Thursday 3 October 2013

A manner of hell

I want to tell you about a lady I know.

She meets me everyday and has a one-sided conversation most days. I think she just wants to be heard and I'm listening.

I asked her if she could help me for a few evenings and she told she'd have to ask her mother-in-law. After a while, she told me that if her child was not attended to, she'd not be able to.

I feel sorry for her sometimes, when I remember her life is worse than mine.

When I met her, she told me that she had been married seven years and only recently had had two children. At the start of the marriage, her husband lived in Goa and her mother-in-law insisted she needed someone to help her in her household chores, so she had to stay behind in Mumbai.

So the young lady became the family servant, cleaning, cooking, washing the clothes of her sisters-in-law, their husbands and children and working for a living.

All the while, her mother-in-law told neighbours and friends that the daughter-in-law was not bearing grandchildren for her. On a trip home, the young lady told her mother about what was happening at home and that her husband didn't seem to want to be a spouse or have children or take her with him to Goa. And she refused to return to Mumbai.

After a couple of months, her husband went to the village to get her back and his mother-in-law advised him to try and make his marriage work. He did all that he promised.

And the young lady had a baby. A girl. And her mother-in-law was upset. She told all her neighbours that she wanted a boy and what would she do with a girl. One of her daughters shouted at her for constantly putting down her daughter-in-law for not having a child... and when she did have one the mater was quibbling about its sex. 

The second child was a girl. And there were more laments. But my friend told the family she wasn't going to have any more children just to aim for a boy.

My friend told me, her first meal of the day is usually past 2pm. Most of the time she is living on very sweet tea. After everyone else has had theirs. Apparently that is cheaper than a meal. I am not sure how she produces breast milk if she is unable to eat well. After she's done housework for all the extended family members and her own, she eats something.

All of what she earns (very little) goes into the household and paying for her mother-in-law's frequent pujas. She recently had to have a big do for her daughter's birthday because the family and neighbours expected them to splash out on a party. She said she was distressed at having to spend money she didn't have on people who didn't value her or her daughters.

She says she's usually angry when she goes home after work, because no one has helped with any chores and she sees her baby usually sleeping, unwashed and and in food-stained clothes. Some days she bangs the unwashed pots in anger, but she is never able to say anything about her situation. Once she asked her mother-in-law to do a spot of sweeping and was told, 'look whose being my mother-in-law'.

Hell is closer than we think.

Tuesday 1 October 2013

Speaking of pregnancies

At our friend's place, we noticed the discus (a breed of ornamental fish) were laying eggs. At first we thought they were unwell. Three fish kept hugging the corner of the tank. The owner of the fish showed me which was the male. I realised all our fish were females. And I've got an ardent admirer in my fish tank. Thought it was male, but now I know it's not. And I'm not sure if one is still discovering it's sexuality.

At first I did not think much of fish. We didn't share a wavelength. Until we got ours and I started noticing them and their quirks. And I developed a liking for one particular fish. He/she waits for me in the corner of the tank, bites the others if they come to me for a petting, and isn't afraid.

I pet them everyday... and I'm wondering is there more to this.

The egg laying session at the friend's tank had me showing the kids where the eggs were coming from... the owner's wife found it disgusting. It was all new to me. The eggs will probably be eaten, eventually. We'd lost some of our fish to the breeder's urge to have several new frys... is that the correct word?

But in the process, we lost several of our fish. I'm a little upset when he takes them away, because the few occasions we've had new fish given to us by others, they usually never get used to us. They are always wary. And of course, they die. Faster with the fish breeder.

We recently lost two fish because the oxygen machine gave way at night, while we were asleep. It was hard. One of the fish that died was from our first batch of fish in 2009. Just before my mom broke her hip and things were never the same.

We'd called that fish Sandra. Now I know George is not really a boy and I should perhaps be trying to call him/her Georgina. Likewise for Obama and the Nawab. The husband tells me that fish breeder tried to make the Nawab have a family, but apparently wasn't co-operative. As was the other fish that was taken from our tank. He came back big and bulky, but now i realise he wasn't a male.

 

Ona sadya

On Sunday we were invited to a friend's home for onam. It's late for several reasons.
 
The immediate family were tired this year and wanted to ply their energies into the matriarch's 71st birthday the next week. So we all pitched in and made a malabari biryani. The biryani took several hours and i felt sorry for the cooks. There was a main cook. My husband, and two main helpers, his sister and sister-in-law, and three children and me helping with the rest. I had been peeling and cutting the raw materials for the mutton's marination early in the day and later chopped a salad, split the cashews, fried the popadoms, and generally hovered and tasted and had cold drinks and whiskey-laced drinks at regular intervals. I'm never considered a great help on these days. But i and the kids did our best, cleaned, wiped, cut whatever we were asked to do. 


The burner was small, there were too many cooks in the broth, the kids got hungry and ate the nuts, cold drinks and and finally found the biryani too spicy, which is strange, because it is not supposed to be. But I'm no expert.

I don't know what's fun about cooking. The only thing that happened was that the 'able' women were in the kitchen, sweating and tiring themselves out. The main chef was sweating a lot, and worried about the biri. And, in the end, the rice didn't cook. We finally settled down to eat at 11.40pm and then the kids found the food too spicy and wasted much of what was on their plates.
 

After we divided the leftovers and left, it took us another week to get to the leftover biri. We steamed the first lot in the biryani vessel and had it on the Sunday. We had the next lot the next Sunday. To tell you the truth, I'm sick of leftovers.

