BLOW to STABILITY

It was a sapling. I wanted to make it stand in front of my house. I dug the earth and fixed its roots with mud on all sides. I looked at it with fulfillment. The bizarre wind started toppling things which people placed outside the house. My sapling too fell. I erected it after the wind subsided. This time, I picked up small stones and placed them on all sides of the sapling to ensure that it will not fall again. After some time to my disgust, I found it had fallen. The stem was tender and its roots were fragile. It couldn’t combat the blatant and snarling wind. The spirit in me did not accept defeat. I erected it several times and it fell again and again. The wind did not allow me to do what I wanted. A strong feeling of sadness was aroused in my mind. I did not know what was happening to me. There was turmoil inside the house. Mom and dad seemed to be hurrying up packing things. A big truck was seen on the road. Everything was loaded in it. I watched my house being emptied. I asked my mother what was happening. She told, “Rani, we will have to move out of this place. We are going to another house in Vanavli.” I said, “No mom, we will stay here. I have my friends here.” Mother kept quiet and didn’t say anything. I was not happy to leave my childhood place behind. I went to my friends and waved them goodbye. I lifted my doll and walked behind the truck with tears in my eyes. I watched the truck disappear into the busy road. The truck hastened to shift me to the new place. My steps were heavy and my mind was bogged down by the thought of leaving the place forever. The truck took our family belongings to Siddesh society, flat number twenty one, Siddharthnagar Seventh road, Vanavli.

As a child, I didn’t have control over what was happening. At first I did not know why my parents opted to shift. Later I learnt that my maternal aunt Janaki could not find a baby sitter for her new born Kannan. Both Janaki and her husband Natesan came to our house in Sthaipada and pleaded that it would be good if we shifted our residence to Siddesh society. They wanted my mother to look after the new child. If we shift to Siddesh society, the child will have access to its mother as well. Dad was reluctant at first. He realized he had five kids to look after. He told Natesan it was impossible for him to take an extra economic burden. He was happy living in a house, which the Government Housing Board had given him. Natesan said, “Shivan, do not worry. You can trust me as your brother. I am badly in need of your help. You are from Vikas Mission School. You will be surprised to know that I am from the same school. Our school has fostered brotherhood. We are brothers and as brothers we must help each other. It’s only then the family can come up.” Shivan nodded his head and said, “I will help you, but I will return to my house when situation demands me to.” So it was agreed that Shivan and his family would shift to Siddesh society. Aunt Janaki worked for the railways. I saw Janaki and her husband for the first time in Siddharth nagar. Aunt Janaki was stouter than her husband. Both were fair.

Things were stuffed in a hotchpotch manner in the new house. I didn’t like the new house. I chose to be indifferent. The next day dawned. I continued my schooling in Paramount High School. The new house was near Bhīma Park, Vanavli. I was not happy because I had to walk a long distance to reach the bus stop. I took a bus to Pehrauli. I would get down at the school bus stop. I didn’t enjoy going to school since I plodded all alone. Previously, I had a group of friends and the lively ammi, a middle aged woman who took us from Sthaipada to our school. We walked the distance talking and frolicking.

The seventh lane of Siddharthnagar ended up in Sai Dongri. Small human settlements were there and ‘tabelas’ or cowsheds were seen on both sides of Sai Dongri road. While passing, by one could smell cow dung. One could see bhaiyyas on ‘khatiyas’ during twilight. Early morning, the bhaiyyas would milk the buffaloes. They would sell milk to the customers who came in the morning to their sheds. They would give the buffaloes their daily bath. Buffaloes would be fed at regular intervals. They would speak Hindi in their typical accent. The Sai Dongri road led to Sthaipada railway crossing and one had to cross the railway lines to reach the west. Sometimes I took the Sai dongri road to reach the west and join ammi and my friends to walk the way to school.

