Friday, September 30, 2011
'మీ ఇంటికి ఫోన్‌చేస్తే ఎవళ్ళూ లిప్ట్ చేయలేదనీ అడిగాను మా ప్రొడ్యూసర్‌ని. 'అవసరమైతే ఎస్ఎమ్మెస్ పెట్టాలి. ఏనిమిషాన్నయినా జీ టీవీనుంచో, ఈటీవీనుంచో కాల్ వస్తుందని వెయిటింగ్. తెలిసిన నంబర్లు తీయదూ అన్నాడతను. మా పక్క ఫ్లాటే వాళ్ళది. ఆ అమ్మాయి నాకు బాగా క్లొజ్. 'ఆవిణ్ణి ఎమైనా అంటే మీరు ఊరుకోరుకానీ మేడం, ఇవ్వాళ మధ్యాన్నం తిండికివస్తాను, బయటంతా బంద్, ఎక్కడా ఏమీ దొరకలేదు, నాకూ ఏమైనా వుంచండి అని చెప్పాలని ట్రై చేస్తున్నా.. ఫోన్ వాడదట.. రాత్రే అనౌన్స్‌మెంట్. ఏదో వుంది మేడం విషయం. ఫీల్డ్‌లో వున్నానా.. నాకు ఒక్క ప్రొడ్యూసర్ తెలియదు. నీ ఇల్లు బంగారంగానూ ప్రొడ్యూసరూ... మోడ్రన్ మహాలక్ష్మి గాడూ.. గడసరి అత్తగాడూ.. ప్రతివాడూ ఈవిడ కాంటాక్ట్‌లో వుంటారు. అప్పుడోసారి ఎస్ఎమ్మెస్ కాంటెస్ట్‌లో ఈవిడకో వెండి గ్లాస్ వచ్చింది, దానికోసం చానల్‌చుట్టూ తిరిగానే.. మొదలూ.. ఇక అడ్డమైన ప్రోగ్రాములూ.. ఎస్ఎమ్మెస్ రిక్వెస్ట్‌లూ.. దానికి అన్నం నీళ్ళూకూడా అక్కరలేదు. సారీ.. ఆవిడని దాన్నీ అన్నందుకూ అన్నాడు నిష్టూరంగా మా ప్రొడ్యూసరు. దొంగకి తేలుకుట్టడం అంటే అర్థమైంది నాకు. సమాధానాలు నా దగ్గరే వున్నాయి. ఈ నెల ఆ పిల్ల ఫోన్ బిల్లు పద్దెనిమిది వేలు. ఇంకా ఈ అమాయకుడికి తెలీలేదు. ఫోన్ కొట్టు లక్ష పట్టుకి వరుస పెట్టి కాల్స్ చేసింది. ఒక్కో కాల్ ఆరు రూపాయలు. ఇప్పుడు నా ఫోన్ ఎందుకనుకున్నారూ మోడ్రన్ మహాలక్ష్మికి సెలెక్ట్ అయ్యానూ.. ఇప్పుడు టీవీలో వస్తున్న యాంకర్ కట్టుకొన్న చీర నా కోసం తెచ్చేయండీ.. బిల్లు కట్టేద్దాం, రేపు ప్రొగ్రాంలో కట్టుకోవాలని నాకో హుకుం. చేతిలో ఫోనుందికదాని జ్వువెలరీతోసహా చీరకు బిల్లు పెట్టండీ అని కాస్ట్యూమర్‌కి చెప్పేశాను. పది నిముషాల ముందే చీరా నగలూ ఇంటికి వచ్చాయి. బిల్లు పదహారు వేలు. ఈ విషయం చెబుదామనే చూస్తుంటే మా ప్రొడూసర్ ఆక్రోశం వినబడింది. 'అసలు ఈవెర్రి ప్రోగ్రాములు చూడటం, ఎస్ఎమ్మెస్‌లూ, పైగా మా ఆయన మన చానల్ హెడ్ అని చెప్పిందట. నా ఉద్యోగం ఊడినంత పనయింది. ఇవ్వాళ నేను కొంపకు చేరాక ఆ టీవీ కనెక్షన్ తీసేయిస్తాను, లేకపోతే అమ్మేస్తాను. ఇంకా ఈవిడ నోరెత్తితే విడాకులు ఇచ్చేస్తాను. లేకపోతే ఫోన్ తియ్యదు.. ఒక్కో అక్షరం వెతుక్కుని ఎస్ఎమ్మెస్ పెడుతున్నా. నాకు తిండి కావాలి, వండుకున్నవన్నీ తినేయద్దూ' అని ఏడుపు గొంతులోకి దిగిపోయాడు మా ప్రొడ్యూసర్. ఓదారుద్దాం అనుకొనేలోపలే ఆ అమ్మాయి లైన్‌లోకి వచ్చింది. 'గడసరి అత్తకి సెలెక్ట్ అయ్యాను మా అత్తగారు ఇక్కడ లేదుకదా.. మీ పేరూ.. మనిద్దరం వున్న ఫోటో పంపేసాను, ఎల్లుండే ప్రొగ్రాం, మా అత్తగారిగా మీరు కరక్ట్‌గా సరిపోతారూ, అందా అమ్మాయి. కాగితాల కిరీటాలు పెట్టించుకోవడం, రికార్డింగు డాన్సులేయటం కళ్ళ ముందు ఆ కార్యక్రమం సెవెంటీ ఎంఎంలో కనబడుతుంటె నిముషంకూడా అలోచించకుండా మా ప్రొడ్యూసర్కి మెస్సేజ్ పెట్టేసాను 'పర్లేదు ఆ పిల్లకి విడాకులిచ్చెయ్, నెనో మంచి లాయర్‌ని చూస్తానూ అని.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
ఈ మధ్య కధలెందుకో ఊరికూర్కెనే మధ్యలోనే ఎండయిపొతున్నాయి. సాహిత్యరచనే జీవితంగా, ఊపిరిగా, అన్నంగా, బిసిబెళిబాత్‌లాగా ఉండాలనుకుంటుంటే.. ఎందుకు ఇలాగయిపోతుంది...? ఒక కధ మొదలు పెట్టాను. మంచి భార్యాభర్తలు. మంచంటే ఏమిటీ అని క్వచ్చన్ ఎదురుగ్గా. సమాధానం చివరి పేజీలో అనుకొని, సరేమరి ఆ భార్యాభర్తలు అన్యోనంగా ఉంటారని ఊహించే లోపల.. మరి అన్యోనం అంటే మళ్ళీ క్వచ్చన్. ఎవ్వళ్ళో ఒక్కళ్ళ మాటే ఇంకొకళ్ళు వినటం అని తోచింది. సరేపో... ఆ మంచి భార్యాభర్తలకి తగవచ్చింది. మాట ఎప్పూడూవినే మనిషి వినకపొతే వచ్చె తగవది. ఇద్దరిమధ్య బొలెడన్ని తగవులు పెడుతూ కధ రాసుకుపోవచ్చు అనుకొంటే ప్రతి తగవులోనూ వినే మనిషి ఓడిపోవడమే. నా ఇల్లు.. నా సంపాదన.. నా ఆస్థి.. నా రెండో పెళ్ళాం.. దిక్కున్నచోట చెప్పుకో.. పోతేపో.. ఇంకేముందీ.. వినే మనిషికి భయమేసింది. హాయిగా వింటేపోలా.. వెధవ ఉద్యోగాలు చేయాలి.. పిల్లల్ని ఖష్టపడి పెంచాలి. చందనాబ్రదర్స్, ఆరెస్‌బ్రదర్స్, సిఏమ్మారూ.. ప్రసాద్స్‌సూ.. హైద్రాబాద్ బిర్యానీ.. పిజ్జాలూ .. ఏవీ వుండవు. ఏం తగవులేద్దూ.. ఒక నిముషం ఊరుకొంటే వాడే పదింటికెల్లా పోతాడు. రాత్రి తొమ్మిదింటికెప్పుడో ఊడిపడతాడు. ఓ అరగంట కూడుపెట్టి మర్యాదచేస్తె సరి. అని వినేమనిషి నేను వద్దన్నా కాంప్రమైజ్‌కి మైండ్ పెడుతోంది. ఇంకేంవుంది.. కధయిపోయింది. సరే ఇంకోకధ. ఈసారి హీరోపైనే బేస్ చేద్దామనిపించింది. ఓ హీరో.. రవితేజ.. కిక్ కావాలి జీవితంలో.. యహె.. సినిమా కధకాదులే వేరే నా కధ. పరుగెత్తుతోంది. చదవాలి.. చదవాలి.. చచ్చేలా చదవాలి. చదివీ.. చదివీ.. అబ్బో కిక్కులేదు. సరె.. ఉద్యోగం.. చెయ్యాలీ.. చెయ్యాలీ.. చచ్చుకుంటూ నెలజీతం లక్షకోసం చెయ్యాలి. కళ్ళు వాచిపొయేలా సిస్టంకి అతుక్కుపోవాలి. కిక్కు.. అబ్బే.. అబ్బే.. పోనీ.. లవ్వూ.. ఓరిదేవుడో.. నిముష నిముషం అట్టెండన్సూ.. మెస్సేజులూ.. ఫొనులో ప్రేమ.. ప్రసాద్స్‌లో ప్రేమ.. ఒట్టి ప్రేమేనా.. ఒక్కో ప్రేమకు కనీసం రెండు వేలు. పైగా సినిమా మధ్యలోపోయి కూల్డ్రింకులూ.. కాఫీలూ.. అదేం కర్మో.. మల్టీప్లెక్సుల్లో యభైయేసి షాపులూ.. వావ్ బాగుందే అనగానే కొనతాలూ.. ఇంకో పదివేలూ.. వారానికి ఒక ప్రేమ చాలనిపించాక.. పోనీ పెళ్ళాడితేపోలా అనుకొంటే.. రొటీన్ మంత్రాలూ.. కాళ్ళు పడిపోయేలా రిసెప్షనూ.. హమ్మయ్యా.. ఆఖరాఖరికి ఫస్ట్ నైట్. కిక్కు లేదంటాడే హీరో.. జీవితాంతం పై మొత్తం పనులు చేస్తూనే.. చేస్తూనే ఉండాలని తలుచుకుంటే నడుం పీకేస్తుంది. కిక్ అంటే వాంతొస్తుంది అని హీరో పరుగోపరుగు. రెండో కధ అలా అయిపోయింది. మూడో కధ. తలుచుకొంటేనే కన్నీళ్ళొస్తున్నాయి. మీడియాపైన గాలిదుమారం రేపే సెన్సేషన్ కధ మొదలెట్టాను. నమ్మండి. ఒక్క సియివోను వెదికానంతే. ఇంకేంకధ. ఆ సియివో మొత్తం తనే. ఎవరెలా వుండాలో.. ఎవరెలా నవ్వాలో.. ఎంత తూకంగా.. నమ్రతగా వుండాలో మొత్తం... చక్రి సర్వోపగతుండు.. ఇంకేం కధ..? ఎలా నడపాలో తనకే తెలుసని నోరుమూసుకోని పొమ్మన్నాడు. ఇప్పటికి ఆరు నెలలు.. కొత్త కధకి థాటొస్తే ఒట్టు.. ప్రస్తుతం ఖాళీ.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
జగ్గాపురం మా అత్తగారి ఊరు. ఆ ఊరిలోనే పుట్టి పెరిగింది నా తోడికోడలు. ఆవిడ వాడిన పదం ఇది. అక్కడ వాడుకలో వున్న పదం. ఇదివరకూ కర్రల పొయ్యిపైన వంట చేసేవాళ్ళు. మంట ఆరిపొయాక పొయ్యిలో కొన్ని కర్రలు కాలితే మిగిలే బొగ్గులుండేవి. కణ కణమని మండుతూ కనిపించే ఆ బొగ్గులుపైన నెమ్మదిగా బూడిద కప్పువేసేది. ఎవరైనా పొరపాటున బూడిద అనుకొని చేయి పెడితే ఆ చిన్ని నలుసంత నిప్పు కణం చేయి చురుక్కుమనిపిస్తుంది. అదే నలుసు అంటుకుని మళ్ళీ మండచ్చుకూడా లేదా.. ఎవ్వరూ పట్టించుకోకపోతే నిర్లిప్తంగా బూడిదై చల్లారిపొవచ్చుకూడా. ఇది ఆడవాళ్ళకు చాలా బాగా వర్తిస్తుంది అనిపించింది. ఒక్క చిన్ని నెరుసు.. నిప్పు రవ్వ.. నిస్సహాయంగా బూడిద క్రింద చల్లారిపొబొయే ఆ కణం ఎవరైనా కెలికితే చేయి కాల్చదా..? నెరుసు మా తోడికోడలు సృఇస్టియోమోకాని నన్ను వెంటాడి వేధించిందాపదం. ఒకప్పుడు నా వెనకాల నా చూట్టూ చాలామంది ఆడవాళ్ళు వుండేవాళ్ళు. చలం రచనల్లోంచి వీరేశలింగంగారి ఆత్మ కధల్లోంచి, ఫెమినిష్టుల రచనల్లోంచి ఎంతోమంది ఆడవాళ్ళు తమ నిస్సహాయత పట్ల అంతులేని కోపంతో వుండే ఆడవాళ్ళ వరసలో నెనూ వున్నాననిపించేది. నా కధల్లో గొంతులన్నీ అవే. తెల్లని బూడిద క్రింద నిర్లిప్తంగా పడున్న బొగ్గు రవ్వ ముట్టుకొంటే చేయి చురుక్కుమనిపించిన అనుభవం నా వేళ్ళ చివరనే వుంది. ఆ నెరుసు గాలికి ఎగిరి ఏ పాకపైన పడ్డా మంటలు లేవటం ఖాయం. ఆడవాళ్ళంతా వాళ్ళ జీవితాల్లో నింపుకొన్న నిర్లిప్తత నుంచి లేచి మంటల్లో ఎగిసిపడాలని నా కోరిక. నేను రాయటం మొదలుపెట్టిన ఏ ముప్పైయేళ్ళలో నా ఆశ చాలావరకూ నెరవేరింది. కానీ ఎక్కడో ఓ చిన్న అసంత్రుప్తి.. ఇంకా గమ్యం చేరలేదని. నేనూ చాలా నడిచాను. ఎలా వుంటే బావుంటుందో.. ఏం చేయాలో చేసికూడా చూపించాను. ఇంకా నా బాధ్యత ఏదైనా మిగిలివుంటే అది నేను సెలవు తీసుకొనేదాకా గమ్యంవైపు నడుస్తూనే వుండడం.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
అబ్బే అనిపించిందా.. వైరాగ్యం, నిర్లిప్తత, దేవుళ్ళు, దయ్యాలు, నమ్మకాలు.. ఈ లిస్ట్‌లోకి ఈ మాటకూడా వస్తుందనుకోండి.. ఈపాటికి ఇంకేం చదువుతాం లెద్దూ అనికూడా అనిపించిందా.. వద్దొద్దు మిస్సయిపొతారు.. ఎలా నిమిత్త మాత్రులమో తెలుసుకో వద్దూ.. ఇల్లాగే. మనిష్టం వచ్చినట్లు రాసుకొంటూపొయి, డైరక్ట్‌గా పెజీల్లో ఇచ్చేస్తూ.. అది డైరక్ట్‌గా పాటకులకు వెళ్ళిపొతూ.. ఎంతో జాయ్‌గా వుంటాంకదా. అలాంటిది ఒక అటాక్‌తొ నేను ఎలక్ర్ట్రానిక్ మీడియాలో వచ్చి పడ్డాను. మీడియా ఎదైనా ఒకటే.... చచ్చినా కాదు.... మన తలకాయలోంచి, పేజీల్లోంచి, పాఠకుల హ్రుదయాల్లోంచి పొయే దారి చటుక్కున మూసుకుపోయి.. యాంకర్ల మూడ్‌పైన, ప్రొడక్షన్ మేనేజర్ దయాధర్మాలపైన, షూటింగ్ కోసం మనకు కేటాయించిన కారు తాలూకూ డ్రైవరు, మేకప్‌మెన్, హేయిర్‌డ్రెస్సర్, క్యాస్టూంస్, చివరకు మనం నమ్మి, ప్రేమించి, ఇష్టపడి తీసుకొన్న డైరక్టర్కి ఇంట్లొ ఎలాంటి ప్రాబ్లంస్ రాకూండా చేయకుండా చేయమని మనం ఏడుకొండలవాడికి మొక్కినా స్ట్రాంగ్ మొక్కుపైన కూడా ఎలక్ర్ట్రానిక్ మీడియా వుద్యొగం వణుకుతూ, క్షణక్షణం బీపీ పెంచుతూ, మనకు వినయం నేర్పుతూ, మన గోళ్ళ వరకూ మాత్రమే మనం తినే చాకచక్యం అలవర్చుతూ వుంటుంది. ఇక్కడ మనం నిమిత్త మాత్రులం. మనం 10 గంటలకు ఎక్కడో దిల్సుఖ్‌నగర్‌లో ఏ కవి యాకూబ్ ఇంటిలోనో, మంతెన సత్యనారాయన్నో నాలుగు ముక్కలు మాట్లాడమని డిసైడ్‌చేసి 8 గంటలకే ఆఫీసుకు వస్తాం. ఎగ్జాక్ట్ 10.30 అని ధైర్యంగా, తెలియక చెప్పేస్తాం. తీరా ఆఫీసులో అడుగు పెట్టెసరికి అప్పటికి తయారై కారెక్కాల్సిన సుభాషిని.. హెయిర్ డ్రెస్సర్ జుట్టు స్ట్రెయిట్ చేస్తుంటే తీరిగ్గా ఫొన్లో మాట్లాడుకునే పనిలో వుంటుంది. కెమేరామెన్, అసిస్టెంట్, లైట్‌బాయిస్ , టిఫిన్ తింటేగానీ ఎలాగూ బయలుదేరంకదా అని.. క్యాంటిన్లో సెటిలై వుంటారు. ప్రొడక్షన్ మేనేజర్ ఇప్పుడే బయలుదేరాను మేడం అని ఫోన్ స్విట్చాఫ్ పెట్టేస్తాడు. కారుంటుంది, డ్రైవరు కనిపించడు. కాస్ట్యుంస్ అతను ఇప్పుడే నీరూస్‌కి వచ్చాను, డోర్ తీయలేదు అంటాడు తాపీగా. ఏదో ఒకటి, ఎలాగోలా ముగించి రావోయ్ సుభాషినీ అన్నామా .. సరైన మేకప్‌లేక, డ్రస్సులు రాకా, మనం తొందరపెట్టి విసుక్కోవటంవల్లా మూడాఫ్ అయిపోయి, కళ్ళనీళ్ళోచ్చి, మేకప్ చెడిపోతుందన్న భయంతో, మనసు మూగభాధకులోనై, నేనీరోజు వచ్చినా సరిగ్గా ప్రోగ్రాం చేయలేకపొతాను అన్న అల్టిమేటం నా మొహాన్ని విసిరేసి సరిగ్గా పదింటికి టిఫెన్ మింగేందుకు క్యాంటిన్‌కి నెమ్మదిగా నడచి వెళుతూవుంటే.. అలా చూస్తూ వుండిన క్షణాన మంతెన సత్యనారాయణ ఫోన్ చేసి, నేనూ నా లేహ్యాలూ రెడీ అన్నాడనుకోండి.. అ క్షణాన 'మనం నిమిత్త మాత్రులం' అని నాకు అనిపించడం తప్పెనంటారా..?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
మనం ఏం మాట్లాడినా ముందు మనకు నచ్చుతుంది. అన్న షర్టేస్తే మాస్ .. అన్న మడతేస్తే మాస్.. అని ఓ పాటలాగ తెలిసో తెలియకో లొలోపల మనం కూడా అలాగే వుంటాం. ఒక్కోసారి ఆ గర్వం దాచుకొని కాస్త వినయం నటిస్తాం. మనం పెట్టే ఆ వినయం మొహంలో దాచుకోలేని చిరునవ్వులో కనిపిస్తూనే వుంటుంది. ఇప్పుడు 'మనం' అంటూ నేను రాస్తున్నప్పుడు కూడా.. ఓసారి విజయవాడ ఏఐఆర్ స్టుడియో లో ముందర లాంజ్ లో కూర్చుని వున్నాను. వున్న సొఫాలూ చైర్లూ నిండిపొయి వున్నాయి. నా ప్రక్కనే ఎవరో నిలబడ్డారు. బహుశా నేను కాళ్ళు వూగిస్తూ నాప్రక్కనున్నాయన వంక ఒకటికి రెండు సార్లు సందేహంగా చూస్తూ , నేనూ రేడియో స్టేషన్లో రికార్డింగ్ కే వచ్చానన్న సంకేతాలిస్తూనే వుండి వుంటాను. ఉన్నట్లుండి నా చైర్ ప్రక్కన నిలబడ్డ ముసలాయనా, ఆయన చేతిలో జనపనార సంచీ ఎక్కడో తెలిసినట్లు అనిపించింది. వెంటనే మిమ్మల్ని ఎక్కడో చూసినట్లుంది అన్నాను. ఆయన నా వంక చూసి .. చూసావా.. నన్ను వావిలాల గోపాలక్రిష్ణయ్య అంటారులే. కాళ్ళు వూపటం మానేసి లేస్తే నేను కూర్చుంటానన్నారు. నా మొహం ఎలా పెట్టివుంటానో, ఆయన ఏఐఆర్ నుంచి వెళ్ళిపొయేదాకా ఆయన వెనక్కాల ఎలా తిరిగి వుంటానో వూహించండి!
Monday, September 19, 2011
సి.సుజాత కబుర్లు: హాయ్..: నేను సుజాత. తెలుసు కదా. చెప్పటం, రాయటం.. నా ఉద్యొగమే కబుర్లు. రాయటానికీ, కబుర్లు చెప్పటానికీ పెద్ద తేడా వున్నట్లు లేదు కదా. కానీ మనం ఎలాగోలా...
Sunday, September 18, 2011