Now this onam, there were four women cooking. And cooked chicken too. It was celebrated late because these two families (related to each other) went to kerala to attend their grandmother's 100th birthday. So they finally had an onam celebration with in-laws and children and fish.

All the men behaved slyly, and went into a room to drink. I, the sole female boozer, had a spiked coke. I'm not sure what was in it, but it was strong. Despite telling the host I was okay the way I was, eating starters and generally enjoying female company, he just didn't believe I could be happy and replete sober.

After the first sip, i remembered why I like to mix my own drinks... and why I like to have them at home. I drank it slowly, first wondering if i should pour it into the tulsi plant in the tiny balcony. But then i noticed the gods on the pot. How many times had I been there and never noticed them. I worried that the tulsi would wilt and die and the family's luck would turn bad. So I looked at the other plants and then I sighed and had my drink very slowly and with lots of diet coke. My husband later told me I should have gone to the kitchen sink and thrown it away when no one was looking. I am slow.

I stayed away from the chicken curry... and refused to sit at my designated spot -- the leaf was loaded with food. What did they think I was... an elephant?

In any case, I'm worried about being considered a boozer. The men felt i absolutely had to have my drink. And the women were uncomfortable about drinking with me... and I uncomfortable about drinking in the company of disapproving (well-hidden) teetotallers. The kids made it sound worse. One slyly alluded to my 'drink'.

In any case, the spouse and I have decided on a few excuses for the next time he and his friends intend to have a drink. I'm going to say 'my-fish-are-pregnant-and-need-me-sane/I'm sick/on medication/having a headache. Take your pick.  

Three movies

I saw The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel today. I'd wanted to see the movie for a very long time, but even i was surprised that i had something to smile at in the end. It was better than i expected.

It has been a string of movies for me this week. I saw Lunch Box at Infinity Malad on a weekday last week. I've been trying to catch movies in the early part of the day, the tickets are cheaper then, but have been finding it tough to get out early. I'm usually in a rush, managing the entry and exits of the maids, my bath and breakfast, all at one go. Husband says that after my mum died, I'm even willing to let the maids in when I'm not at home. Don't have a choice. The dust doesn't respond to magic.

Well the movie was quite moving. It hammered in that i was growing older. I felt old. My friend Mala meets me and tells me I've grown old. When did this happen. How? I was always determined to feel like a child. When did I start feeling like a +40-year old. Is it bad? Will it kill? I'm hoping to overcome this affliction, perhaps it's just me. But I've been realising i have no friends... they are all virtual and not quite there. They are bogged down, busy, far away. I'm wondering that if I retire soon, I may want to die early.

The funny thing about the movies is that I want to see them. I find myself trying to get out the door and in time for the movies, almost like an appointment. everything else can wait.

The dull weeks are the ones that don't have a movie I'm interested in. The mall has started boring me. Including the bookstore.

The movie moved well. Surprisingly for a Hindi movie. Sometimes there are uncomfortable spaces and pauses. Facts that don't meld. Nimrat Kaur was good. I was discussing this with Sra and we found her responses to Sajjan very much spot on. We could almost feel the anticipation when she was preparing to meet him. I just don't understand why she needs to smell the clothes she has to wash everyday. Anyone?

The theatre was full that day. but i had to listen to an inaudible but noisy commentary from the couple next to me. The boy sat next to me and poked me several times in the chest... until I shoved his elbow off and he apologised. The other young man wanted to sit on my lap. When i described the two to my husband, he scolded me for not sitting in an aisle seat. Really, what was I thinking. I should have held on tight to the chap on the right and continuously elbowed the one on the left. It will probably improve the movie experience for me. depending on how heavy the fellow on the right is, of course.

The Prisoners. The theatre was empty. It now fills me with a little fear to enter such a theatre. Especially if i spy one lone man sitting in the last row. For the first 10 minutes I'm wondering if I'll be tackled from the back or the side. How will i fend someone off if I'm too busy tucking into popcorn or a cold drink. Maybe i can freeze his nose off with all the ice cubes noisily swimming in the coke. And then there were more people walking in... but no women. sigh.

Anyway, this was good too. In a very different way. And a hanging end. When you watch the movie, you'll know what I mean.

And today The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which made me wonder why Indians sound so bad in foreign movies and even in the interests of authenticity their accents never seem to be researched or genuine. I left it feeling that there was hope when one becomes older. It might be different.

Mom

I don't remember when i last wrote. I know it was before my mother died.

There i said it. On my own.

The year has divided itself into before mom and after. And i still cry when i think of her.

Some days she's all i can think of. Her wrinkled soft skin. Us calling her the security officer of the house. I wonder how many cycles there are to grief, and why i have to go through it so many times.

When my father died, it took me very long to get over it. I wonder if i still have. I have stopped crying when i think of him, and i can now look at his pictures. I can't look too long at mum's.

Winding down, packing up the pieces. Wondering what to do with her things. Her clock beeps at 11.44pm every night. If i'm working in the room, it sends a shiver down my spine. The sound is so unexpected, reminds me of my mum trying to sleep but always staring at the back of my head.

She always looked as though she wanted to say something, tell me something, but never did.

When i was young I asked her why she had five children. Couldn't she have stopped at the first three. I thought they could have done better keeping their family small.

Some days when i think too much, i understand that there's a karmic cycle somewhere. I'm in it too.