later…. later’ replied Sundaram hastily.
There were only two rooms – a tiny kitchen and a small bed room. How could it be done later? Reluctantly we started the work. All the things were pushed to the walls and the room was swept clean. When we were about to settle down we realised suddenly that there were no bulbs in the house and the fan too was to be fixed. Cursing ourselves we opened a box and took out the different parts of a fan. An electrician was called to install the fan and the bulbs too were bought. At last we had lights and a fan in the house. Fortunately at that moment we realilsed that we were already feeling hungry and we should get our dinner from a restaurant. We bought plenty of food to eat that night and discussed at length the difference between the restaurant food and the canteen food and the price variation. Life afterwards flew on the wings of the wind. Why not with the sort of things – not going to bed until very late at night, getting up very late in the morning and rushing to office with no time to make even a cup of coffee, leave alone cooking food….. Time flies, doesn’t it?

Friends used to drop in at all times. Sundaram and I used to chat with them vying with each other. But when it came to the question of who would make tea or who would clean the cups we used to fight with each other so much that there were several occasions when we even thought of taking a divorce. We would find every new book that came to the market wonderful and would buy it though it meant going without vegetables for a few days.

As life was going on in full swing with occasional quarrelling over trivial matters I fell ill one day. With giddiness and head reeling I just couldn’t get up. Sundaram got scared and immediately rushed me to a hospital. At the hospital on noticing Sundaram’s grim face the lady doctor told him, ‘it’s no ailment gentleman, no medicines are required for this. Vijaya is going to give birth to a beautiful baby’. At once Sundaram’s face lit up. Later when we were waiting at the bus stop, looking at the crowded buses going fast without stopping Sundaram asked me, ‘shall we take an auto?’
Both of us thought of the salary we would be getting only after three days.
Looking into my face fondly Sundaram asked, ‘how do you feel about it Vijaya?’
What could I say? Due to giddiness it was all dark before my eyes. If morning sickness starts making me weak how would I cope with the office work? If I were to go on leave on loss of pay how would we manage? All these thoughts crowded my mind and disturbed me when I learnt that I was going to have a baby. I wondered whether they were the sort of things one dreams about while expecting a baby.

How come life is so bitter! When I made this remark, Sundaram cut an insipid joke, ‘that is precisely the reason why they say the pregnant women should eat something sour.’

Believe me then onwards the time moved slowly at a snail’s pace. I used to get exhausted with the office work alone. Poor Sundaram, he had to do all the work at home besides putting up with my sighs. Somehow we pulled on! I had to go for scanning as the doctor said it was necessary to know the baby’s position and health.

When you knew that it was going to be a girl and the precise date and time of the baby’s arrival what was left to look forward to? The time rolled by mechanically without any colourful dreams.

When I was about to apply for maternity leave, two holidays – the usual weekly off and a festival holiday came in a succession. I decided to go to office one more day with the apprehension that unless I worked for a day after those two days, they too would get included in my period of leave. That day though I was sick and the doctor said I might go into labour any moment I went to office only to save those two days of leave. I signed the register with an unnatural smile on my face and went about my work. Suddenly I started sweating profusely. The labour pains soon followed. What a terrible plight just to save two days of leave! I didn’t know for certain how I took permission and in what language I expressed my pain, but eventually I got myself admitted in the hospital.

‘Do you have any sense left in your head? How could you go to office when you were almost in labour?’ The doctor went on scolding me. While listening to her I gave birth to a baby.

Sundaram and I discussed for hours together several different things – the baby’s features, the hospital bill, the list of things that are to be bought immediately and the other expenses to be incurred. Sundaram’s mother had come from the village to help us and stayed with us for quite some time. She voluntarily took the entire responsibility of looking after the baby and the daily chores at home too on her shoulders. I started going to work when the leave was over. There in the office I would feel like suckling the baby every two hours. I used to get tormented when I think of the baby’s tiny fingers and the lips that impatiently try to reach the nipples. I would get depressed by the end of the day. When I reached home in the evening my mother-in-law would give me something hot to eat. Sundaram and I played with the baby making more noise than the kids do.

Slowly we ceased to find any pleasure in that. It was just one single room with four persons occupying it – Sundaram, his mother, the baby and I. And what more, the door opens right on to the street. Sundaram and I had no privacy even for five minutes. Poor thing, my mother-in-law could understand our plight. But there was no solution in sight for the problem.

In the evening after returning from office Sundaram would say with a deep sigh, ‘Life has become barren Vijaya!’

What would I say? ….. Whether you said it or not it was the problem. If his mother were to go back to the village who would look after the baby? How long can we live like this in this tiny congested house? How long can fathers-in-law live alone in the village? Life has always been a puzzle for us.

Mother-in-law came out with a proposal, ‘shall I take the baby with me?’

I was startled. How can I send the baby with her? The baby who was barely five months old started recognizing me and would jump into my arms. I would love to see her grow up.

After retiring as a teacher father-in-law was forced to give tuition to make both ends meet. My mother, who was asthmatic, had great difficulty in breathing and was reduced to her bones. With my father’s meager earnings my parental home was always poverty-stricken. To top it all my own scanty dwelling here in the town! If at all I had anything precious in my life it was only the baby and, of course Sundaram.

We depended solely on our salary, which was weighed meticulously against the amount of work we did. Anything that would cost money was simply not within our reach. Right from birth we learnt to live only with one mantra – compromising with ourselves.

What was to be given utmost priority under the circumstances? – Keeping the baby with us or the privacy Sundaram and I would get or the money that we would be saving if the child was sent along with its grandma. The very thought of sending the baby away made me cry inconsolably. Both of them, the mother who gave birth to Sundaram and the baby I gave birth to, became a burden to us. Next morning my mother-in-law packed her own bag and the baby’s kit. I started sobing.

‘Don’t worry! I’ll take good care of the baby. The cost of living in villages is not as high as it is in towns’, she said rather consolingly.

I remained silent but nothing could stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. I alone knew why I cried. Sundaram and I went to the bus station to put them in a bus and see them off. The sight of the baby being taken away from me left a deep wound in my heart. After they left, the whole house became empty. There was plenty of privacy, more than what was needed for Sundaram and me. On returning home from office, lying on his back on a mat Sundaram said after a deep thought.
‘Life has become a terrible void Vijaya!’
I knew it too what that void was and why. Only thing was I didn’t know how to fill that void.

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