విజయవాడలో నవోదయలో అడుగుపెడుతుండగానే.. మీకు కోత్త ప్రపంచాన్ని ఇచ్చిన మనిషి వెళ్ళిపొయాక వచ్చారేం అన్నారు రామ్మోహనరావుగారు. సుప్తభుజంగాలు నవల ముందు మాట రాస్తూ..బండెడు చెత్తలొ ఒక మాణిక్యం మెరిస్తే ఎలా వుంటుందీ..? కళ్ళు జిగేల్ మనవూ.. బురద మడుగులో ఒక పద్మం విరిస్తే ఎలా వుంటుందీ..? మనసు పరవశించదూ. అటువంటి అరుదైన మాణిక్యాల్లో, పద్మాల్లో ఒకటి సుజాత సుప్తభుజాంగలు. ఈ నవల, రచయిత్రి మొదటి నవల కావటం విశేషం.. అంటూ సాహితీ ప్రపంచానికి నన్ను పరిచయం చేసి, నా ఉద్యొగ జీవితానికి రహదారి వేసిన నండూరిగారు కనబడకుండా పొతే ఏం మట్లాడటం.. ఇంకాస్త ముందెళ్ళిపొయిన మహీధర రామ్మోహనరావుగారు, యేటుకూరి బలరామమూర్తిగారు, ఇప్పటికి విజయవాడ నుంచి పలకరించే పరకల పట్టాభిరామారావుగరు కంకణం కట్టుకొని నా వునికి ప్రపంచానికి యెలా చాటారో.. తలో చేయివేసి ఎలా ముందు నిల్చోబెట్టారో.. ఎంత చెప్పాలి..? యే బాంధవ్యంతో అంటే.. సరిగ్గా.. మనిషికి మనిషికీ వుండవలసిన అనుబంధంతో. కాసేపు పుస్తకాల వంకా, కాసేపు రొడ్డువైపు దిక్కులు చూస్తూ కూర్చుంటే.. నేనింకో పదేళ్ళు పర్లేదా.. అన్నారు రామ్మోహనరావుగారు. ఆ ఓదార్పుకి ఏం మాట్లాడాలి..? పొయినోళ్ళు అందరూ మంచొళ్ళు.. ఉన్నొళ్ళు పొయినొళ్ళ తీపిగుర్తులు.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University
Perhaps that was the first time I realised that I had many masks. I was not aware of the masks I had with me neither on the day I attained puberty while running about in the playground nor on the day I went to the class feeling great, wearing a new half-saree with stars twinkling in my eyes. I was not aware of them when a boy of my class feeling shy flattered me by saying ‘jaya, your beauty…’. I was not aware of it even later when I went through different phases of life –studies, marriage, first night, children, family – That particular day, at the time of twilight, for the first time, in the jungle of people, amidst many of my acquaintances, I picked up a mask that had been with me without my knowledge and wore it. It was a time when I went pale with shock and was ready to shed tears. But you do not believe me, how quickly I regained my composure, within a second I smiled. That means I hid myself. I was conscious of the animal that was standing in front of me and staring at me. Without batting an eyelid he was looking at the glow in my eyes, the smile on my lips and the way I shook my head making the hair fall in curls on my face.
“Why not ….. I can arrange it as early as possible”, he said instantly.
“Thank you Sir! …. We will meet again….” I bid him goodbye with my eyes themselves. I did not forget even a single thing – to walk more gracefully on noticing that he was staring at me, to pull the upper end of my saree which was almost touching the ground around my back, looking back at him while getting into the auto. I got used to all these things. Once the auto came out of the gate on to the main road my mask slipped into a safer place. The tears welling in my eyes were ready to burst out, but there was no time for that. The regional office was just two streets away. He picked up the phone in my presence itself and said, “Mrs. Jaya will be coming to you. You settle Mr. Shankar’s matter”.
Shankar was waiting for me over there. The goods were not delivered for two months to his shop in One Town. If the situation were to continue he would have no option but to flee the place. Jaya should help him in everything in starting the business and in its promotion too. Her status as an officer, her shrewdness, her glamour …… everything becomes his business capital.
“Jaya, if you impress the regional manager, our stock will get promoted. He is a good connoisseur of literature. You present your latest book to him and broach the subject”.
In the last ten day there was not a single moment when Shankar did not irritate me. Shankar planned everything meticulously – inviting him to dinner, discussion on literature and what not. Gracefully and charmingly I hid myself with the mask of a great actor.
“Mrs. Jaya! You seem to be very active. Your new collection of poetry is simply marvelous. You have expressed your life’s ambition in a very elegant manner. Your translation into words of things like a morning, a memorable experience and an anguished heart is superb. Next month I am going to Bangalore on some official business. Why do not you go with me? You can have a change from the routine. I love to talk to you and listen to your new poems”.
That beast’s voice was resonating in my mind as in a stereo. It was important to get the loan sanctioned. Being a mother of two children I am the one who slogs at home till the last minute and resorts to many circus feats to be there in the office by ten O’ clock in the morning. Should I accompany you on your pleasure trip? Is this the respect you give to others?” Did I question him so? No, never ….. not even mildly. Instead I smiled. I exhibited my narrow waistline and tiny tommy beautifully.
“Do not frown!” Shankar warned me well in advance.
As soon as the auto came to a halt Shankar came running to me. Rummaging the bag for change, without even looking at him I told him, “he asked us to clear the amount in two months.”
Shankar’s face lighted up. He said, “Oh, what a relief! Thank you Jaya!”. It was sheer ignorance not even to realise that life is lost somewhere amidst the accounts, calculations and budgets….. Anyway, what would be talk about? At the most he would say ‘Jaya, pass the chits as soon as you receive your salary tomorrow’ or ‘have you seen the payment card from LIC?’ or ‘has the matter finalised regarding the housing loan?’…. This was the sort of talk we would have.
At the end of the day after all the work was done and the children went to bed, I would change into a night gown, comb my hair and do a bit of make up and enter the bed room only to find Shankar on phone or in front of the computer checking the accounts or in sound sleep, snoring with his mouth wide open …… In case he was not yet tired, he would call ‘Jaya come here once….. and satisfy himself in five minutes’. It was then that I would be available to myself. I never really worried about those moments that I could not stand myself. At once a beautiful mask would readily come into my hands. Then a kind of excitement would overwhelm my entire body slowly and gradually, beginning with the face and the hands. Along with it a new world of mine which I created myself would quickly encompass me as in a film setting.
The children of Somalia who were famished and reduced to skeletons, an old woman deserted by her family, a poor victim of a gang rape – These are the people that surround me. I feel too excited to breathe. Then the words would start their gimmick and with well-measured words I would make it rain with tears. I would depict a wounded soul or a dying sun on a paper canvas. The laments of the grief-stricken earthquake victims whom I have never seen with my eyes become the theme of my poem. Around midnight I shed that thin mask and with my own real face, which I hate to see myself, I slip into bed, tired and letting neither an opportunity to think of my desires, miseries and indignities nor any room for shedding even a single drop of tear. I forget myself…. so much so that I don’t even understand whether the days were rolling by or running fast …. Later on, no matter whether I am talking to someone or walking or working in the office, it is a new experience…… I am empty and shallow or to be more precise, I am like an empty corked bottle…. yes exactly like that ….. I am nowhere inside it. The body, the blood, the limbs that work, and the saree that I wear all are mine. But I am not there anywhere. I look for an assurance that might peep in from some corner of life, which can make me feel that everything is mine totally. The garden that I see every morning on getting up is planned and planted by me. My plan was to have the flowers swinging with their long stalks in close proximity. The house is cozy with everything arranged neatly. Everything is acquired with my own earnings. The time that remains after the office work and a sleep is spent on planning different things…. saving money, calculating the debits and credits …… At last even in giving birth to children, applying leave to office, appointing mother or mother-in-law to look after the kids, there involved a perfect planning.
This life is a balance sheet of credits and debits. Shankar has a clear understanding of this matter. He would manage the household affairs just as he does his project or clears the accounts. Our life seems to be alright as far as having a structure with a strong foundation and a beautiful arrangement of the bricks is concerned….. But the essence of life is along the path lost somewhere. How, where and when we have lost it I do not know, but Shankar and I became strangers now. All the routine things go on as usual. There is a soft noise of a sudden snapping of a relationship as delicate as a silver thread between two of us. But this noise goes on sounding like a loud explosion in my innerself. We two live in that house like prisoners in a jail. The words like love and friendship have staged a walk out from our lives long ago. We remained human beings only by virtue of our bodies that walk and breathe. On one night when we were not in a position to stand each others existence and were left with nothing to talk about and were burdened with the weight of our own thoughts, there was a call from hundreds of miles away from a former colleague of mine. He and I worked together as probationary officers. It was after a long time since he left the place looking for another job. Words were flowing like a current. I was trying to tell him everything that had happened since then as if it were only a few minutes. Suddenly he asked me, “why are you so disspirited Jaya? Any problem?” I was taken aback for a second. I wanted to tell him in a jiffy that I was not at all fine and infact I remained not as my usual self but as somebody else. But is it possible to tell such naked truths? Surprisingly a mask that hides me comes out without my asking for it. “When I was woken up with a startle in the middle of the night by your phone and started answering your questions of Yaksha as promptly as in an A.P.P.S.C. examination, what is your conjecture?” I could question him so. What a hypocrisy! Human beings alone have such a skill.