In the new house my mother had an additional burden to shoulder. My youngest brother Mohan was just a four month baby and other kids were three, four, and two year olds. Kannan, who was my cousin, was a small kid to be looked after.
Life at Sthaipada chawl was different. Our family was happy. Mom chose to be a housewife instead of an office woman. When the family lived in Mogra chawl, mom would be pregnant again and again. My small mind could not take it. The sight of mom’s bloated tummy would make me feel insecure and anxious. I don’t think I was jealous but a sort of uneasiness prevailed. I was not pleased to see new babes coming into the house for my mother was more involved in new babies than me. Mogra chawl was one of the many chawls in Sthaipada.. There were two rows of houses. Houses had tiled roofs. Roofs were sufficiently high. Each row had eight houses. Space between the two rows of houses was used as walking space. The rows of houses faced each other. Some of the houses had fences in the front yard. Some had compounds of trimmed plants. Other chawls were designed in the same way. After the last house of the chawl, on the right hand side there was a road. This road was intercepted by a road which led to Sthaipada railway crossing. Adjacent to the road, there was a maidan or open space which was used for playing games or for entertainment. The maidan was flanked by similar such chawls on the opposite side. Some chawls had trees in the middle. I went with my friends to play and roam about the place. We used to reach the Sthaipada railway crossing and cross the railway gate and walk along the railway lines to reach the Vanavli station. The road which led to the railway crossing had many small shops. There was one private dispensary in the vicinity of the railway gate. There were provision stores, ration shops, stationery shops and a small tailoring shop. Those were the days when trees and open grounds were common in Sagarpur. My father, Shivan lived with his parents in Shimpli. It was a joint family. My father got a job in Sagarpur and he had to shift from Shimpli to Sagarpur. Thus he had to set up a nuclear family which branched off from Shimpli. He was disheartened by his new born daughter who suffered from malnutrition and had rickets at birth. My grandfather was not happy because my parents married without his consent. My mother belonged to the same caste and region, but it was a marriage sans dowry. The bride’s mother provided what she could but it was not enough. The marriage did not give any scope to my grandfather to demand the wealth he wanted. The wound remained unhealed.

Grandfather, Rangan couldn’t perhaps think of how he got married to a lady from Western India without the consent of his parents. The lady he married was from Sagarpur. Komal was her name. She was not cruel but grandfather instigated her to be so. My mother was made to work between 4 a.m. and 11.p.m. without proper food. She was not allowed to lie down when she was tired especially in the afternoons. The house in Asthanagar was like a dark alley. Mom had to undergo an arduous routine of work. Grandfather’s family was a large one. Mom had to grind for idlis using a stone mortar. She was made to hurry up with the work. Grandmother Komal had a complaint that the new bride cannot manage time. My mother would run the tap to get the buckets filled. But then she would watch water getting filled. The in-laws felt that she could do some other work simultaneously. Mother didn’t like the in-laws. Their habits and culture were different. Mom was good at cooking. Once she made upma and coffee. Grandfather appreciated her for it. Komal, my grandmother, though a West Indian, had imbibed the south Indian culture. She wore nine yard sari and went to the temple. She was sent to the south and was taught all traditions and customs of a south Indian family. Once, the whole family was out of the house. My mom remained to do the household work. Somehow grandfather returned to the house under some pretext. Since no one was there, grandfather took an opportunity to hug the new bride who was pregnant. She was perplexed. She felt strange and ashamed. She didn’t expect this behavior from a man who had appreciated her culinary skills and pure south Indian language. The aggrieved woman wrote all this into a letter. “Here one has to work like a machine. There is nothing more than work in life. I don’t like the people. It is a big joint family. My father-in-law misbehaved with me.” After having described the happenings in the house in detail, she gave the letter to Balan who was just eight years old, to post it. Although a child, he was cunning. Instead of posting it, he handed it to his mother Komal. She read it carefully and was enraged. She shouted at my mother. “My husband can never do such a thing. You want to bring a bad name to our family. You think you are very beautiful! Something is wrong with you. You have written lies. Remember you will not write a word about us in the future. You are pregnant. I curse you now. You will deliver a lame child.” When dad, Shivan came to know of it, he planted a slap on my mom’s face. Mom was helpless. Anxiety, fear, insult coupled with physical pain drove mom into hysteria. She laughed and cried. No one could understand her case. She couldn’t convince her husband because she knew that dad had no say in the matter. He too was beaten by his father in front of her.

