A World Within (14 page)

‘Why do
I
have to go alone? Why can’t you come along?’

‘It is a good thing, you should go alone,’ he says.

‘I do not want to go, Dadoo.’

‘You will like it I promise you. And you will learn so many things. Travel is the best education.’

‘But I don’t understand why,’ I murmur back, anxiety written all over me.

‘Have faith in me, it will help you to build confidence.’

‘I am already confident.’

He shrugs his shoulders, we all are sitting on the bed, Vikram is also there. He is reading a novel and I get irritated, ‘Why don’t you send him?’ I spit out.

Dadoo laughs, ‘Next will be his turn.’

Vikram smiles at me, infuriating me further.

‘First him and then me,’ I say adamantly.

Just as Vikram gets ready to argue, Dadoo replies, ‘You are the youngest and you always say,
pehle chota phir bada
[first opportunity should be given to the one who is younger].’

I am stumped.

‘I have confidence in you, you will reach there safely,’ he said with an assuring smile.

No doubt he had confidence in me. I was just fifteen but he gave a major chunk of his pay to me to buy monthly groceries.

Since Mamma and Deepu stay in Solan and we three – Dadoo, Vikram and I – stay in Rampur, all household work is divided equally between Vikram and I. One day Vikram would cook and the next day I would do the cooking. We would take turns to do the dishes.

I am the youngest was my trump card always. I often said, ‘I am the youngest, I should be allowed to choose first!’

So when we brought sweets from the market I got to choose the share first, I got the first chance to read the library book. So Dadoo was paying me back in my coin.

I remember sitting in the front seat of the bus, tears spilling down my cheeks as I thought of the dreadful journey. Dadoo was rushing here and there bringing pakoras and bananas for me. He talked to the conductor and driver to take care of me making me feel more awful and lost. When the bus left Rampur bus stand, he waved vigorously as if I was on some Olympic mission! I do not know if I was angry with him or with myself but the idea of a father sending his daughter alone on a long arduous journey of nine hours just for the sake of building confidence seemed totally preposterous to me.

I reached Solan safe and sound. Mamma was so furious with Dadoo. So after two days when Dadoo arrived in Solan with Vikram, Mamma blew him up for doing such an irresponsible thing. This made me happy to some extent but I was so hurt and angry that I did not speak to him for a couple of days. He reasoned and cajoled me out of my sulk.

Dadoo was always willing to discuss things and experiment. All my friends got pocket money but I did not get any as he handed over major part of his salary to me since I was handling the household budget. Hence, pocket money was a huge attraction for me; so one day I asked him to pay me pocket money every month.

‘You have all of my money, why do you need separate pocket money?’ he asked.

I said, ‘No, that is your money, I want my money that I can spend on anything.’

He reasoned, ‘You can spend the money I give you on anything, I have never said anything to you.’

But I was adamant, pocket money seemed more mine to me.

We argued and came to a decision. Any money that I saved from the household chores like buying vegetables and other rations by going around in shops and inquiring the rates and thus managing the finance – would be divided between me and Vikram as pocket money.

I was excited. After one month I handed over the ‘savings’ to him and asked for pocket money. He gave it to me, but the novelty withered away soon. After three months we stopped giving him the savings and demanding pocket money. Both Vikram and I decided that we did not need it anymore.

Once Dadoo said, ‘
Tera paisa-mera paisa kuch nahin hota. Paisa kharcho woh hi hota hai
[there is nothing like your money or my money, whatever you spend that alone is your money].’

One of his mottos was ‘Always give your best and do not worry about what happens next.’ After shifting from Nigeria I found it difficult to adjust in new environment and fared poorly in the first year in college. I barely managed to pass exam and I cried. Dadoo hugged me and even shared a few tears with me saying, ‘You have done your best, do not worry. The rest is not important. More important is to learn how to live life, which you are doing.’

I did not understand it then: But now I realize that he wanted us to be a good human being. That was the most important thing for him. How right he was! His focus was to inculcate right values in us.

38

I remember when I was around ten, I was sitting at the dining table where Dadoo too was sitting reading something. I was trying to talk to him but he was too engrossed reading, that’s when Mamma came from the kitchen with two cups of tea – one for herself and one for Dadoo. I do not remember why the other chairs were occupied, at least one of the chairs had Dadoo’s stuff on it. Then Dadoo said firmly, ‘Rewa, get up let your Mamma sit.’ I was about to say something when he said, ‘And remember this, whenever an elder comes, you must get up and offer your seat.’

Daddoo respected my mother. She did not lead the normal life of drudgery that an average Indian woman led. Though I know that Indian women in general are not ill-treated and their view points are taken and they are the backbone of the family but somehow, somewhere they lack that respect – respect of opinion may be, respect of just sitting and listening to them, respecting their views on how to handle family affairs. I had never heard my mother whining about lack of money or no money. The reason was very simple, Dadoo handed over his salary to Mamma to take care of the house and all the financial complications that went with it. He would introduce Mamma to all his friends and us children by names. In the beginning it was such a proud feeling, a feeling of awe, a seven-year-old or a ten-year-old being introduced to wise, elderly men of thirty! Later sometimes, it was irritating too. If a guest had come it was mandatory to come and greet him, make some polite talk, serve water and other refreshments like tea, soft drinks, snacks. Like all other chores this too was done alternatively, one day Vikram and the next day me.