“Look, I am a happy-go-lucky-type. I do not want any responsibilities in my life. I cannot face any hardship or tension. Life has to be like a flower boat sailing on water”. I went on laughing. I went on narrating the memories of the past….. my job, my creative writing….
When I was hanging up Shankar said, “It seems he does not have manners. He calls up at midnight or an unearthly hour. Doesn’t he know that he should not disturb you at this hour. In fact you are to be blamed for it. Where is the need to laugh so much? When you are encouraging him a lot, is he a rushyasrunga not to respond? I do not like all this over action”. I took a minute to think. That little time was enough. There slipped a mask of a slave. After a very long time I stood straight. In an uncontrollable fit of temper and fury all my masks that number a few thousands were swept somewhere, I did not know where. That night I spoke to Shankar for a long time. I explained it to him why I became what I was. I explained to him how I changed myself for the sake of the four walls of the house, for the circle I built around myself and for my weakness to be praised by the society. I gave every other pleasure to many gentlemen except sleeping with them. I told him that I understood very well the fact that he did not have any objection as long as my every smile fetched him money. I talked about how he tortured me until I descended all those steps after a series of events - the nights that we fought fierce battles with each other in the presence of the children, the occasions when I became a sea and went without food and sleep, the moments my job and influence slowly crept into Shankar’s business deals – Shankar told me decisively that I should take care of my character. He told me to put an end to all the unnecessary smiles, friend and phone calls. He also gave me a concession that I could work if I wanted, otherwise I could sit at home and take care of the children. His business, which was established with all my money including that of P.F. and with the capital of my smiles, had picked up now. It is time that I should look for another mask. I have to see if I can find somewhere my ‘pativrata’ mask which was swept away by my emotional outburst last night. Where can I look for it?….. There were thousand of masks….. masks of several different colours. It would be a problem if I do not get it by tomorrow morning. That mask is necessary for the last role I am going to enact. I do not know where I lost my pativrata mask!…..
- - - - - - - -
Perhaps that was the first time I realised that I had many masks. I was not aware of the masks I had with me neither on the day I attained puberty while running about in the playground nor on the day I went to the class feeling great, wearing a new half-saree with stars twinkling in my eyes. I was not aware of them when a boy of my class feeling shy flattered me by saying ‘jaya, your beauty…’. I was not aware of it even later when I went through different phases of life –studies, marriage, first night, children, family – That particular day, at the time of twilight, for the first time, in the jungle of people, amidst many of my acquaintances, I picked up a mask that had been with me without my knowledge and wore it. It was a time when I went pale with shock and was ready to shed tears. But you do not believe me, how quickly I regained my composure, within a second I smiled. That means I hid myself. I was conscious of the animal that was standing in front of me and staring at me. Without batting an eyelid he was looking at the glow in my eyes, the smile on my lips and the way I shook my head making the hair fall in curls on my face.
“Why not ….. I can arrange it as early as possible”, he said instantly.
“Thank you Sir! …. We will meet again….” I bid him goodbye with my eyes themselves. I did not forget even a single thing – to walk more gracefully on noticing that he was staring at me, to pull the upper end of my saree which was almost touching the ground around my back, looking back at him while getting into the auto. I got used to all these things. Once the auto came out of the gate on to the main road my mask slipped into a safer place. The tears welling in my eyes were ready to burst out, but there was no time for that. The regional office was just two streets away. He picked up the phone in my presence itself and said, “Mrs. Jaya will be coming to you. You settle Mr. Shankar’s matter”.
Shankar was waiting for me over there. The goods were not delivered for two months to his shop in One Town. If the situation were to continue he would have no option but to flee the place. Jaya should help him in everything in starting the business and in its promotion too. Her status as an officer, her shrewdness, her glamour …… everything becomes his business capital.
“Jaya, if you impress the regional manager, our stock will get promoted. He is a good connoisseur of literature. You present your latest book to him and broach the subject”.
In the last ten day there was not a single moment when Shankar did not irritate me. Shankar planned everything meticulously – inviting him to dinner, discussion on literature and what not. Gracefully and charmingly I hid myself with the mask of a great actor.
“Mrs. Jaya! You seem to be very active. Your new collection of poetry is simply marvelous. You have expressed your life’s ambition in a very elegant manner. Your translation into words of things like a morning, a memorable experience and an anguished heart is superb. Next month I am going to Bangalore on some official business. Why do not you go with me? You can have a change from the routine. I love to talk to you and listen to your new poems”.
That beast’s voice was resonating in my mind as in a stereo. It was important to get the loan sanctioned. Being a mother of two children I am the one who slogs at home till the last minute and resorts to many circus feats to be there in the office by ten O’ clock in the morning. Should I accompany you on your pleasure trip? Is this the respect you give to others?” Did I question him so? No, never ….. not even mildly. Instead I smiled. I exhibited my narrow waistline and tiny tommy beautifully.
“Do not frown!” Shankar warned me well in advance.
As soon as the auto came to a halt Shankar came running to me. Rummaging the bag for change, without even looking at him I told him, “he asked us to clear the amount in two months.”
Shankar’s face lighted up. He said, “Oh, what a relief! Thank you Jaya!”. It was sheer ignorance not even to realise that life is lost somewhere amidst the accounts, calculations and budgets….. Anyway, what would be talk about? At the most he would say ‘Jaya, pass the chits as soon as you receive your salary tomorrow’ or ‘have you seen the payment card from LIC?’ or ‘has the matter finalised regarding the housing loan?’…. This was the sort of talk we would have.
At the end of the day after all the work was done and the children went to bed, I would change into a night gown, comb my hair and do a bit of make up and enter the bed room only to find Shankar on phone or in front of the computer checking the accounts or in sound sleep, snoring with his mouth wide open …… In case he was not yet tired, he would call ‘Jaya come here once….. and satisfy himself in five minutes’. It was then that I would be available to myself. I never really worried about those moments that I could not stand myself. At once a beautiful mask would readily come into my hands. Then a kind of excitement would overwhelm my entire body slowly and gradually, beginning with the face and the hands. Along with it a new world of mine which I created myself would quickly encompass me as in a film setting.
The children of Somalia who were famished and reduced to skeletons, an old woman deserted by her family, a poor victim of a gang rape – These are the people that surround me. I feel too excited to breathe. Then the words would start their gimmick and with well-measured words I would make it rain with tears. I would depict a wounded soul or a dying sun on a paper canvas. The laments of the grief-stricken earthquake victims whom I have never seen with my eyes become the theme of my poem. Around midnight I shed that thin mask and with my own real face, which I hate to see myself, I slip into bed, tired and letting neither an opportunity to think of my desires, miseries and indignities nor any room for shedding even a single drop of tear. I forget myself…. so much so that I don’t even understand whether the days were rolling by or running fast …. Later on, no matter whether I am talking to someone or walking or working in the office, it is a new experience…… I am empty and shallow or to be more precise, I am like an empty corked bottle…. yes exactly like that ….. I am nowhere inside it. The body, the blood, the limbs that work, and the saree that I wear all are mine. But I am not there anywhere. I look for an assurance that might peep in from some corner of life, which can make me feel that everything is mine totally. The garden that I see every morning on getting up is planned and planted by me. My plan was to have the flowers swinging with their long stalks in close proximity. The house is cozy with everything arranged neatly. Everything is acquired with my own earnings. The time that remains after the office work and a sleep is spent on planning different things…. saving money, calculating the debits and credits …… At last even in giving birth to children, applying leave to office, appointing mother or mother-in-law to look after the kids, there involved a perfect planning.
This life is a balance sheet of credits and debits. Shankar has a clear understanding of this matter. He would manage the household affairs just as he does his project or clears the accounts. Our life seems to be alright as far as having a structure with a strong foundation and a beautiful arrangement of the bricks is concerned….. But the essence of life is along the path lost somewhere. How, where and when we have lost it I do not know, but Shankar and I became strangers now. All the routine things go on as usual. There is a soft noise of a sudden snapping of a relationship as delicate as a silver thread between two of us. But this noise goes on sounding like a loud explosion in my innerself. We two live in that house like prisoners in a jail. The words like love and friendship have staged a walk out from our lives long ago. We remained human beings only by virtue of our bodies that walk and breathe. On one night when we were not in a position to stand each others existence and were left with nothing to talk about and were burdened with the weight of our own thoughts, there was a call from hundreds of miles away from a former colleague of mine. He and I worked together as probationary officers. It was after a long time since he left the place looking for another job. Words were flowing like a current. I was trying to tell him everything that had happened since then as if it were only a few minutes. Suddenly he asked me, “why are you so disspirited Jaya? Any problem?” I was taken aback for a second. I wanted to tell him in a jiffy that I was not at all fine and infact I remained not as my usual self but as somebody else. But is it possible to tell such naked truths? Surprisingly a mask that hides me comes out without my asking for it. “When I was woken up with a startle in the middle of the night by your phone and started answering your questions of Yaksha as promptly as in an A.P.P.S.C. examination, what is your conjecture?” I could question him so. What a hypocrisy! Human beings alone have such a skill.
“Look, I am a happy-go-lucky-type. I do not want any responsibilities in my life. I cannot face any hardship or tension. Life has to be like a flower boat sailing on water”. I went on laughing. I went on narrating the memories of the past….. my job, my creative writing….
When I was hanging up Shankar said, “It seems he does not have manners. He calls up at midnight or an unearthly hour. Doesn’t he know that he should not disturb you at this hour. In fact you are to be blamed for it. Where is the need to laugh so much? When you are encouraging him a lot, is he a rushyasrunga not to respond? I do not like all this over action”. I took a minute to think. That little time was enough. There slipped a mask of a slave. After a very long time I stood straight. In an uncontrollable fit of temper and fury all my masks that number a few thousands were swept somewhere, I did not know where. That night I spoke to Shankar for a long time. I explained it to him why I became what I was. I explained to him how I changed myself for the sake of the four walls of the house, for the circle I built around myself and for my weakness to be praised by the society. I gave every other pleasure to many gentlemen except sleeping with them. I told him that I understood very well the fact that he did not have any objection as long as my every smile fetched him money. I talked about how he tortured me until I descended all those steps after a series of events - the nights that we fought fierce battles with each other in the presence of the children, the occasions when I became a sea and went without food and sleep, the moments my job and influence slowly crept into Shankar’s business deals – Shankar told me decisively that I should take care of my character. He told me to put an end to all the unnecessary smiles, friend and phone calls. He also gave me a concession that I could work if I wanted, otherwise I could sit at home and take care of the children. His business, which was established with all my money including that of P.F. and with the capital of my smiles, had picked up now. It is time that I should look for another mask. I have to see if I can find somewhere my ‘pativrata’ mask which was swept away by my emotional outburst last night. Where can I look for it?….. There were thousand of masks….. masks of several different colours. It would be a problem if I do not get it by tomorrow morning. That mask is necessary for the last role I am going to enact. I do not know where I lost my pativrata mask!…..
- - - - - - - -
Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University
“Who was the one who spoke to Aruna on that day?”
ha
Seeing the box item on the first page Aruna got startlerd and sat straight. That day, after so many days, she was not feeling weak. She had the habit of reading the newspaper in the morning while sipping a cup of coffee. For the past twenty days she had been lying in the bed in a pitiable state without knowing what had been happening in the world. Her eyes began to run along with the letters.
“The story of Aruna who was stabbed and admitted to a hospital is known to the readers. It is learnt that Miss. Aruna, who stays in the working women’s hostel, ‘Mahila Prabanjanam’, on Thursday before going to school made two calls from the adjacent medical shop! The shopkeeper has given us interesting details. He informed us that he remembered every single word uttered by her on phone. According to him, Aruna seems to have called up a person by name ‘Chandra’ and she was said to be angry with him for not coming to see her. She seems to have invited him to come and meet her on Friday evening. The shopkeeper further added that at that time she was wearing a blue dress and looked all dressed up. She is said to be regularly calling up different people from his shop. It is suspected that Miss. Aruna must be having close contacts with the culprit.”
(Interview with Aruna’s colleagues in the next issue…)
On reading this news Aruna suffered from breathlessness…… She hurriedly looked for the next issue. On the first page itself her photo appeared. They must have selected the best one from the album.
“Did Aruna has any connections with different unions?”
Many interesting things have come to light today when our reporter interviewed the school teachrs. Miss. Aruna has a reputation as a good teacher in the school. The students admire her a great deal. But the teachers expressed different views. They said Aruna was a very reserved person. She always goes on attending meetings and conferences without wasting a single minute. She has close connections with a number of voluntary organisations and unions. She spoke at the meeting of the Mahila Mandali held on 6th April. (We will bring you a detailed report tomorrow about the unions that are said to have connections with Aruna).
Aruna started sweating profusely even in that cold weather. She got a feeling that her hands were shivering. She controlled herself and looked around – the hospital familiar to her, the climber, Malathi Lata, peeping through the window, sisters and ward boys going in and out of the next ward – Everything is quite normal. She turned another page with the trembling hands.
‘Did Aruna has any connection with the Radicals?’
She turned another page indifferently, ‘who was the person who had dinner with Aruna that night?’
Another page and another page – Aruna was turning the pages as though her mind went blank.
‘Along with Aruna were there only two people in the room?’
‘In Aruna’s room, besides a cupboard with things arranged neatly and a couple of book shelves a photoframe was seen on the table where beside Aruna’s photograph there was a photograph of a handsome gentleman were seen. It is said that she used to go out with that gentleman quite frequently. It is also learnt that in her room there were some half-finished sweet and snacks kept neatly in small containers. The police are seriously trying to get the information regarding the person who shared with her the food brought from the restaurant adjacent to the guest house.’
Aruna’s head started reeling. Her body, which had not been fully recovered from an operation that she underwent a few days ago, could not bear the shock.
Who was the person who spoke to her on that day? Who was the person who had dinner with her on that day.
Is Aruna a radical?
Innumerable questions kept suffocating Aruna.
‘Oh, God! Why did you get up from your bed Aruna?
‘Oh! You have already started reading all that trash!’ Chandra came running and she took away all those papers. Sitting back Aruna kept on staring at Chandra. ‘Chandra’ was a man! What a terrible description!
‘Aunty, you know what happened! A little while ago your friends came to see you. I did not want to disturb you. So I did not wake you up. Aunty …. you know ….’ When that fourteen years old girl was trying to make her forget about the newspapers, Aruna couldn’t but laugh. Aruna was staring at the round face of the girl and the way she was moving her hands while talking. She could only see her pink lips moving but she couldn’t hear anything. In the meanwhile Bhaskar entered the room carrying bread and fruits.
