Chapter 4 Family in difficulty

Life rotated into a new phase. My youngest brother was too small and others were just three, four, and two year olds. Karnesh, our cousin joined us during daytime. The new house had two iron cots, trunks of olden type filled with clothes, beddings rolled and kept in a corner. In fact every corner of the room was occupied with some household item. There was nothing as kitchen shelf or table. We used stove for cooking. Our belongings showed that the house did not suit us and we belonged to a lower middle class. Neighbours casted glances at us which showed that we were different and we didn’t fit into their economic orbit.
After six months the scene changed. Devaki and others informed my dad that the State Housing Board officials enquired them about why the house in Mogra chawl was locked. Dad went to Janaki’s husband and told him that he wanted to return to his house in Mogra chawl. Janaki’s husband assured that he needn’t bother about the house and he could continue to live in the new house. No one knew what happened between the two men but dad chose to remain in 21, Siddesh society. Months passed. A report came from one of the neighbours in Mogra chawl that the rent collector had sealed the house and handed it over to one of his relatives who became the owner of the house. But aunt Janaki insisted my dad and mom to shift back to Mogra chawl. She came to know that we had lost our house. Relationship between Janaki and Natesh ran into rough weather. The husband used to lock the door of the house and make her wait outside the house even during the nights. The house in Ratan mansion was in the name of Natesh. During such moments aunt Janaki used to go to her elder sister who had a house in Chitragaon. Having caught in a fix, Janaki in a fit of anger railed at my dad. She said, “Tell me what happened between you and my husband. You, wicked man! Tell me, why are you silent about it?” Dad remained silent but his mind went berserk. The same night he ran and met Natesh in his house. Natesh said he had nothing to do with it. My mom did not comment. She took the side of her sister. Dad was shocked to see the real face of humanity. He was the one who helped Janaki to get married to Natesh. Before her marriage, she had an affair with a boy in an office. The boy ditched her. People belonging to middle class traditional families knew about the affair and a premarital affair was something unacceptable in those times. So, aunt Janaki could not get married easily. My grandmother requested my father to pose himself as the man who had spurned her and facilitate her daughter Janaki’s marriage. Dad was told not to attend her marriage. My dad conceded to it. Natesh was informed that the boy who ditched her was my dad. He did not know that dad married his wife’s younger sister. Aunt Janaki’s ingratitude struck him badly. In those days my dad was working in Silase. Dad ran into depression. Instead of going to office, he reported sick and went to Astha nagar in Shimpli without informing anybody. Without the breadwinner, the family started tottering. Mom fell sick. She contracted typhoid. Maternal grandmother rushed to Sagarpur to see my mother. She took care of my mom. She reiterated many times. “See Parvati, you have to give up your children. Pack them off to your husband. Your husband will return with the children. If he doesn’t return, it’s okay. I will take you along with me.” My mother cried and she consented with great difficulty.
Son-in-law Kartik was called for. Grandmother told him to find out where my dad had gone. She wanted to transport all of us to our father. Kartik of Chitragaon took us to Silase station. We were in the railway office. I remember we were asked to wait in a waiting room. There was a round table with chairs. We were asked to sit. We got the information that dad had left for Shimpli. Kartik boarded us in a Shimpli bound train and took us to Shimpli.
It was December. Shimpli was shivering. I had worn a frock. My teeth were cluttering and body of mine was turning cold. I didn’t know where life was taking me. Kartik uncle took us to his friend’s house. The man’s name was Kumar. He was in some or the other way related to Kartik uncle. Uncle did not know the location of Asthanagar. He had a six month old child Mohan in his arms. We had a nice refreshing coffee and then we set off immediately for 131, Asthanagar. He deposited us in the house. He did not speak a word to my dad. Dad took us inside the house with our luggage of clothes. Dad had to take care of his children. The house was crowded since a marriage was in the offing.
Life appeared to be grim. I smiled rarely. A spontaneous smile was something unknown to me. My uncles tried to make me laugh. My uncles jumped and made gimmicks to make me laugh, but I couldn’t laugh. I understood that dad had left my mom and we were sent to Asthanagar deliberately. This was a serious incident in the family. I watched how my uncles were. One of my uncles, Mr. Subbu came through the backdoor to meet his mother. He married a south Indian girl of other caste by the name of Mala. Grandfather Rangesh was tensed. He stopped arranging bhajans in his house because people would definitely comment on the intercaste marriage. He had to get his son, Seshan, working for Mactos Ltd. married. He succeeded in finding an alliance for him. The alliance was materialized by Maya atthai (Paternal aunt), who was in Barona. She engineered meetings between Savitri and Seshan several times and inducted interest in them. So preparations were on. Grandfather demanded dowry from girl’s parents. The girl was an arts graduate from Barona. She spoke very good Hindi. Marriage would be held in Barona. Grandfather had stitched new dresses for us for the marriage. We were taken care of by ajji, our grandmother.