Ultimately the day came when mother was sent to her mother’s place for delivery to Meenanagar in Sompur. She was admitted to a hospital attached to a medical college. Medical students performed the delivery. A rickety malnourished babe came out of the mother’s womb, wrist not more than a coir rope, a miniature human. The nurse told the mother in Hindi “Apni jaathwali aai hai.” My mother broke into tears. It was as though a calamity had struck her. A girl child however was a liability. A mother has to invest her energies and resources in growing the child and hand over the girl to a man who will take a handsome dowry. Such thoughts surged in her mind. She refused to accept and was reluctant to breastfeed the baby. Dad’s reaction was different. He was shocked to look at the ugly paltry looking figure of his baby. Both mom and dad were hefty and good looking. Dad couldn’t figure out why the baby was so ugly. He thought about it deeply and enquired the doctor. The doctor told that the child had rickets and was malnourished. Dad understood why he begot such a baby. The amount of suffering and privation of his wife contributed to the birth of a rickety babe. Hence familial condition was also a factor which compelled him to take a decision to shift from Shimpli to the Vanavli jungle in Sagarpur. He shifted to Mornath in Vanavli. There were mangroves and very few settlers in the 1950’s. It was luscious green all around. Dense tall growth of trees and sounds of various birds and animals all around could be heard. A Sindhi family happened to be the neighbour of my parents’ new home. Dad would reach home late. He would also be on night duty. Mother would be taken care of by a Sindhi woman Makhijani. She offered a photo of goddess Saraswati to mom as a token for the new babe. Night would be eerie with calls of creatures around. Mom would close doors and windows. Dad would return home early in the morning. On one occasion, he had an encounter with a fox. Its eyes were shining. Dad drove himself as fast as he could.

The family continued to live in Mornath for a year or two. Dad and mom had to take the child to the railway hospital. The child was treated with ultra violet –B light to help the bones grow strong. The doctor prescribed another significant source of vitamin D, the cod liver oil. The couple had to continue with the routine once a week. Once, the couple was walking with the child on railway track. They couldn’t hear the horn of the passenger train. The train had come quite near. Some persons on the platform saw this and pulled the couple with the child out of the railway track.
Dad realised that he needed a house on his name in Sagarpur. He booked a house for him with the Government Housing Board. The family shifted to the new house in Mogra chawl. Shivan could not think of another babe for some years. The child had to be given massage as well. The child remained hungry and infirm, cried during night and day time. Working in shifts would compel dad to sleep during the nights and sometimes during the day. Lack of sleep would irritate and anger him. Once, the shrill cry of the baby woke him up from sleep. Unable to contain the disturbance, he lit fire under the hammock in which the child was placed. Mom and dad had frequent rifts. None of them could control their anger. Their anger would blow out of proportions. Frequent disturbed sleep caused dad untold irritation. In a fit of anger, he hit the child’s head against the wall. The child was in the hammock. Mom intercepted it.

Marriage which took place at Shivai temple in Sagarpur ran into rough weather. The marriage had estranged dad from his parents. He found that his wife was adamant, not willing to understand and adjust with him. In addition to it he had a rickety child to look after. He would feel restless when the babe started crying loudly. It got on his nerves. He couldn’t sleep. Ridden by anger, he threw the six month old child into a drum filled with water. The child got drowned. Mother lifted it up quickly and went to a brahmin’s house. She sat there till the evening when dad’s anger subsided. Any small incident could arouse anger in him. “Why didn’t you prepare food? I’ll have to go to office now.” Mother would say, ‘I am preparing food now. I couldn’t prepare it before because I had to look after the baby.’ Dad would become restless. ‘It’s time up. I have to attend my duty’. Mom would say, ‘can’t you wait?’ Dad would say, ‘I want the food to be served fast or I am going.’ Dad’s eyes would turn red with anger. Violence would follow. Plates and things would fly. House would be in rough and tumble. Dad’s destructive anger would compel mother to go to Sanajirao’s family for succour. The child, who was immersed in a drum of water, developed bronchial infection. The child was admitted to the hospital. Doctors did their best. Allopathic doctors were the ones who saved the child from death. Dad repented a lot. He wanted his daughter to survive. He went to the temple and prayed. He cried and tears came down from his eyes. He pleaded for his child’s life. He vowed that henceforth he would treat the child with great affection and care. The father in him displayed a lot of warmth and affection for the child. The lucky child survived. Dad named the child lovingly as Rani. In fact the child proved to be a sea of calmness in his life. This Rani is the narrator of the story.