‘Did I not tell you not to disturb her. She gets tired. Have you already started chatting with her? Your mother is coming behind. Go and see. Let her come as early as possible. Granny is not able to walk. Go and see.”
Bhaskar was keeping the fruits on the shelf.
‘Handsome young man’ ….. Those words were seen running in front of Aruna’s eyes. It is with this handsome youngman she went shopping several times.
‘Aruna dear! How are you feeling today? Are you feeling weak?’ Boundless affection could be felt in that voice. It was his affection for his sister ‘…. Oh God! … How cruel!….’ Without knowing the facts how can they imagine something and publish it just to boost the circulation of their paper? If only they were a little humane ….. If only they tried to know what had really happened… What happened that day?….
* * * * *
It was only that morning she went to music college. She was to give the programme four days later. She must practice it. She closed her eyes and was thinking of the items she would be performing. There was a faint sound. Noises were always heard from the kitchen downstairs. It was a hostel where about five hundred inmates are there. People would always go on doing some work or other. A little latter, when she heard some footsteps she opened her eyes to see who it was. There were two men looking like giants. While one was holding the torch, the other was picking up things. He put in his bag a tape recorder and an alarm time-piece that were on the table. While picking up her hand bag one of them turned back. When he noticed Aruna looking at them he jumped at her at once. She tried to scream for help. That was all. She was stabbed in the hand, in the stomach and around her waist. She could not even moan as they closed her mouth tight. After that attack she opened her eyes only in the hospital. The hostel was poorly maintained. There was no security to the inmates. Even the building was not good this would be the result if they collect hundreds of rupees from the inmates but do not maintain it properly. But how all this was coloured! How can she keep her head high tomorrow? First of all she should know what her family members are thinking about it. Tomorrow, in the school, what explanation would she give!
‘Aruna! Aruna!’
‘What happened to you dear!’
‘Aruna!’
‘Aunty!’
Aruna had already reached the far of lands where those calls and cries could not be reached. It remained a puzzle to them why her blood pressure suddenly shot up so much when she had actually recovered and was gaining normalcy and why her meek heart had suddenly stopped functioning.
“Who was the one who spoke to Aruna on that day?”
ha
Seeing the box item on the first page Aruna got startlerd and sat straight. That day, after so many days, she was not feeling weak. She had the habit of reading the newspaper in the morning while sipping a cup of coffee. For the past twenty days she had been lying in the bed in a pitiable state without knowing what had been happening in the world. Her eyes began to run along with the letters.
“The story of Aruna who was stabbed and admitted to a hospital is known to the readers. It is learnt that Miss. Aruna, who stays in the working women’s hostel, ‘Mahila Prabanjanam’, on Thursday before going to school made two calls from the adjacent medical shop! The shopkeeper has given us interesting details. He informed us that he remembered every single word uttered by her on phone. According to him, Aruna seems to have called up a person by name ‘Chandra’ and she was said to be angry with him for not coming to see her. She seems to have invited him to come and meet her on Friday evening. The shopkeeper further added that at that time she was wearing a blue dress and looked all dressed up. She is said to be regularly calling up different people from his shop. It is suspected that Miss. Aruna must be having close contacts with the culprit.”
(Interview with Aruna’s colleagues in the next issue…)
On reading this news Aruna suffered from breathlessness…… She hurriedly looked for the next issue. On the first page itself her photo appeared. They must have selected the best one from the album.
“Did Aruna has any connections with different unions?”
Many interesting things have come to light today when our reporter interviewed the school teachrs. Miss. Aruna has a reputation as a good teacher in the school. The students admire her a great deal. But the teachers expressed different views. They said Aruna was a very reserved person. She always goes on attending meetings and conferences without wasting a single minute. She has close connections with a number of voluntary organisations and unions. She spoke at the meeting of the Mahila Mandali held on 6th April. (We will bring you a detailed report tomorrow about the unions that are said to have connections with Aruna).
Aruna started sweating profusely even in that cold weather. She got a feeling that her hands were shivering. She controlled herself and looked around – the hospital familiar to her, the climber, Malathi Lata, peeping through the window, sisters and ward boys going in and out of the next ward – Everything is quite normal. She turned another page with the trembling hands.
‘Did Aruna has any connection with the Radicals?’
She turned another page indifferently, ‘who was the person who had dinner with Aruna that night?’
Another page and another page – Aruna was turning the pages as though her mind went blank.
‘Along with Aruna were there only two people in the room?’
‘In Aruna’s room, besides a cupboard with things arranged neatly and a couple of book shelves a photoframe was seen on the table where beside Aruna’s photograph there was a photograph of a handsome gentleman were seen. It is said that she used to go out with that gentleman quite frequently. It is also learnt that in her room there were some half-finished sweet and snacks kept neatly in small containers. The police are seriously trying to get the information regarding the person who shared with her the food brought from the restaurant adjacent to the guest house.’
Aruna’s head started reeling. Her body, which had not been fully recovered from an operation that she underwent a few days ago, could not bear the shock.
Who was the person who spoke to her on that day? Who was the person who had dinner with her on that day.
Is Aruna a radical?
Innumerable questions kept suffocating Aruna.
‘Oh, God! Why did you get up from your bed Aruna?
‘Oh! You have already started reading all that trash!’ Chandra came running and she took away all those papers. Sitting back Aruna kept on staring at Chandra. ‘Chandra’ was a man! What a terrible description!
‘Aunty, you know what happened! A little while ago your friends came to see you. I did not want to disturb you. So I did not wake you up. Aunty …. you know ….’ When that fourteen years old girl was trying to make her forget about the newspapers, Aruna couldn’t but laugh. Aruna was staring at the round face of the girl and the way she was moving her hands while talking. She could only see her pink lips moving but she couldn’t hear anything. In the meanwhile Bhaskar entered the room carrying bread and fruits.
‘Did I not tell you not to disturb her. She gets tired. Have you already started chatting with her? Your mother is coming behind. Go and see. Let her come as early as possible. Granny is not able to walk. Go and see.”
Bhaskar was keeping the fruits on the shelf.
‘Handsome young man’ ….. Those words were seen running in front of Aruna’s eyes. It is with this handsome youngman she went shopping several times.
‘Aruna dear! How are you feeling today? Are you feeling weak?’ Boundless affection could be felt in that voice. It was his affection for his sister ‘…. Oh God! … How cruel!….’ Without knowing the facts how can they imagine something and publish it just to boost the circulation of their paper? If only they were a little humane ….. If only they tried to know what had really happened… What happened that day?….
* * * * *
It was only that morning she went to music college. She was to give the programme four days later. She must practice it. She closed her eyes and was thinking of the items she would be performing. There was a faint sound. Noises were always heard from the kitchen downstairs. It was a hostel where about five hundred inmates are there. People would always go on doing some work or other. A little latter, when she heard some footsteps she opened her eyes to see who it was. There were two men looking like giants. While one was holding the torch, the other was picking up things. He put in his bag a tape recorder and an alarm time-piece that were on the table. While picking up her hand bag one of them turned back. When he noticed Aruna looking at them he jumped at her at once. She tried to scream for help. That was all. She was stabbed in the hand, in the stomach and around her waist. She could not even moan as they closed her mouth tight. After that attack she opened her eyes only in the hospital. The hostel was poorly maintained. There was no security to the inmates. Even the building was not good this would be the result if they collect hundreds of rupees from the inmates but do not maintain it properly. But how all this was coloured! How can she keep her head high tomorrow? First of all she should know what her family members are thinking about it. Tomorrow, in the school, what explanation would she give!
‘Aruna! Aruna!’
‘What happened to you dear!’
‘Aruna!’
‘Aunty!’
Aruna had already reached the far of lands where those calls and cries could not be reached. It remained a puzzle to them why her blood pressure suddenly shot up so much when she had actually recovered and was gaining normalcy and why her meek heart had suddenly stopped functioning.
Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University
“Ammai, why don’t you sleep? How long do you sit like that? What is the use of crying? Lie down and relax a little my dear. I want to come there but the train is moving. I fear I may fall down. Sleep a while Vimala dear.”
Saradamma pleaded.
Vimala who was sitting near the window keeping her head between her knees suddenly lifted her head up. The little coupe was bathed in a dim, blue light. Her mother, father, maternal uncle, brother-in-law and his wife were all sleeping. Saradamma was calling her daughter time and again, pleading with her to sleep.
‘Okay, I’ll sleep’ said Vimala. She stretched her hand and reached for the leather bag that was in a corner. She had a feeling that a new blood was flowing through the fingers that were holding the bag. ‘Is she really grief-stricken as all these people are thinking?’
The rails made a noise as if they were saying ‘I don’t know … I don’t know….’ Vimala turned her head and looked through the glass at the string of lights seen at a distance. Those lights were running so fast that it looked as though they were provoking people to chase them. ‘I wonder what would Yamuna and Sarat be doing at home. Perhaps they are distressed by the death of their father and the misery of their mother…. Perhaps they are watching a cricket match on T.V….’
Vimala felt like laughing. Keeping the bag that was in her hand away on the berth, she lay down and closed her eyes.
The same scene appeared before her eyes, time and again though she doesn’t want it…. The pigeons …. hundreds….. thousands ….. flying freely in the blue sky ….. what a brightness! ……what a freedom!…. the whole world was looking new as if she was looking at it for the first time …..
‘Close those windows ….. what is there to see out over there! …… except the wretched dirt and dust. Go to bed. It’s past ten. What is that oily face? Go and wash it. All that junk food is not good. Eat these fruits. What! You eat them just like that? Don’t you wash them? ….. What? - sitting on the terrace in the moonlight and chatting! It is quite damp…. It’s snowing…. Come inside….Getting drenched in the rain! I hate it …..that slush and water…. Chi…chi….come inside….’
That voice will never command her again. It doesn’t order her saying ‘eat this alone…..drink this alone…..be like this…..’
Vimala opened her eyes with fear. Did she utter anything? Is anyone observing her?
All were sleeping. Vimala sighed. ‘What is this? Why is she thinking like this? The one who passed away is her life partner, Suryam. Her husband….the father of her children. But still she is not heart-broken…. She doesn’t know where all those memories, that haunt her against her wish, are leading her.’
There was a sound of someone moaning softly.
‘Vanaja! See whether the baby is awake?’ – her brother-in-law, Ramakrishna was waking his wife.
‘I’m awake. I got a stiff neck as I had been lying only on one side….’ Vanaja said yawning lazily.
‘When are we going to reach Varanasi?’ she asked him.
‘By tomorrow evening’ he replied.
‘It’s very exasperating. I feel hungry now. I couldn’t eat then. What kind of a food was that? I didn’t like that packed food those insipid curries… By the way, I forgot to ask you….what are you going to give up in Kasi?’
‘Keep your mouth shut and sleep. Foolish questions’ Ramakrishna was irritated.
Vanaja mumbled something.
Vimala felt like laughing.
There was no reason for Ramakrishna to get angry. It was a good question. It is said that after taking a bath in Kasi one should give up something, which he or she likes. What does she like? She doesn’t know. She has no interests of her own any more. The interests of all others have become hers so much so that she does not even know what her own interests are.
Her thoughts were galloping like horses without any reins…..to somewhere and sometime in the past….the incidents that throttled her voice…many….so many.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Probably she was ten years old at that time.
‘Eating rice with mango pickle would be wonderful on a rainy day mother.’
Saradamma was annoyed.
‘Like your face it would be. That chilli does not agree with you at all. You will complain of burning sensation in the stomach. Eat this dal and brinjal curry. It would be delicious if you mix them with Sambar.’
‘Chi… I don’t want that. I’ll eat only mango pickle.’
‘Look at this! What sort of a girl is she? See, how adamant she is. She doesn’t want anything except the pickle. When I made a good curry why do you long for the pickle….eat this…. I say eat this…..’
Then there was no question of watching the rain falling….or eating hot rice with mango pickle….nothing of that sort……. The only thing that she could do was sitting in the closed room with the lights on and eating rice with sambar while putting up with mother’s scoldings…….
Vimala sighed.
I have to go to a botanical tour, father. Everyone has paid up the money. All science students must go. Didn’t brother go last year?…..
‘Perhaps he did. But why do you compare yourself with him. I’ll speak to your Principal. Heavens won’t fall even if you don’t go. Go to our village tomorrow. You can have as many flowers and leaves as you want. Our fields are full of them.’
‘Chi…. I don’t go there. Should I not go to the tour? When everyone is going happily….’
‘Where will you go? Give up your studies. Dirty rascals. Everyone gets smart with me….’
What will happen if the wings of the bird, flying merrily in the sky, are chopped off cruelly?
‘B.Ed. is the best. Teaching is the best profession for women…..’
‘I can’t teach children…. or shall I go for BLIC?
‘Did I not say no?……. Here is the application. How well-mannered and cultured should the daughter of Mr. Yajulu be?…….
‘Yes ….. yes….. daughter of Mr. Yajulu. Great …..chi…..’
Vimala turned to the otherside. A teardrop in her eye shone brightly in the light.
‘He is a government employee. He works in RMS. When he himself came forward to marry you what is your problem?….’
‘That fellow seems to be short-tempered. Unmindful of the new place he scolded his sister and asked his mother to keep quiet. I can’t understand what sort of a person he is…..’
‘What’s wrong if he is a bit short-tempered? How can any human being be without moods or fits of anger. Even I am short-tempered…..what happened to you?… Are you not happy….?’
‘Yes yes…..I’m happy…..how happily I put up with your scolding every hour…..how blissful I’m……’
‘Shut up! Be happy I’m not scolding you every minute. In fact you are spoiling her yourself. The boy is a good match. I’m going to settle this alliance.’
It was over. Even that was over. There were no new pages. Everything was like the same old story.
‘What? You want to quit the job! Why? You have so many holidays that you are always at home. It’s a good pay. To teach the alphabet too is difficult for you!’
‘Do you feel tired to do this little work? My mother used to cook food for ten people in just an hour. You find it difficult even to cook for two people….’
‘What is this habit, dear. Even if you are pregnant, if you eat those sour boondas, that too oil stuff, don’t you fall sick? Make vadas. Eat onion vada. Those sour ones are not good for health….’
‘What? Mango jelly? I have not seen such a thing! Anybody would like to eat sweets and fruits. It seems that mango juice is poured on mats and left in the sun to dry. All the flies and dust….. the very thought of it makes me sick in the stomach.’ Vimala opened her eyes and kept looking at the ceiling.
The train kept on rocking.
It was when Yamuna was in her lap, with her fists closed and her tiny legs swaying……..
‘I wonder how you get such ideas! People will laugh at us if we call our children with Bengali names. Instead of naming them coolly after your father or my father…..’
Vimala felt like laughing. She didn’t remember the name that she liked the most at that time. Yamuna was growing up. She suppressed many of her desires, but her daughter shouldn’t be like her. She should have all freedom.
‘My darling, how nice it would be to apply mehandi to the palms, eat food in the moonlight and swing in the garden. When we were kids we….’
‘No…… It’s boring mummy…..mehandi is out of fashion now….. And mummy, what is that practice of eating food early in the morning instead of sleeping peacefully?. It’s nothing but your superstition…… My God! Spinach – the very thought makes me sick…..’
‘Hey Sarat!…. Have you seen this book?….. You really feel as if you are wandering in Gobi deserts. It’s a great novel by Changis Khan… Read and see….’
‘My God! I can’t mummy. I enjoy listening to pop music instead. In an hour’s time there will be a live telecast of a cricket match from Sharjah. I’m very busy.’