I watched my younger sister Uma drinking milk from the feeding bottle. I complained to my aunt, “Look, how long she takes to drink milk!” Aunt said laughing, “When you were a babe, you too were slow! Look Uma is a small babe. You should take care of her. Shouldn’t you?” I smiled at my aunt Maya and said ‘yes’. Uma had mucus running from her nose. Weaned from her mother, Uma disengaged herself from reality by repeating a popular song she heard from blaring loud speakers. She repeated the first line of the song. She was too small a kid to identify languages. She used Pee instead of Ki and the Hindi song got a weird meaning. My cousins started laughing because they knew Hindi and Tamil. Pee (shit) and Ki (of) made a lot of difference in Tamil and Hindi. The sight of a chubby, fair and fat child going round and round and reciting the song seriously really made us laugh. Meaning of the song didn’t bother her. It helped her to involve in its reiteration. My ajji would coax Uma to wear her panties. If she found Uma without her panties, she would say, “Shi, shi shi! Is it a free show?” Uma’s face resembled my ajji. Grandmother was fond of her and monitored her in spite of her busy schedule. Dad took care of Mohan.
Violence was there in the family. Once, the brothers in the family had a straight fight. I didn’t know what really sparked off the fight. I was frightened when the youngest of all uncles took an umbrella to beat my father. Father did not leave him. He too beat him. Abuses and threats were a part of the brawl. Maya atthai made a comment on the quarrel. She wanted to justify the incident. She would say that the quarrel took place because of Lord Karthikeya or Lord Murugan’s photo, which was present in the middle room. It had the trident reaching above Lord Murugan’s head. Such a photo as per the shastras sparks off quarrel in the house. I did not understand her. She would tell that she had a book of shastras (rules) which she read and followed. The brawl offered her a chance to talk about the shastras. Her personality was fabricated by such beliefs.
Dad was infuriated. He packed all the clothes of his children and himself in a suitcase and took all of us and hired a rickshaw to the Shimpli station. He decided to return to Sagarpur. Picchu uncle came running to stop the rickshaw. He asked my dad to forgive him. He fell at the feet of dad. Dad heeded to his request. He backtracked to 131, Asthanagar. One thing was certain in my dad’s family. The gents in particular were unusually hot tempered.
Marriage mood was on. Uncles became cheerful. They persuaded me to sing. I was shy and not used to singing in front of others. There was a boat song from a popular Hindi cinema. I had listened to it many times. I knew some words of the song but not all of it. I managed to sing part of the song and hummed the rest of the song. Uncles clapped their hands and tried to put me on by commenting that I sang like the actress in the film. Picchu uncle who was working for Sona Glass Ltd., Shimpli, danced and tried to be playful because he wanted me to get into a happy mood. All of us headed with Seshan uncle to Barona where the marriage took place. My dad was not interested in the happening. Somehow he had the worry since he had lost his own home and the chance of getting another house in Sagarpur was a farfetched dream. His mother-in-law was good and kind and she was the only one who saw to it that the family remained in the present house. As opposed to it aunt Hema was a roaring fire when it came to the question of giving the house to us who had no house. Dad understood his position and the uselessness of his existence. His attention was withdrawn from my small brother Mohan who was in his hands. Mohan was a six month babe. He slipped down from my father’s hand. He was about to come under cycle rickshaw wheels. I screamed and told dad that Mohan had fallen down. Dad halted the rickshaw and my brother Hari picked him up from the road. The family reached atthai’s house. It was very cold. I saw a high wall compound which had a strong iron door. When the door opened, it made a creaking sound. We were welcomed inside. The cemented floor made the front courtyard. The courtyard was big. I started feeling warmer when I entered the rooms. There were bedrooms, a drawing room and study rooms. The kitchen was small and cosy. It was very warm. The backyard was also cemented and had bathroom and toilet. Atthai had many small kids. Manish, one of the kids, had a wooden toy horse. He sat on it and sang a song which explicitly promised the beloved that the man’s love was trustworthy. He seemed to sing with great interest and feeling because he knew Hindi. Atthai made hot sabji and roti. I relished it more because it thawed me. I slept well. Next morning, Chitra, my cousin, took me to her school. Fair and straight nosed, she had a sweet and shrill voice. It was a central school. I attended the school assembly. Everyone spoke Hindi. After the school, we went to a place where tandoori rotis were made in bhattis. Thick rotis (flat bread) were made on coal fire in a deep pit (0ven). Chitra bought some packed steaming rotis from the rotiwala. I had rotis which were very tasty. I knew that aunt had instructed Chitra to get readymade tasty rotis since she had to do all the household chores. Her husband’s posting would always change from one place to another. He visited his family only when he was on leave. He was working for the Army. While leaving the house, aunt presented me a pack of scented talcum powder.