Chawls of those times were inhabited by middle class people. As a child, I watched through the window. Men from Vanita Steels played volley ball in the evening. Those men appeared to be tough and full of energy. Men had formed teams. They utilized their holiday evenings for playing volleyball. My father had many friends. They were immigrants from all over India. Veer Singh and Prem Singh were his best friends. Dad used to take part in wrestling matches. He had a handsome muscular body. He played traditional kusti. Mustard oil would be smeared on the body. During one of the kusti ( wrestling)matches dad had plucked the ear pinna of an opponent. There were many buffalo sheds in Vanavli. Hence there was no paucity of milk in the house. The family could afford to buy baskets of tomatoes and mangoes. Mom made tasty jam out of tomatoes. It would be stored in a container which bhaiyyas normally used. They used aluminum containers. Dad tried a hand in business. He entered into dairy business but it did not click. Dad was philanthropic by nature. He loved to help people and did not know to make profit out of dealings.

I had a close friend named Alifiya Khan. I was a slight emaciated girl with a prominent nose. Alifiya had beady eyes, sharp nose and she was fairer than me. ‘Rani, khelne aati hai?’ Alifiya would ask. I would say, ‘haan mein aati hoon.’ We would play skipping. Skipping over ropes would delight me. Alifiya would go on with skipping. I would take on skipping after Alifiya would get out when she tripped. I would barely finish skipping five or six, when my head would go round and round and everything would turn dark. I would hear no sound and see no light. After sometime I would hear the faint sound of Alifiya saying, “Tujhe kya hua hai?’ I would say faintly, ‘Chakkar aah rahi hey.’ Alifiya would catch my hand and somehow manage to reach me till the door of the house. I had to tap the door many times before my mother could open. I would feel that the wait never seemed to end. I knew I was helpless and weak. The doctor prescribed vitamin tablets, shark oil, calcium and many other medicines as well. I suffered from chronic bronchitis. All of a sudden, loud stertorous sound of breathing would be accompanied by pain in the chest. Wheezing seemed to annihilate my existence. My mother suspected that I had a worm in the stomach. She felt my wheezing increased due to infestation. She got my stools checked and spotted a worm. Doctor gave medicines to deworm me. Medicines were administered but there was no change in wheezing.

My father Shivan took me to the hospital which was close to the railway lines. It was in East Vanavli. The hospital belonged to the British times. Big black stones were used to construct the hospital which had a Spartan appearance. Railway doctors worked in shifts. A patient had to register his or her name. Case papers were prepared. Doctors referred to case papers during every visit. ‘Shivan sahib, Namaste kaisay ho aap? Theek thak hey na?’ ‘Beti kaisi hey?’ Shivan would say, ‘Beemar hey, saas ki takleef hai’. Sabu was a short and stout man. He was very kind. ‘Sahib case paper le lo. Doctor sahib aayenge thodi hi der mey. Line mey khade ho jayiye.’ The queue would be long. Doctor would examine me and prescribe medicines.

Medicines were provided by the railways. Tablets were of different colours. codliver oil pills, sulphadiazine, vitamin tablets would be given. Sabu, the compounder would pack all the medicines. Railway doctors would also be transferred. They were resident doctors living in railway quarters. A newly transferred doctor had to go through the case papers of patients. I considered doctors as healers who could mend people’s bodies. Doctors can drive away disease and pain. I revered them.

(From the book ‘Ripples Roping Memories’ by Usha Raman published by Partridge India)