Vimala closed her eyes. They were burning.
There were so many voices around her. As if she couldn’t stand them she closed her ears with her palms. Did she ever experience anything that she liked the most in all these years of her life? Her ideas!, her habits!…..among them what is truly her own? Among them what should she give up? Vimala sighed deeply. She closed her eyes trying hard to sleep.
* * * * * *
‘Amma! Please get down here. Water is shallow here….Yes….now…. you take a holy dip in the sacred Ganga….’
Vimala was observing the surroundings. It was so dirty and repulsive….coal, flowers, saliva…..what not…. The entire place presented a terrible sight. What kind of a holy river it is!….. Taking a holy dip there would give you a disease instead of Punyam.
‘Why are you hesitating Vimala…..take a dip…..How can the Ganga which is a panacea for all sins be dirty….?’
Vimala took the first dip. It left her gasping for breath. Her childhood was not hers. She took the second dip. Her youth was not hers. It belonged to her husband… his wishes… his desires…. his ideas ….. that was all. That was what she experienced. She took a third dip. Her mechanical life and domestic chores – cooking, cleaning, serving, looking after the children, helping them with their homework….that was her lot. She had nothing of her own. She didn’t have anything of her own to give up. Among all these people, whose wishes would she leave in the Ganga? She didn’t have the right to do that. She didn’t have anything of her own to give up.
There was a sound of thousands and thousands of voices laughing around her. ‘It is said that one will have no rebirth if one takes a holy dip in the Ganga. Is it true? Let it be….why does she need another birth which will not be hers anyway.’ Vimala was surrounded by the Ganga….the Ganga that took into her countless sins… It was purling.
‘People are polluting me against my wish. See how I have become….. When I look at myself I can’t but pity myself. Perhaps I would never be clean…. I would always be carrying like this dirt and waste material thrown by others….’
Vimala could hear the sigh of the Ganga.
- - - - - - -
“Ammai, why don’t you sleep? How long do you sit like that? What is the use of crying? Lie down and relax a little my dear. I want to come there but the train is moving. I fear I may fall down. Sleep a while Vimala dear.”
Saradamma pleaded.
Vimala who was sitting near the window keeping her head between her knees suddenly lifted her head up. The little coupe was bathed in a dim, blue light. Her mother, father, maternal uncle, brother-in-law and his wife were all sleeping. Saradamma was calling her daughter time and again, pleading with her to sleep.
‘Okay, I’ll sleep’ said Vimala. She stretched her hand and reached for the leather bag that was in a corner. She had a feeling that a new blood was flowing through the fingers that were holding the bag. ‘Is she really grief-stricken as all these people are thinking?’
The rails made a noise as if they were saying ‘I don’t know … I don’t know….’ Vimala turned her head and looked through the glass at the string of lights seen at a distance. Those lights were running so fast that it looked as though they were provoking people to chase them. ‘I wonder what would Yamuna and Sarat be doing at home. Perhaps they are distressed by the death of their father and the misery of their mother…. Perhaps they are watching a cricket match on T.V….’
Vimala felt like laughing. Keeping the bag that was in her hand away on the berth, she lay down and closed her eyes.
The same scene appeared before her eyes, time and again though she doesn’t want it…. The pigeons …. hundreds….. thousands ….. flying freely in the blue sky ….. what a brightness! ……what a freedom!…. the whole world was looking new as if she was looking at it for the first time …..
‘Close those windows ….. what is there to see out over there! …… except the wretched dirt and dust. Go to bed. It’s past ten. What is that oily face? Go and wash it. All that junk food is not good. Eat these fruits. What! You eat them just like that? Don’t you wash them? ….. What? - sitting on the terrace in the moonlight and chatting! It is quite damp…. It’s snowing…. Come inside….Getting drenched in the rain! I hate it …..that slush and water…. Chi…chi….come inside….’
That voice will never command her again. It doesn’t order her saying ‘eat this alone…..drink this alone…..be like this…..’
Vimala opened her eyes with fear. Did she utter anything? Is anyone observing her?
All were sleeping. Vimala sighed. ‘What is this? Why is she thinking like this? The one who passed away is her life partner, Suryam. Her husband….the father of her children. But still she is not heart-broken…. She doesn’t know where all those memories, that haunt her against her wish, are leading her.’
There was a sound of someone moaning softly.
‘Vanaja! See whether the baby is awake?’ – her brother-in-law, Ramakrishna was waking his wife.
‘I’m awake. I got a stiff neck as I had been lying only on one side….’ Vanaja said yawning lazily.
‘When are we going to reach Varanasi?’ she asked him.
‘By tomorrow evening’ he replied.
‘It’s very exasperating. I feel hungry now. I couldn’t eat then. What kind of a food was that? I didn’t like that packed food those insipid curries… By the way, I forgot to ask you….what are you going to give up in Kasi?’
‘Keep your mouth shut and sleep. Foolish questions’ Ramakrishna was irritated.
Vanaja mumbled something.
Vimala felt like laughing.
There was no reason for Ramakrishna to get angry. It was a good question. It is said that after taking a bath in Kasi one should give up something, which he or she likes. What does she like? She doesn’t know. She has no interests of her own any more. The interests of all others have become hers so much so that she does not even know what her own interests are.
Her thoughts were galloping like horses without any reins…..to somewhere and sometime in the past….the incidents that throttled her voice…many….so many.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Probably she was ten years old at that time.
‘Eating rice with mango pickle would be wonderful on a rainy day mother.’
Saradamma was annoyed.
‘Like your face it would be. That chilli does not agree with you at all. You will complain of burning sensation in the stomach. Eat this dal and brinjal curry. It would be delicious if you mix them with Sambar.’
‘Chi… I don’t want that. I’ll eat only mango pickle.’
‘Look at this! What sort of a girl is she? See, how adamant she is. She doesn’t want anything except the pickle. When I made a good curry why do you long for the pickle….eat this…. I say eat this…..’
Then there was no question of watching the rain falling….or eating hot rice with mango pickle….nothing of that sort……. The only thing that she could do was sitting in the closed room with the lights on and eating rice with sambar while putting up with mother’s scoldings…….
Vimala sighed.
I have to go to a botanical tour, father. Everyone has paid up the money. All science students must go. Didn’t brother go last year?…..
‘Perhaps he did. But why do you compare yourself with him. I’ll speak to your Principal. Heavens won’t fall even if you don’t go. Go to our village tomorrow. You can have as many flowers and leaves as you want. Our fields are full of them.’
‘Chi…. I don’t go there. Should I not go to the tour? When everyone is going happily….’
‘Where will you go? Give up your studies. Dirty rascals. Everyone gets smart with me….’
What will happen if the wings of the bird, flying merrily in the sky, are chopped off cruelly?
‘B.Ed. is the best. Teaching is the best profession for women…..’
‘I can’t teach children…. or shall I go for BLIC?
‘Did I not say no?……. Here is the application. How well-mannered and cultured should the daughter of Mr. Yajulu be?…….
‘Yes ….. yes….. daughter of Mr. Yajulu. Great …..chi…..’
Vimala turned to the otherside. A teardrop in her eye shone brightly in the light.
‘He is a government employee. He works in RMS. When he himself came forward to marry you what is your problem?….’
‘That fellow seems to be short-tempered. Unmindful of the new place he scolded his sister and asked his mother to keep quiet. I can’t understand what sort of a person he is…..’
‘What’s wrong if he is a bit short-tempered? How can any human being be without moods or fits of anger. Even I am short-tempered…..what happened to you?… Are you not happy….?’
‘Yes yes…..I’m happy…..how happily I put up with your scolding every hour…..how blissful I’m……’
‘Shut up! Be happy I’m not scolding you every minute. In fact you are spoiling her yourself. The boy is a good match. I’m going to settle this alliance.’
It was over. Even that was over. There were no new pages. Everything was like the same old story.
‘What? You want to quit the job! Why? You have so many holidays that you are always at home. It’s a good pay. To teach the alphabet too is difficult for you!’
‘Do you feel tired to do this little work? My mother used to cook food for ten people in just an hour. You find it difficult even to cook for two people….’
‘What is this habit, dear. Even if you are pregnant, if you eat those sour boondas, that too oil stuff, don’t you fall sick? Make vadas. Eat onion vada. Those sour ones are not good for health….’
‘What? Mango jelly? I have not seen such a thing! Anybody would like to eat sweets and fruits. It seems that mango juice is poured on mats and left in the sun to dry. All the flies and dust….. the very thought of it makes me sick in the stomach.’ Vimala opened her eyes and kept looking at the ceiling.
The train kept on rocking.
It was when Yamuna was in her lap, with her fists closed and her tiny legs swaying……..
‘I wonder how you get such ideas! People will laugh at us if we call our children with Bengali names. Instead of naming them coolly after your father or my father…..’
Vimala felt like laughing. She didn’t remember the name that she liked the most at that time. Yamuna was growing up. She suppressed many of her desires, but her daughter shouldn’t be like her. She should have all freedom.
‘My darling, how nice it would be to apply mehandi to the palms, eat food in the moonlight and swing in the garden. When we were kids we….’
‘No…… It’s boring mummy…..mehandi is out of fashion now….. And mummy, what is that practice of eating food early in the morning instead of sleeping peacefully?. It’s nothing but your superstition…… My God! Spinach – the very thought makes me sick…..’
‘Hey Sarat!…. Have you seen this book?….. You really feel as if you are wandering in Gobi deserts. It’s a great novel by Changis Khan… Read and see….’
‘My God! I can’t mummy. I enjoy listening to pop music instead. In an hour’s time there will be a live telecast of a cricket match from Sharjah. I’m very busy.’
Vimala closed her eyes. They were burning.
There were so many voices around her. As if she couldn’t stand them she closed her ears with her palms. Did she ever experience anything that she liked the most in all these years of her life? Her ideas!, her habits!…..among them what is truly her own? Among them what should she give up? Vimala sighed deeply. She closed her eyes trying hard to sleep.
* * * * * *
‘Amma! Please get down here. Water is shallow here….Yes….now…. you take a holy dip in the sacred Ganga….’
Vimala was observing the surroundings. It was so dirty and repulsive….coal, flowers, saliva…..what not…. The entire place presented a terrible sight. What kind of a holy river it is!….. Taking a holy dip there would give you a disease instead of Punyam.
‘Why are you hesitating Vimala…..take a dip…..How can the Ganga which is a panacea for all sins be dirty….?’
Vimala took the first dip. It left her gasping for breath. Her childhood was not hers. She took the second dip. Her youth was not hers. It belonged to her husband… his wishes… his desires…. his ideas ….. that was all. That was what she experienced. She took a third dip. Her mechanical life and domestic chores – cooking, cleaning, serving, looking after the children, helping them with their homework….that was her lot. She had nothing of her own. She didn’t have anything of her own to give up. Among all these people, whose wishes would she leave in the Ganga? She didn’t have the right to do that. She didn’t have anything of her own to give up.
There was a sound of thousands and thousands of voices laughing around her. ‘It is said that one will have no rebirth if one takes a holy dip in the Ganga. Is it true? Let it be….why does she need another birth which will not be hers anyway.’ Vimala was surrounded by the Ganga….the Ganga that took into her countless sins… It was purling.
‘People are polluting me against my wish. See how I have become….. When I look at myself I can’t but pity myself. Perhaps I would never be clean…. I would always be carrying like this dirt and waste material thrown by others….’
Vimala could hear the sigh of the Ganga.
- - - - - - -
Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University
‘Don’t give it another thought madam! It’s indeed a good decision.’
Revathi smiled.
‘Thank you Anand. I too think so. I’ll have to face many personal problems with the transfer now. Moreover, the present offer doesn’t seem to be the one to be ignored. Since it deals only with sales, if marketing is done carefully, that would be enough…’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you madam. It’s a good company. The returns will be very encouraging.’
Revathi nodded her head in agreement.
Anand rose to his feet.
‘Anyway, all the best madam! I’ll be meeting you again only next week. This week I’m going on a tour. I just can’t imagine the office without you. But you’ll have a bright future there.’ Saying so Anand took leave of her.
The paper weight that was spun by Revathi was spinning around on the table. The telex machine was a making a noise. The room had been familiar to her for eight years. It was a spacious, cool and cozy room, very convenient to work. She wouldn’t be sitting there alone writing the bills anymore. In a much bigger corporate office the whole administration would be under her control. Revathi’s lips spread with a smile. She stretched herself. Through the glass partition the packing division on the other side could be seen. Near a table in one corner Mrs. Rattamma, an elderly lady, was cutting the pad at a great speed. How quick her hands work! How agile the hands of a woman could be!
‘Yes! It’s a challenge to me!
Just as you acquire new blood and improve health when you donate blood, you improve your horizon as you interact with new people. It would be a real change.
Revathi pulled out the drawer, picked up her purse and locked it pushing it back. Leaving the keys on the table she came out. It was very pleasant outside. It looked as though it was going to rain. Revathi was highly excited.
The agony she had suffered for the past four days simply vanished. Now she needn’t go to another town taking the baby with her. Chandram, the baby and she could remain together. The cool breeze brushing her cheeks appeared to her as if it was sharing her happiness.
Her new job ……… with plenty of scope for quick promotions …… a good salary and a beautiful house…….
* * * * * *
‘Oh Lord! You didn’t tell this to everyone, did you?!
Revathi frowned.
‘Won’t they know if I don’t go to office tomorrow? Don’t I go there to resign?’
‘That’s what I say! Don’t entertain any such foolish ideas! Go to your office tomorrow as usual. Don’t think of anything else.’
‘May I ask you, why?’
‘Don’t ask me any further questions. You want to quit a good job and …….’
‘Good for whom? Do you think it’s a good thing for me to go to another town and live there all alone?’
Chandram’s face reddened with raze. He flung away the paper he held in his hand ……
‘I can’t answer you. You do whatever you like.’
‘Oh God! I don’t know what makes you so furious! If I decline the transfer, then I’ll have to forego my increment and remain in that cabin forever. This new job is also good, isn’t it?’
‘Stop it …… Do you think it is a good job? Instead of sitting in your room comfortably and doing your work without anybody’s interference, do you wish to rule the world? Will the heavens fall if you don’t get the increments and promotions?’
‘Did you not go on strike last year when your increment was stopped?’
‘That is different…. this is different……. We get satisfaction in this job. You needn’t step out of your office. You can lead a respectable life.’
‘Leading a respectable life to you means not having to interact with men. Am I right? There will not be any danger to my chastity, right?’
Chandram looked at Revathi with all hatredness…..
‘It seems that you have a desire to work with men! It’s a shame!’
The enraged Chandram rose to his feet hastily, put on his shirt and walked out slamming the door behind him. Revathi felt as if that bang hit her right on the heart. The noise startled the baby who was fast asleep in her cot and she let out a frightened cry. Revathi put her to sleep again. The child was eight months old. The fair and healthy baby, who had always resembled Chandram, for the first time appeared to Revathi as just a beautiful baby with no features of Chandram. ‘Everything depends on our own imagination.’
The baby was again fast asleep. Revathi using her feet slowly and gradually brought the rocking cradle to a halt so that the baby was not disturbed. Did she know how to do these things earlier? After the baby was born, as it grew it also learnt to recognise the touch of its mother and the careful nursing done by her. That made Revathi understand day by day what makes the baby happy and comfortable. That was not the only thing. There were so many other things that she had learnt. She transformed herself into a young lady under the supervision of her mother and grandmother. She stopped jumping and running. In their opinion Revathi was a well-behaved and dignified girl who climbed all the steps of college and university and made her parents proud by winning many medals.