I attended my uncle’s wedding. I saw how he was restless before marriage. I overheard my uncle saying that he mistook his would be sister in law as Savitri and tickled her. He was worried and tensed and thought that the bride might misunderstand him. I saw the bride for the first time. She spoke good Hindi and appeared like one of the heroines of Hindi films. She was a fashionable lady with tight fitting blouse and low bellied Sari. She was attractive. The wedding went off well with flowers, food, Vedic chants, colourful draperies, music and people around. The jubilation was over. Dad had to return to Sagarpur with his children. My dad walked away with the luggage. My brothers and sisters ran behind him. I could not trace them in the dark. It was late midnight. I was left alone on the L.N.Road, Vanavli. I wore a white frock. My dad didn’t look behind. Perhaps he was not aware that one of his children was left behind. I had a feeling of numbness in my heart. Fear crept into my body. I was shivering with fear. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. Dogs barked. I tried to speed up with my heavy legs made inert by fear. Anxiety made me move fast. I reached home at around two a.m. It was an indelible night of fear alone in the dark. The will to be safe overpowered me. At home I took a long breath and relaxed. I saw my father, brothers and sisters at home.
Mom had gone thin. She had recouped from typhoid. Back to the daily routine, I started going to school. Dad tried to improve my handwriting. He would write on the left hand page and would make me copy the answers on the right hand page. He helped mom during his vacant hours by swabbing floors, giving bath to kids etc.
Massage is an ancient tradition in many of the world cultures. In recent times, it is used to boost tourism. It has gained popularity because of beauty parlours and the much needed physiotherapy for medical treatment. My parents considered giving oil massage to their children, as their duty. Giving oil bath to children, once a week was a regular practice. It was almost a celebration. Dad, mom and all kids participated in it. I had to wait till my turn came. I passed my time singing songs. Christmas carols were taught in schools and some numbers like “World is a fleeting bliss”. I used to sing in full voice innocently. I used to fear when mother poured water on my head. I feared water getting into my nose and the shikakai ( hair wash powder) getting into my eyes. My parents preferred shikakai powder to soap or shampoo. After bath, dad would dry me with a towel and foment my face and body with the smoke of lighted frankincense. The smoke of it would relieve me of cold and cough. Dad would give me a good oil massage bath and mother would prepare a good sumptuous meal. After relishing a bellyful of it, I would go to sleep.
Castor oil mixed in hot black tea was given to children in order to lubricate and clean their stomach and intestines. Problem of acidity would also be cowed down. Castor oil would be administered only during change of seasons, summer to rainy, rainy to winter and winter to summer. No food would be given till purgation (loose stools) stopped. It would be a bathless day. When the stomach got cleared, there were no more loose motions. However, cumin pepper soup and rice would be given. A little later buttermilk and rice were served. Supper constituted the same. Next day there would be refreshing oil massage and bath for all the kids. The memory of affectionate meals and massages are still fresh in my mind.
All of us would play with our cousin, Karnesh. He would become our leader. He would narrate stories from the Ramayana and tell us how Lord Rama fought against the ten headed Ravana. He would even act as Hanuman (devotee of Lord Rama). He would enact the whole of Ramayana. His mother Janaki told him stories from the Ramayana. Karnesh seemed to be inspired by Lord Rama. He was basically fond of rice. He took a long time to eat chapatti. Chewing process would go on for a long time. An hour would be spent for it. Karnesh was amused by Revathi and Uma. They had cultivated a special way of crying. Their crying consisted of intermittent screams, shouts and tears. Very often he laughed at them. But there was an instance when he could not laugh. One day, my sisters felt like singing a traditional Marathi song. They sang loudly together. Karnesh, my cousin was also tempted to sing. Karnesh began to sing but my sisters opened their mouths deliberately and screamed loudly to prevent him from singing. Unable to bear the noise, Karnesh had to put hands on his ears.