She was the one who allowed Chandram to tie the marital knot by bowing her head and holding on to his little finger she entered the in-laws’ place. Since then, she had been living there without causing any problem to anybody. She learnt all these things from experience. She gained all this experience by following the divine principle, ‘Don’t hurt others’. But all the while she never felt hurt herself. On the contrary, she felt happy for making everyone else happy. She bowed down humbly to all those forces that controlled her without her knowledge.
She always sought comfort from the thought that she was a free bird and a working woman who had her own individuality. This was the inner faith that made her withstand everything. But when the reigns of this freedom started pulling her hard, she realised who really controlled her life, both her private as well as public life. The clock struck twelve. Mechanically Revathi’s legs led her towards the kitchen. The baby would be waking up. It was time to feed her. Her hands started working mechanically. In a bowl she mixed a little dal, rice and chopped carrots, potatoes and tomatoes and put the bowl in the pressure cooker. Taking out the coffee-filter she put some coffee powder into it and poured boiled water in it. The fine tuned ears of Revathi could sense the drip-drop of the coffee into the empty lower compartment. How nice it would be to have a cup of coffee now! The mind put forward the suggestion. Revathi at once kept the milk, sugar and the cup ready. Filter…. the life that is filtered for her …..the life that is made ready after it is boiled and cooled……someone is giving her a pure life, packed without any side effects and making sure that she does not go astray. Has she desired all this? Revathi shook her head twice.
No, she never wished for anything. In fact she never thought of anything. She was just living like that. Within the boundaries laid by someone she was very cautiously living. She was living the life that was designed by someone else. In this life there was no role of her nor could she take pride in it. Revathi did not feel like having filter-coffee. She smiled to herself while placing the lid on the milk pot….. ‘How mechanical life is! It is just like a programme that is fed into the computer without a single mistake. It is an accurate statistical report.’
She heard somebody calling from the window. She came to the drawing room. It was Vasu. All of them stopped knocking at the door and ringing the bell so as not to wake the baby from her sleep. The baby did not yet come under anybody’s control.
As she opened the door she asked him ‘How is she?’
Vasu flung his briefcase into the sofa irritatingly.
‘No, this match does not suit us’, said Vasu while taking off his shoes.
Revathi was surprised. Lalitha is such a nice girl who cannot be found fault with. She knew her right from her childhood. Her sister Rama was her classmate. Lalitha is a great beauty. She is a great singer and earning well too.
‘What is the matter Vasu? She is a beautiful girl. Moreover all her people like you too.’
Vasu looked at his sister-in-law embarrassingly.
‘That girl is very fast. She is always busy with her programmes and press meets. She is not like you. Though you are highly educated you are more like an ordinary house wife.’
Revathi was astonished.
‘It seems she was offered a job in Nrytya Kshetra. It was a very good offer indeed. But she did not like it. It was a perfect job with a specified number of working hours. One could be free after those hours….. Actually it seems she does not like to take up a regular job. She rather enjoys giving programmes. We do not like it….’
‘If she gives programmes what is our problem? There is a team manager. He has been there with her for a longtime. He takes care of everything. She need not do anything except designing the programme and practising it…..’
Vasu conveyed his disagreement with a shake of his head.
‘You know it. I want a peaceful life. You know the nature of my job too, don’t you? I am always busy going on tours. Al least the other person should be in a less demanding job to take care of the home’, said Vasu and went to the bathroom taking a towel.
Revathi slowly walked into her room.
On the table, a small slip was fluttering. It was the list she made last night – the list of provisions to be bought. It included everything right from safety pins to coffee powder. When she thought of how she had been tamed in the course of all those years she could not but laugh to herself.
‘You cannot go to the market. You are allergic to dust. You have no time for shopping. The transactions at the bank would be difficult for you. Don’t bother, you take rest. You can watch T.V. On Sunday do not fix up any programme. Do not think of visiting your friends. You can tidy up the house. You can starch your sarees. You can cook good food and take rest to catch up with the week long tiredness.’
But who takes rest in reality? Sunday is in fact more tiring than a working day with all the cleaning, cooking and looking after the children. This is the rest she gets! …… Did she know any other place except her office and home? Does she know anything else other than going to films and market riding pillion to Chandram?
Revathi threw the list in the dust bin. Chandram seemed to have come. She could hear his voice from the living room. Revathi went into the kitchen and wanted to switch on the rice-cooker. But she could not find the two-in-one plug. She looked for it on the shelf. The kitchen was neatly arranged. Everything was in its place. Everything was at hand, very convenient for cooking. Her mother would always say the kitchen looked the best in the entire house. Chandram liked the house to be spick and span. To have a single child, to laugh gently, to walk gracefully – these were the things Chandram liked.’ She always followed them. The qualities that were natural to her like – running to the door to pick up the newspaper in the morning, burst out laughing for every small joke, reacting extremely to every passion and pleasure – no longer existed. Her mother was pleasantly surprised. She said ‘how nice you have become!’…..Wrong, she should have said, ‘how nice you were tamed!’ How is she now? Revathi looked out through the window. There was a caterpillar crawling on the kidney-bean creeper as slowly, meekly and methodically as Chandram would like women to be. Every now and then it would lift its head up to look at itself. It was exactly the way she changed herself by constant monitoring. It was moving forward with all satisfaction exactly the way she did….. Revathi could not find the two-in-one plug - ‘It should be here itself. If it is found both the rice cooker and the grinder can be operated simultaneously. It is like how she has been used for both the office work and the household chores. She is a two-in-one or a three-in-one in Chandram’s hands. If she is made to put on a nighty she can be placed in the bed room. She will be useful for romance. If she is made to wear a cotton saree she cooks food and attends to all the domestic chores. If she is made to wear an ironed saree and helped into a cycle rickshaw she goes to office obediently and sitting in her cabin without being affected by any virus does her office work. And what more, she brings money too….’ Wow! At last Revathi could lay her hands on the plug. She threw it away to a corner and plugged in the grinder directly. The grinder started working with a deafening noise. Chandram’s sighs of irritation could be heard. He came to her.
‘Oh! You are here! Are you still angry with me dear?….’
He tried to make peace with her.
‘Why should I be angry with you?’ said Revathi trying to tidy up the spoons and ladles though it was not needed.
‘You know, I shouted at you for no reason. Please try to understand me….. It is all for your good, isn’t it?….. You can jolly well finish the work at home and reach the office by 10 O’ clock and be back at home by five punctually…’
‘But I have to undergo a lot of tension in the office. You know how hard I have to work! In the new job these problems are not there. I’ll have only field work and I will have many subordinates…..’ said Revathi looking at Chandram.
Chandram’s face again showed signs of anger.
‘You will be alone in those camps, conferences and hotels. You have to counsel people. It might set tongues wagging.
Revathi’s face became red. ‘What do they wag? Why do they do it? Vasu is doing a similar job as marketing officer for ten years now. He earns twenty thousand rupees a month. Isn’t everyone praising him?’
‘He is a man….’
Revathi flung away the spoons she had in her hand. Making a sharp noise the spoons fell all over the kitchen. She stood still for a moment to gain control over the shivering body. ‘An instrement…… a tool ……’ she flew into a fury. ‘She is not a tool. This has to be made clear. She has already delayed it for long. That’s all.’
‘I am going to take up my new job tomorrow….’
- - - - - - -
‘Don’t give it another thought madam! It’s indeed a good decision.’
Revathi smiled.
‘Thank you Anand. I too think so. I’ll have to face many personal problems with the transfer now. Moreover, the present offer doesn’t seem to be the one to be ignored. Since it deals only with sales, if marketing is done carefully, that would be enough…’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you madam. It’s a good company. The returns will be very encouraging.’
Revathi nodded her head in agreement.
Anand rose to his feet.
‘Anyway, all the best madam! I’ll be meeting you again only next week. This week I’m going on a tour. I just can’t imagine the office without you. But you’ll have a bright future there.’ Saying so Anand took leave of her.
The paper weight that was spun by Revathi was spinning around on the table. The telex machine was a making a noise. The room had been familiar to her for eight years. It was a spacious, cool and cozy room, very convenient to work. She wouldn’t be sitting there alone writing the bills anymore. In a much bigger corporate office the whole administration would be under her control. Revathi’s lips spread with a smile. She stretched herself. Through the glass partition the packing division on the other side could be seen. Near a table in one corner Mrs. Rattamma, an elderly lady, was cutting the pad at a great speed. How quick her hands work! How agile the hands of a woman could be!
‘Yes! It’s a challenge to me!
Just as you acquire new blood and improve health when you donate blood, you improve your horizon as you interact with new people. It would be a real change.
Revathi pulled out the drawer, picked up her purse and locked it pushing it back. Leaving the keys on the table she came out. It was very pleasant outside. It looked as though it was going to rain. Revathi was highly excited.
The agony she had suffered for the past four days simply vanished. Now she needn’t go to another town taking the baby with her. Chandram, the baby and she could remain together. The cool breeze brushing her cheeks appeared to her as if it was sharing her happiness.
Her new job ……… with plenty of scope for quick promotions …… a good salary and a beautiful house…….
* * * * * *
‘Oh Lord! You didn’t tell this to everyone, did you?!
Revathi frowned.
‘Won’t they know if I don’t go to office tomorrow? Don’t I go there to resign?’
‘That’s what I say! Don’t entertain any such foolish ideas! Go to your office tomorrow as usual. Don’t think of anything else.’
‘May I ask you, why?’
‘Don’t ask me any further questions. You want to quit a good job and …….’
‘Good for whom? Do you think it’s a good thing for me to go to another town and live there all alone?’
Chandram’s face reddened with raze. He flung away the paper he held in his hand ……
‘I can’t answer you. You do whatever you like.’
‘Oh God! I don’t know what makes you so furious! If I decline the transfer, then I’ll have to forego my increment and remain in that cabin forever. This new job is also good, isn’t it?’
‘Stop it …… Do you think it is a good job? Instead of sitting in your room comfortably and doing your work without anybody’s interference, do you wish to rule the world? Will the heavens fall if you don’t get the increments and promotions?’
‘Did you not go on strike last year when your increment was stopped?’
‘That is different…. this is different……. We get satisfaction in this job. You needn’t step out of your office. You can lead a respectable life.’
‘Leading a respectable life to you means not having to interact with men. Am I right? There will not be any danger to my chastity, right?’
Chandram looked at Revathi with all hatredness…..
‘It seems that you have a desire to work with men! It’s a shame!’
The enraged Chandram rose to his feet hastily, put on his shirt and walked out slamming the door behind him. Revathi felt as if that bang hit her right on the heart. The noise startled the baby who was fast asleep in her cot and she let out a frightened cry. Revathi put her to sleep again. The child was eight months old. The fair and healthy baby, who had always resembled Chandram, for the first time appeared to Revathi as just a beautiful baby with no features of Chandram. ‘Everything depends on our own imagination.’
The baby was again fast asleep. Revathi using her feet slowly and gradually brought the rocking cradle to a halt so that the baby was not disturbed. Did she know how to do these things earlier? After the baby was born, as it grew it also learnt to recognise the touch of its mother and the careful nursing done by her. That made Revathi understand day by day what makes the baby happy and comfortable. That was not the only thing. There were so many other things that she had learnt. She transformed herself into a young lady under the supervision of her mother and grandmother. She stopped jumping and running. In their opinion Revathi was a well-behaved and dignified girl who climbed all the steps of college and university and made her parents proud by winning many medals.
She was the one who allowed Chandram to tie the marital knot by bowing her head and holding on to his little finger she entered the in-laws’ place. Since then, she had been living there without causing any problem to anybody. She learnt all these things from experience. She gained all this experience by following the divine principle, ‘Don’t hurt others’. But all the while she never felt hurt herself. On the contrary, she felt happy for making everyone else happy. She bowed down humbly to all those forces that controlled her without her knowledge.
She always sought comfort from the thought that she was a free bird and a working woman who had her own individuality. This was the inner faith that made her withstand everything. But when the reigns of this freedom started pulling her hard, she realised who really controlled her life, both her private as well as public life. The clock struck twelve. Mechanically Revathi’s legs led her towards the kitchen. The baby would be waking up. It was time to feed her. Her hands started working mechanically. In a bowl she mixed a little dal, rice and chopped carrots, potatoes and tomatoes and put the bowl in the pressure cooker. Taking out the coffee-filter she put some coffee powder into it and poured boiled water in it. The fine tuned ears of Revathi could sense the drip-drop of the coffee into the empty lower compartment. How nice it would be to have a cup of coffee now! The mind put forward the suggestion. Revathi at once kept the milk, sugar and the cup ready. Filter…. the life that is filtered for her …..the life that is made ready after it is boiled and cooled……someone is giving her a pure life, packed without any side effects and making sure that she does not go astray. Has she desired all this? Revathi shook her head twice.
No, she never wished for anything. In fact she never thought of anything. She was just living like that. Within the boundaries laid by someone she was very cautiously living. She was living the life that was designed by someone else. In this life there was no role of her nor could she take pride in it. Revathi did not feel like having filter-coffee. She smiled to herself while placing the lid on the milk pot….. ‘How mechanical life is! It is just like a programme that is fed into the computer without a single mistake. It is an accurate statistical report.’
She heard somebody calling from the window. She came to the drawing room. It was Vasu. All of them stopped knocking at the door and ringing the bell so as not to wake the baby from her sleep. The baby did not yet come under anybody’s control.
As she opened the door she asked him ‘How is she?’
Vasu flung his briefcase into the sofa irritatingly.
‘No, this match does not suit us’, said Vasu while taking off his shoes.
Revathi was surprised. Lalitha is such a nice girl who cannot be found fault with. She knew her right from her childhood. Her sister Rama was her classmate. Lalitha is a great beauty. She is a great singer and earning well too.
‘What is the matter Vasu? She is a beautiful girl. Moreover all her people like you too.’
Vasu looked at his sister-in-law embarrassingly.
‘That girl is very fast. She is always busy with her programmes and press meets. She is not like you. Though you are highly educated you are more like an ordinary house wife.’
Revathi was astonished.
‘It seems she was offered a job in Nrytya Kshetra. It was a very good offer indeed. But she did not like it. It was a perfect job with a specified number of working hours. One could be free after those hours….. Actually it seems she does not like to take up a regular job. She rather enjoys giving programmes. We do not like it….’
‘If she gives programmes what is our problem? There is a team manager. He has been there with her for a longtime. He takes care of everything. She need not do anything except designing the programme and practising it…..’
Vasu conveyed his disagreement with a shake of his head.
‘You know it. I want a peaceful life. You know the nature of my job too, don’t you? I am always busy going on tours. Al least the other person should be in a less demanding job to take care of the home’, said Vasu and went to the bathroom taking a towel.
Revathi slowly walked into her room.
On the table, a small slip was fluttering. It was the list she made last night – the list of provisions to be bought. It included everything right from safety pins to coffee powder. When she thought of how she had been tamed in the course of all those years she could not but laugh to herself.