My brother Hari was very naughty. He was scolded and beaten many times for his pranks. He joined hands with children of the neighbourhood and took lead in plucking mangoes from masterji’s compound which was adjacent to our balcony. Hari would climb up the tree and ask others to keep a watch on masterji and his house people. The boys, on seeing masterji, would run away leaving Hari behind. Ultimately Hari would be caught. My parents would feel embarrassed and Hari would be punished. Parents restricted our movements. They didn’t allow us to play outside. Neighbours had lot of complaints about us. Cricket was played in the building compound. “Come on lift the bat, I’ll bowl.” The boy bowled and the batsman got out. The batsman was not ready to accept his defeat. He grimaced and scowled, “I am not out, and you didn’t bowl properly. I will not go. You have cheated.” The bowler said, ‘I will bowl and if you get my ball on the stumps, you will be out. Now we begin..’ The bowler bowls. The batsman hits it and it lands in for a catch. The batsman was not willing to leave the crease and said ‘I will not play’ “Ok don’t play.” “Suresh, take his place and start batting.” Suresh laughed loudly and snatched the bat from the batsperson and said, “Chal hat mujhe khelne dey.” More than play, the boys seemed to fight among themselves and create a din. I abstained from playing mainly because only boys played. The girls from households did household work, stitching, knitting etc.
My first priority was to study. Being born sensitive, I knew, I was a burden to my parents because I was a female child. My mother’s comments were such, “Your dad’s paltry income is not enough to get all of you married. Daughters are a great economic burden. No saving is possible. Who will marry girls like you? The problem is you have taken birth to be damned.” Anyhow the fact remained that I was an unwanted child. Privation was an accepted state of affair. Defeated from all sides by malnourishment, stammering defect, breathing trouble and a home in turmoil (always noisy), I realized the gravity of the problem I was sailing through. Very often I used to say that I didn’t like the house. I reiterated it many times. My father would say, “Don’t be negative. Don’t look at the negative aspect of life.”
My parents took great care of me. They didn’t allow me to do household work like filling water, washing clothes, scrubbing vessels etc. I felt guilty. I couldn’t help my mother. My mother kept on slogging. Dad used to bring kerosene from ration shop. Mom used kerosene to light stove. During the times when kerosene was scarce, prices of kerosene shot up. Mom used to ask me to collect cow dung found on streets. I would pick it up and fill in the container. Mom would mix charcoal bits or charcoal powder with cow dung and shape it into balls and put it in the balcony to dry-a practice which is against the flat system. Since our flat was in a remote area, no one bothered about it. Mom used a mud stove made out of scrap metal bucket. Phulkas (a variety of flat bread made out of wheat flour) were made along with tasty sabji( cooked vegetable). She used brinjals sliced lengthwise and added grounded masala (spices) with a bit of jaggery. The taste of the food was heavenly, something which cannot be forgotten. After cooking, I would remove the ash which was afterwards used for scrubbing vessels. I would wash the mud stove and put it to dry. Clay was used for making the mud stove. Wet clay stove would then be baked. So washing would not affect the mud stove. Washing the mud stove was almost a regular routine. I did it with pride. There was no question of dignity of labour in my mind. Doing things in an ancient or traditional way is very often termed as backwardness. Such type of backwardness did not worry me. Mom did not involve me in household work especially when I was studying.
Childhood was a nightmare. Wheezing trouble or bronchial asthma pestered me. I felt heaviness in the chest as though something had got clogged. Sometimes I would not be able to see anything for some minutes. Total darkness would be the result. Treatment continued. Railway doctors prescribed vitamin tablets, cod liver oil pills, sulphur tablets and some drugs. Intake of medicines continued regularly. Vacations and change of seasons were mostly spent in sickness. Sickness intervened with my school studies. Mom used to sit up late nights and foment my chest with thyme seeds put in a cloth and knotted into a bundle. It was made warm on an iron plate which was used to make dosa. Household medicines also worked. Ghee(clarified butter) or any fried eatable was unacceptable in my diet. Consumption of ghee or oil would trigger bronchitis.