‘You cannot go to the market. You are allergic to dust. You have no time for shopping. The transactions at the bank would be difficult for you. Don’t bother, you take rest. You can watch T.V. On Sunday do not fix up any programme. Do not think of visiting your friends. You can tidy up the house. You can starch your sarees. You can cook good food and take rest to catch up with the week long tiredness.’
But who takes rest in reality? Sunday is in fact more tiring than a working day with all the cleaning, cooking and looking after the children. This is the rest she gets! …… Did she know any other place except her office and home? Does she know anything else other than going to films and market riding pillion to Chandram?
Revathi threw the list in the dust bin. Chandram seemed to have come. She could hear his voice from the living room. Revathi went into the kitchen and wanted to switch on the rice-cooker. But she could not find the two-in-one plug. She looked for it on the shelf. The kitchen was neatly arranged. Everything was in its place. Everything was at hand, very convenient for cooking. Her mother would always say the kitchen looked the best in the entire house. Chandram liked the house to be spick and span. To have a single child, to laugh gently, to walk gracefully – these were the things Chandram liked.’ She always followed them. The qualities that were natural to her like – running to the door to pick up the newspaper in the morning, burst out laughing for every small joke, reacting extremely to every passion and pleasure – no longer existed. Her mother was pleasantly surprised. She said ‘how nice you have become!’…..Wrong, she should have said, ‘how nice you were tamed!’ How is she now? Revathi looked out through the window. There was a caterpillar crawling on the kidney-bean creeper as slowly, meekly and methodically as Chandram would like women to be. Every now and then it would lift its head up to look at itself. It was exactly the way she changed herself by constant monitoring. It was moving forward with all satisfaction exactly the way she did….. Revathi could not find the two-in-one plug - ‘It should be here itself. If it is found both the rice cooker and the grinder can be operated simultaneously. It is like how she has been used for both the office work and the household chores. She is a two-in-one or a three-in-one in Chandram’s hands. If she is made to put on a nighty she can be placed in the bed room. She will be useful for romance. If she is made to wear a cotton saree she cooks food and attends to all the domestic chores. If she is made to wear an ironed saree and helped into a cycle rickshaw she goes to office obediently and sitting in her cabin without being affected by any virus does her office work. And what more, she brings money too….’ Wow! At last Revathi could lay her hands on the plug. She threw it away to a corner and plugged in the grinder directly. The grinder started working with a deafening noise. Chandram’s sighs of irritation could be heard. He came to her.
‘Oh! You are here! Are you still angry with me dear?….’
He tried to make peace with her.
‘Why should I be angry with you?’ said Revathi trying to tidy up the spoons and ladles though it was not needed.
‘You know, I shouted at you for no reason. Please try to understand me….. It is all for your good, isn’t it?….. You can jolly well finish the work at home and reach the office by 10 O’ clock and be back at home by five punctually…’
‘But I have to undergo a lot of tension in the office. You know how hard I have to work! In the new job these problems are not there. I’ll have only field work and I will have many subordinates…..’ said Revathi looking at Chandram.
Chandram’s face again showed signs of anger.
‘You will be alone in those camps, conferences and hotels. You have to counsel people. It might set tongues wagging.
Revathi’s face became red. ‘What do they wag? Why do they do it? Vasu is doing a similar job as marketing officer for ten years now. He earns twenty thousand rupees a month. Isn’t everyone praising him?’
‘He is a man….’
Revathi flung away the spoons she had in her hand. Making a sharp noise the spoons fell all over the kitchen. She stood still for a moment to gain control over the shivering body. ‘An instrement…… a tool ……’ she flew into a fury. ‘She is not a tool. This has to be made clear. She has already delayed it for long. That’s all.’
‘I am going to take up my new job tomorrow….’
- - - - - - -
Translated from Telugu by Dr. Haribandi Lakshmi, EFL University
“Your latest novel ‘Kiss Kiss’ has robbed my heart of. Any thought of my sexual life with my husband all the years makes me vomit. I wonder how I lived all these years with a dimwit who does not know any passion or pleasure. How do I get liberated from this life now? Please let me know immediately….”.
Suvarcala
Kakinada
‘I am glad that at least now you have realized what a dimwit he is. But you do not have to worry. In my next novel I am going to suggest a thousand tips to such sanyasis which would help them understand that life is a kick. Follow them ….’
Sundaram tossed that book away with an uncontrollable rage.
‘Follow them! My foot! Am I a dimwit? Does he think I am a sanyasi? Your clamor for fame is idiotic! If you give my name with full address how can I hold my head high tomorrow in the office? ….’
As mentioned in ‘three tips for a beautiful face’ Suvarcala gave her face a mask of cucumber. She applied tomato juice to the neck and arms and was sitting there quietly to allow them to dry up. She did not speak. She just opened her eyes to see in which direction went the magazine that was flung by Sundaram. It was not possible to pick up a quarrel with him at that moment. She only signalled to him that if she moved the cucumber pieces would fall off.
‘What a disgrace! …. You wrote everything about me - my name, place, house number and the job, just because you have a pen in your hand and made me a fool. How could you do that to me? How can I hold my head high in the office?’
Holding his head with his hands Sundaram slumped onto the sofa. Sarabh who was already there in the sofa screamed. And Sundaram who fell on him without noticing him screamed even louder. All this happened in a split second.
‘What is this? Why did you not go to school?’ asked the surprised Sundaram. Sarabh just showed his hand towards Suvarcala without moving even an inch and remained in the same position.
‘What happened to you dear?’
‘At school everybody started teasing me. They called me ‘a mad cap’. Even my teacher ….’
Sarabh’s voice choked with grief. ‘What? They called you mad!’ exclaimed Sundaram with his mouth wide open.
Sarabh gave his father a long look. He picked up the latest edition of a weekly magazine and handed it to him.
Sundaram turned the pages of it hurriedly. Under the column ‘Suggestions to remedy madness of all kinds.’ Sarabh’s photo with the following question was found.
‘Doctor! His behaviour is always strange. He does things, which you ask him not to do. He neither knows anything himself, nor listens to others. Do you think this is madness?’ This was Suvarcala’s question. Under it,
‘Certainly it is madness! At once consult at our hospital. If you don’t he might start biting everyone’ – this reply with his school address was given.
When he was sure that his father had gone through it Sarabh looked at his father most pitiably as if to ask ‘What do you say now, Dad?’, which melted his father’s heart.
‘It seems there is madness in my very name itself. My teacher told me’ said Sarabh with a sobbing face.
‘Who said that? Did she not read the serial ‘Assarabha Sarabha’, which entranced the readers for three long years? Oh lord! … People have no taste….’ Said Suvarcala. She took off the cucumber pieces from her face, as it was five minutes then.
Sundaram had no energy to shout at her. He said mournfully, ‘How do you expect us to go out if you do all such foolish things? Your letters paint him as a mad fellow and me, as a spineless fellow. You tell us yourself what we have to do now?’
‘Do not put such a mournful face. I hate it. You read the book, ‘Why are you scared to go out’ written by Kasa. All your fears will vanish’ said Suvarcala angrily.
‘Daddy, I think I will change my name to Subba Rao as many people have that name, I hope I will not be called a mad fellow then’ said their darling son.
Sundaram’s heart melted with pity.
But it solidified immediately with Suvarcala’s loud question, ‘Are you coming to have breakfast or not?’ Sundaram lifted his head up, looked at his father sympathetically and said, ‘First you go and have it daddy. If it is good then you call me.’
‘Why, any new dish again?’ asked the frightened father.
‘Come on. Are you coming? It is already late by a minute now. I have to take my breakfast at 10 sharp’.
Sitting at the dining table Sundaram asked her, ‘What is this? You have not cooked anything yet.’
‘Who said I did not cook?’ Suvarcala expressed her astonishment. On a plate there were neatly chopped round slices of tamatoes, onions, cucumber, lime and the like, sprinkled with coriander leaves.
‘What is this?’ Asked Sundaram who was startled as if he was bitten by a scorpion.
‘Don’t get frightened for everything foolishly. It will only spoil your health. To remain tension-free and peaceful we have to eat plain vegetarian food….’
Sundaram let out a startled cry.
‘You mean we have to eat these things and remain tension-free. Do we have to eat these alone all the three times a day?’, Sundaram asked her with a grim face.
‘Why not? ….. Of course you will also eat two chapathies’, said Suvarcala eating the chopped vegetables heartily.
‘Don’t you make idly or upma for breakfast hereafter?’ asked Sundaram feeling depressed.
‘Don’t ever mention them. Those are very rich in calories. You have already got a potbelly by eating all such stuff. Look at yourself. You used to be thin like a bird five years ago. Now you have become a cylinder’ said Suvarcala while eating the carrot slices.
Sundarama swallowed the affront.
‘I cann’t eat this stuff. Please spare me! Is this the food for Sarabham too?’
Suvarcala’s face changed its colours. ‘What is Sarabham like Gardhabam? (Donkey) Said Suvarcala annoyingly.
‘Daddy, our neighbour, Mr. Lokanadham has come. He is very angry, I don’t know why. He wants to speak to you urgently’, said Sarabh.
‘Angry! What for?’ Sundaram slowly rose to his feet.
Mr. Lokanadham was standing in the hall and looked very serious.
‘Why are you standing? Please be seated’ said Sundaram with all respect.
‘No need. You talk very politely with a sweet smile but stab in the back…. We are not used to such things’ said Lokanadham with a frown.
Sundaram was puzzled. He looked at him in utter confusion.
‘We are neighbours, all right. If you like, you talk to us, otherwise don’t. But, is it fair to publish our names in the newspapers? ---’ said Lokanadham throwing a newspaper at him.
‘What happened?’, said Sundaram faintly.
‘You see it yourself’, saying so he walked away with vigorous strides.
Horrified, Sundaram opened the paper. Under the caption ‘Ideal husband Lokanadham’ there was an essay. All the details were written there – how good a cook Lokanadham was and now cleanly he washes the dishes. Suvacala wrote an excellent essay explaining what all women can achieve if there were husbands as cooperative as Lokanadham.
Sundaram was over-whelmed with both rage and laughter. He said ‘What hell have you done Suvarcala? How does it concern you whether he cooks food or washes the dishes? Do you think they keep quiet if you get all that published in a newspaper?’
Suvarcala, who had finished her breakfast by then, looked at him sharply and said seriously, ‘What is this? You neither do it nor do you approve somebody who does it. How can one stand such a suspicious creature?’
‘Oh God! A suspicious creature! If you make his biography public along with the photographs, do you think he will keep quiet? Is he a brother of Lord Buddha to be above pain and pleasure?’ said Sundaram wiping the sweat.
‘Why should he be angry? What sin have I committed? Is it the privilege of women alone to cook food and wash the dishes? Anybody can do these petty jobs. Yours is a demon’s life …. You say you don’t know how to do these things and leave your coffee cup too here and there. One has to be born blessed for anything. Look at Lokanadham’s wife! How happy and healthy she is!’ said Suvarcala with tears.
‘So what? Do you want me too to cook food and mop the floor?’ shouted Sundaram.
‘Why not? It is not a difficult job. Have I been doing them right from my birth? When I was studying in the college how glamorous I used to be! How many love letters did I receive! You yourself wrote a thousand and odd love letters, but of course with many mistakes. I had such a glamorous life, hadn’t I? By the way, the word glamour reminds me that it is 10.30 now. It is time to take a glass of fruit juice without sugar. Wait, I will come….’
‘Oh Lord! I can’t reason with her!’ saying so Sundaram fell back.
‘True, indeed! You can’t, certainly not! You only know how to alienate your mother and sisters. Nobody else can do it’ said Varalakshmamma.
Sundaram was dumbstruck as if he was struck by a lightening.
‘When did you come mother?’ He was overjoyed to see his mother.
‘Mother! I am starved! You have saved me from dying by coming here though quite unexpectedly’, said Sundaram delightedly.
‘Yes, true! Whenever you see me you think only of your food and tummy. I am reduced to a skeleton by cooking for you. I laboured hard to bring you up only to be detested by you’. She broke down and wept.
Sundaram was taken aback on seeing her crying bitterly. Getting angry he asked her, ‘Did father scold you?’
‘Why would he scold me? If he were to be the one to scold me and beat me I wouldn’t have faced all this humiliation today.’ Saying so she has blown her nose.
‘What happened mother? For God’s sake please stop all these long preambles and metrical reproaches and tell me what has happened. I am going mad not knowing what the matter is’, said Sundaram controlling his fury.
‘What more should happen dear? How humiliated we have been! Oh God! Tell me - Did I ever scold you or your wife? Did I ever make you do the household work? It seems that at the time of your marriage I complained that your in-laws did not treat us properly. It seems your sister too grumbled at them for they did not offer her a good saree. That was the sin we reportedly committed. Perhaps at that time, being an old woman, I might have felt bad for they did not offer us good sarees. Is it a crime?’ She started sobbing again.
Sundaram could not make head or tail out of it. He was confused. He looked alternately at his wife who was sipping the juice, and at his mother who was sobbing and blowing her nose.
Varalakshmamma’s blood boiled.
‘What is that mad gaze? See how your wife has dragged us to the streets!….’ She took out a paper from her hand bag and threw it at his face.
‘Nagging mothers-in-law, - be careful – written by Suvarcala’ …. Sundaram’s head reeled. He felt as if the letters had grown as big as the palm fruits and were coming to attack him.
‘What is this?’ Turning to his wife he asked her with a feeble tone.
‘Your first experience at your in-law’s place’ – a column with this caption was introduced. They announced a grinder as the first prize for the best essay. Your mother’s grumbles on our wedding day are fresh in my mind as if I heard them just yesterday. I thought it would read very natural if I .... ‘ Suvarcala hesitated.
‘How dare you write an essay on my mother to make it read natural and bag a prize! You blackhead!’ Sundaram expressed his anguish.
‘See, I hate people who abuse like this! Don’t think you can scold me! This is the reason why my mother at the time of our marriage shed tears saying that I entered an ungracious house.
‘What! She shed tears! And what more, she was worried that ours was an ungracious house! Ask her how gracious her own house is …. How dare she make such a nasty remark! ……’
‘Mother …. Mother …. Please stop it. Please listen to me’. Sundaram was scared fearing that his mother and wife might start a war.
‘Why should I stop? You spineless fellow! You are an idiot. You can’t control your wife. You ask me to listen to you! I don’t want to touch even a drop of water at your house. I am going ….’ Varalakshmamma started to leave in a huff.
‘What? Should he control his wife? Do you think his wife is an animal? How savage you people are!’ …. Suvarcala was piqued.
‘Yes, yes! We are indeed savage people! You are a noble person! Why don’t you open your mouth when she is making all such offensive remarks?… You dumb fellow!…’
‘Mother please, you come here! I have to tell you many things. First let me tell you, it has been two days since I had food….’ Sundaram holding her hands most pathetically led her to the kitchen.
‘Very strange! You are not even taking your food my dear…’ she said with tears welling in her eyes and walked towards the kitchen. Watching his granny walk towards the kitchen Sarabh ran in that direction. Within two minutes the aroma of Upma filled the whole house. Suvarcala looked at the direction they went with a heavy heart. As written in the novel ‘Assarabha Sarabha’ she tired to lift one eyebrow up and look seriously, but couldn’t. Both the eyebrows started moving as she tried. She thought it was no use trying further. She tried to get red streaks in her eyes standing before the mirror. No use either. Even when she squeezed her eyes red streaks did not appear. Instead tears welled in the eyes. She gave it up. Vexed up, she lay down in the sofa, and picked up the magazine left there by Sarabh. When she was looking at the name ‘Suvarcala’ fondly, she happened to find an announcement:
‘Are you depressed? Are you worried about something which you can’t share with anyone? Share it with your bosom friend. In this page a new column ‘A letter to a bosom friend’ is going to be introduced next week.’
Suvarcala was elated.
Dear bosom friend
A few minutes ago there took place a Kurukshetra war in my house. I praised my neighbour, a useless rogue, saying that he was a good cook. It seems what I did was wrong. Can you hear, my bosom friend? Both my husband and mother-in-law belong to the species of wild creatures… I feel that there is just no place for virtue in this world. Tell me friend, tell me the truth…..’
Suvarcala was writing with great excitement.
* * * * *
“Your latest novel ‘Kiss Kiss’ has robbed my heart of. Any thought of my sexual life with my husband all the years makes me vomit. I wonder how I lived all these years with a dimwit who does not know any passion or pleasure. How do I get liberated from this life now? Please let me know immediately….”.
Suvarcala
Kakinada
‘I am glad that at least now you have realized what a dimwit he is. But you do not have to worry. In my next novel I am going to suggest a thousand tips to such sanyasis which would help them understand that life is a kick. Follow them ….’
Sundaram tossed that book away with an uncontrollable rage.
‘Follow them! My foot! Am I a dimwit? Does he think I am a sanyasi? Your clamor for fame is idiotic! If you give my name with full address how can I hold my head high tomorrow in the office? ….’
As mentioned in ‘three tips for a beautiful face’ Suvarcala gave her face a mask of cucumber. She applied tomato juice to the neck and arms and was sitting there quietly to allow them to dry up. She did not speak. She just opened her eyes to see in which direction went the magazine that was flung by Sundaram. It was not possible to pick up a quarrel with him at that moment. She only signalled to him that if she moved the cucumber pieces would fall off.
‘What a disgrace! …. You wrote everything about me - my name, place, house number and the job, just because you have a pen in your hand and made me a fool. How could you do that to me? How can I hold my head high in the office?’
Holding his head with his hands Sundaram slumped onto the sofa. Sarabh who was already there in the sofa screamed. And Sundaram who fell on him without noticing him screamed even louder. All this happened in a split second.
‘What is this? Why did you not go to school?’ asked the surprised Sundaram. Sarabh just showed his hand towards Suvarcala without moving even an inch and remained in the same position.
‘What happened to you dear?’
‘At school everybody started teasing me. They called me ‘a mad cap’. Even my teacher ….’
Sarabh’s voice choked with grief. ‘What? They called you mad!’ exclaimed Sundaram with his mouth wide open.
Sarabh gave his father a long look. He picked up the latest edition of a weekly magazine and handed it to him.
Sundaram turned the pages of it hurriedly. Under the column ‘Suggestions to remedy madness of all kinds.’ Sarabh’s photo with the following question was found.
‘Doctor! His behaviour is always strange. He does things, which you ask him not to do. He neither knows anything himself, nor listens to others. Do you think this is madness?’ This was Suvarcala’s question. Under it,
‘Certainly it is madness! At once consult at our hospital. If you don’t he might start biting everyone’ – this reply with his school address was given.
When he was sure that his father had gone through it Sarabh looked at his father most pitiably as if to ask ‘What do you say now, Dad?’, which melted his father’s heart.
‘It seems there is madness in my very name itself. My teacher told me’ said Sarabh with a sobbing face.
‘Who said that? Did she not read the serial ‘Assarabha Sarabha’, which entranced the readers for three long years? Oh lord! … People have no taste….’ Said Suvarcala. She took off the cucumber pieces from her face, as it was five minutes then.
Sundaram had no energy to shout at her. He said mournfully, ‘How do you expect us to go out if you do all such foolish things? Your letters paint him as a mad fellow and me, as a spineless fellow. You tell us yourself what we have to do now?’
‘Do not put such a mournful face. I hate it. You read the book, ‘Why are you scared to go out’ written by Kasa. All your fears will vanish’ said Suvarcala angrily.
‘Daddy, I think I will change my name to Subba Rao as many people have that name, I hope I will not be called a mad fellow then’ said their darling son.
Sundaram’s heart melted with pity.
But it solidified immediately with Suvarcala’s loud question, ‘Are you coming to have breakfast or not?’ Sundaram lifted his head up, looked at his father sympathetically and said, ‘First you go and have it daddy. If it is good then you call me.’
‘Why, any new dish again?’ asked the frightened father.
‘Come on. Are you coming? It is already late by a minute now. I have to take my breakfast at 10 sharp’.
Sitting at the dining table Sundaram asked her, ‘What is this? You have not cooked anything yet.’
‘Who said I did not cook?’ Suvarcala expressed her astonishment. On a plate there were neatly chopped round slices of tamatoes, onions, cucumber, lime and the like, sprinkled with coriander leaves.
‘What is this?’ Asked Sundaram who was startled as if he was bitten by a scorpion.
‘Don’t get frightened for everything foolishly. It will only spoil your health. To remain tension-free and peaceful we have to eat plain vegetarian food….’
Sundaram let out a startled cry.
‘You mean we have to eat these things and remain tension-free. Do we have to eat these alone all the three times a day?’, Sundaram asked her with a grim face.
‘Why not? ….. Of course you will also eat two chapathies’, said Suvarcala eating the chopped vegetables heartily.
‘Don’t you make idly or upma for breakfast hereafter?’ asked Sundaram feeling depressed.
‘Don’t ever mention them. Those are very rich in calories. You have already got a potbelly by eating all such stuff. Look at yourself. You used to be thin like a bird five years ago. Now you have become a cylinder’ said Suvarcala while eating the carrot slices.
Sundarama swallowed the affront.
‘I cann’t eat this stuff. Please spare me! Is this the food for Sarabham too?’
Suvarcala’s face changed its colours. ‘What is Sarabham like Gardhabam? (Donkey) Said Suvarcala annoyingly.
‘Daddy, our neighbour, Mr. Lokanadham has come. He is very angry, I don’t know why. He wants to speak to you urgently’, said Sarabh.
‘Angry! What for?’ Sundaram slowly rose to his feet.
Mr. Lokanadham was standing in the hall and looked very serious.
‘Why are you standing? Please be seated’ said Sundaram with all respect.
‘No need. You talk very politely with a sweet smile but stab in the back…. We are not used to such things’ said Lokanadham with a frown.
Sundaram was puzzled. He looked at him in utter confusion.
‘We are neighbours, all right. If you like, you talk to us, otherwise don’t. But, is it fair to publish our names in the newspapers? ---’ said Lokanadham throwing a newspaper at him.
‘What happened?’, said Sundaram faintly.
‘You see it yourself’, saying so he walked away with vigorous strides.
Horrified, Sundaram opened the paper. Under the caption ‘Ideal husband Lokanadham’ there was an essay. All the details were written there – how good a cook Lokanadham was and now cleanly he washes the dishes. Suvacala wrote an excellent essay explaining what all women can achieve if there were husbands as cooperative as Lokanadham.
Sundaram was over-whelmed with both rage and laughter. He said ‘What hell have you done Suvarcala? How does it concern you whether he cooks food or washes the dishes? Do you think they keep quiet if you get all that published in a newspaper?’
Suvarcala, who had finished her breakfast by then, looked at him sharply and said seriously, ‘What is this? You neither do it nor do you approve somebody who does it. How can one stand such a suspicious creature?’
‘Oh God! A suspicious creature! If you make his biography public along with the photographs, do you think he will keep quiet? Is he a brother of Lord Buddha to be above pain and pleasure?’ said Sundaram wiping the sweat.
‘Why should he be angry? What sin have I committed? Is it the privilege of women alone to cook food and wash the dishes? Anybody can do these petty jobs. Yours is a demon’s life …. You say you don’t know how to do these things and leave your coffee cup too here and there. One has to be born blessed for anything. Look at Lokanadham’s wife! How happy and healthy she is!’ said Suvarcala with tears.
‘So what? Do you want me too to cook food and mop the floor?’ shouted Sundaram.
‘Why not? It is not a difficult job. Have I been doing them right from my birth? When I was studying in the college how glamorous I used to be! How many love letters did I receive! You yourself wrote a thousand and odd love letters, but of course with many mistakes. I had such a glamorous life, hadn’t I? By the way, the word glamour reminds me that it is 10.30 now. It is time to take a glass of fruit juice without sugar. Wait, I will come….’
‘Oh Lord! I can’t reason with her!’ saying so Sundaram fell back.
‘True, indeed! You can’t, certainly not! You only know how to alienate your mother and sisters. Nobody else can do it’ said Varalakshmamma.
Sundaram was dumbstruck as if he was struck by a lightening.
‘When did you come mother?’ He was overjoyed to see his mother.
‘Mother! I am starved! You have saved me from dying by coming here though quite unexpectedly’, said Sundaram delightedly.
‘Yes, true! Whenever you see me you think only of your food and tummy. I am reduced to a skeleton by cooking for you. I laboured hard to bring you up only to be detested by you’. She broke down and wept.
Sundaram was taken aback on seeing her crying bitterly. Getting angry he asked her, ‘Did father scold you?’
‘Why would he scold me? If he were to be the one to scold me and beat me I wouldn’t have faced all this humiliation today.’ Saying so she has blown her nose.
‘What happened mother? For God’s sake please stop all these long preambles and metrical reproaches and tell me what has happened. I am going mad not knowing what the matter is’, said Sundaram controlling his fury.
‘What more should happen dear? How humiliated we have been! Oh God! Tell me - Did I ever scold you or your wife? Did I ever make you do the household work? It seems that at the time of your marriage I complained that your in-laws did not treat us properly. It seems your sister too grumbled at them for they did not offer her a good saree. That was the sin we reportedly committed. Perhaps at that time, being an old woman, I might have felt bad for they did not offer us good sarees. Is it a crime?’ She started sobbing again.
Sundaram could not make head or tail out of it. He was confused. He looked alternately at his wife who was sipping the juice, and at his mother who was sobbing and blowing her nose.
Varalakshmamma’s blood boiled.
‘What is that mad gaze? See how your wife has dragged us to the streets!….’ She took out a paper from her hand bag and threw it at his face.
‘Nagging mothers-in-law, - be careful – written by Suvarcala’ …. Sundaram’s head reeled. He felt as if the letters had grown as big as the palm fruits and were coming to attack him.
‘What is this?’ Turning to his wife he asked her with a feeble tone.
‘Your first experience at your in-law’s place’ – a column with this caption was introduced. They announced a grinder as the first prize for the best essay. Your mother’s grumbles on our wedding day are fresh in my mind as if I heard them just yesterday. I thought it would read very natural if I .... ‘ Suvarcala hesitated.
‘How dare you write an essay on my mother to make it read natural and bag a prize! You blackhead!’ Sundaram expressed his anguish.
‘See, I hate people who abuse like this! Don’t think you can scold me! This is the reason why my mother at the time of our marriage shed tears saying that I entered an ungracious house.
‘What! She shed tears! And what more, she was worried that ours was an ungracious house! Ask her how gracious her own house is …. How dare she make such a nasty remark! ……’
‘Mother …. Mother …. Please stop it. Please listen to me’. Sundaram was scared fearing that his mother and wife might start a war.
‘Why should I stop? You spineless fellow! You are an idiot. You can’t control your wife. You ask me to listen to you! I don’t want to touch even a drop of water at your house. I am going ….’ Varalakshmamma started to leave in a huff.
‘What? Should he control his wife? Do you think his wife is an animal? How savage you people are!’ …. Suvarcala was piqued.
‘Yes, yes! We are indeed savage people! You are a noble person! Why don’t you open your mouth when she is making all such offensive remarks?… You dumb fellow!…’
‘Mother please, you come here! I have to tell you many things. First let me tell you, it has been two days since I had food….’ Sundaram holding her hands most pathetically led her to the kitchen.
‘Very strange! You are not even taking your food my dear…’ she said with tears welling in her eyes and walked towards the kitchen. Watching his granny walk towards the kitchen Sarabh ran in that direction. Within two minutes the aroma of Upma filled the whole house. Suvarcala looked at the direction they went with a heavy heart. As written in the novel ‘Assarabha Sarabha’ she tired to lift one eyebrow up and look seriously, but couldn’t. Both the eyebrows started moving as she tried. She thought it was no use trying further. She tried to get red streaks in her eyes standing before the mirror. No use either. Even when she squeezed her eyes red streaks did not appear. Instead tears welled in the eyes. She gave it up. Vexed up, she lay down in the sofa, and picked up the magazine left there by Sarabh. When she was looking at the name ‘Suvarcala’ fondly, she happened to find an announcement:
‘Are you depressed? Are you worried about something which you can’t share with anyone? Share it with your bosom friend. In this page a new column ‘A letter to a bosom friend’ is going to be introduced next week.’
Suvarcala was elated.
Dear bosom friend
A few minutes ago there took place a Kurukshetra war in my house. I praised my neighbour, a useless rogue, saying that he was a good cook. It seems what I did was wrong. Can you hear, my bosom friend? Both my husband and mother-in-law belong to the species of wild creatures… I feel that there is just no place for virtue in this world. Tell me friend, tell me the truth…..’
Suvarcala was writing with great excitement.
* * * * *
నేను సుజాత. తెలుసు కదా. చెప్పటం, రాయటం.. నా ఉద్యొగమే కబుర్లు. రాయటానికీ, కబుర్లు చెప్పటానికీ పెద్ద తేడా వున్నట్లు లేదు కదా. కానీ మనం ఎలాగోలా మాట్లాడు కోవటం ముఖ్యం. ఛిన్నప్పుడు నాకు ఎవర్ని చూసినా వాళ్ళ మొహం ఏలావుందొ ఆలా అనుకరించాలనిపించేది. లలితాపవర్ మొహంలో క్రూరత్వం వెంటాడీ ఆమె పెదవి వణికించటం ప్రాక్టీసు చేసి అద్దం చూసుకుంటె ఆ మొహం నా మొహంలోకి వచ్చినట్త్లయింది. మళ్ళీ వదిలించుకొనేందుకు సమయం పట్టిందనుకోండి. మనం మనలా వుంటెనే సుఖం. ఇంకొళ్ళలా మంచిగానో, తెలివిగానో, లౌక్యంగానో అయిపొవాలని మనకీ వుంటుంది. వాళ్ళని ఆవాహన చేసుకోవాలని చూస్తాం. కానీ ఎంతసేపూ..కంట్లొ నలక పడితె యెంతసేపు భరిస్తాం..? అది ఎలగోలా వదిలెసి కన్ను యెర్రబడ్డా సుఖంగా వున్నట్టు.. మనకి సొంతంగా వున్న జీవితం మాత్రం అనుభవించగలం. ఏమంటారు.? మా బంధువు ఒకామె నన్ను ఎవే జయలలితా అని పిలిచెది. అబ్బో అంతగొప్ప సినిమా యాక్టరులాగ ఉన్నానేమోనని మనసులొ బొలెడంత సంతొషం. పదిసార్లు పిలిపించుకొన్నాక జయలలితగా వుండటం కన్నా నానిలాగ వుండటంలోనే మజా వుందని తేలింది. అందరినీ వొడించాలంతే మనం మనలాగ ఎందుకు వుండకూడదు..!
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