Watching our parents talk to their parents, how they took care of them, with joy, reverence and indulgence indirectly taught us many things. Everything special to eat that came into the house was first served to the eldest. In case there was not enough snacks or mithai for everyone, the youngest one would not get it, it was a norm, no one argued about it.

Yes, one thing that I feel and regret is that we siblings were never taught hygiene. The reason probably was that our parents themselves were not so hygienically sound. They were not unclean or something, but we were never taught things like washing your hands regularly, having an exclusive soap and towel, brushing your teeth before sleeping, combing your hair when you got up in the morning; we never learnt it till very late. Dadoo was a farmer’s son, a man who loved earth, a man who thought these trivial things were not important for living and Mamma, though she was from that kind of a family, somehow did not teach us all this.

I remember him crying, sobbing like a child when I was young; I must be around twelve then, and Mamma hugging and comforting him. Some personal disaster had struck back home in India. I did not know what, but it was very traumatic for me to see him in such a condition. Dadoo and Mamma were hiding something from us, which had never happened before and was new to us. The next day he flew to India alone. Mamma kept crying and would not say anything. When Dadoo came back he was angry at Mala didi and told Mamma never to mention her name in the house. Mamma was clutching on to a packet, which she finally placed on top of the kitchen cupboard. When they had gone to the market, Vikram and I climbed up on the stool and with trembling fingers opened that packet, because we knew that all the misery and anger of our parents was related to it somehow.

It was an exceptional thing for us to do, trembling with fear and guilt. There were black and white photographs inside the envelope. It took some time for me to recognize Mala didi, and there was a man with her and it took some more time to realize that she looked different. She looked married.

We danced around with the photos with joy and when we heard the car outside we hurriedly put them in the packet.

As we chanted happily about Mala didi being married, Mamma snatched the packet from our hands and severely reprimanded us. There was cold fear in her voice, which of course stumped us. That was the only time that I remember her in fear of Dadoo. Later after weeks, Dadoo called us in the drawing room. He said that our elder sister had done a wrong thing, she had run away from the house and got married. Mamma was sobbing behind him, as Dadoo talked firmly. He said we now have nothing to do with her, she is no longer their daughter or our sister. I asked, ‘Why did she do this?’ He kept quiet and Mamma sobbed harder and then he said very softly, ‘May be I am to be blamed, somewhere.’

The next couple of months were heavy and laden with grief and many a time we would come across our parents huddled together whispering, talking and then becoming quiet when we came near. It was a difficult time because till then there had been no secrets from us and we had never seen them in grief.

This incident got so ingrained in my mind that I vowed when I grew up I would never have a boyfriend, mine would be an arranged marriage, as I would never bring this heartache to my parents.

Though in later years this vow became a problem for Dadoo. He just could not find the right match for me. I would tease him, and say, ‘This is your duty, now find me Mr Right and let us see how good he will be.’ For a couple of years, he showed me photographs of the grooms-to-be and we both would sit down and dissect the information minutely to the frustration and irritation of my mother. She would mutter,
‘Kya kar rahe ho, yeh theek tarika nahin hai, isko kyon saath bithate ho
[what are you doing, this is not the right way, why do you make her sit with you]?’ And I would gear up like a lioness to snap,
‘Yeh meri zindgi hai
[This is my life],’ and Dadoo too would be on my side and mumble,
‘Zamana badal gaya hai, Asha, isko nahin bataunga toh kisko bataunga
[Asha, times have changed, who will I tell if not her]?
’

39

1 April 2011

Is the medicine working? I have doubts. He has become hyper since we changed the medicines again two months back. Now he instantly gets angry and agitated. He keeps on asking questions. We all try to divert his attention to something else like reading a paper, reading a book, or watching news on TV but in vain. He senses what we are trying to do and snubs us, ‘I don’t want to read, I don’t want to watch TV.’ He has become so weak and his voice is hardly audible but he keeps on talking from five in the morning till nine at night continuously.

He speaks his mind without inhibition. Recently he told me that he would give me a piece of land to build a house and when I said jokingly, ‘Dadoo, Mamma will not allow.’ He got so angry with Mamma shouting at her, ‘Have you forgotten she is your daughter? Aren’t you ashamed that you are not giving her the land?’ Poor Mamma, she just didn’t know what struck her.

He keeps asking us as to who bought this land, who gave the money, who decided to build the house and then he says, ‘Was I consulted?’ and we murmur ‘Dadoo, you were,’ but there is a defeated aura around him, he doesn’t believe us.

Once, he made a cross and said, ‘I am out, I am bye-passed, you build houses, you do money interactions, but you don’t ask me.’

From his viewpoint I understand how very difficult it must be for him to accept that his children are taking decisions all alone without consulting him. And here it is not a question of the parent telling what to do, it’s more a question of sharing any major event or a decision with the family. I remember from the very beginning when we were children many major issues were discussed with us even what kind of a house was to be built, what careers to be taken, which country should we go to for our next vacation, where we should spend our holidays in India, which books we should read. So naturally he must be feeling awful that we don’t discuss anything with him now.

Another change that has taken place is that he has started disliking food, it is so difficult to feed him. Every time he says, ‘I am full. My stomach is full with gas, I don’t want to eat now.’ Everyone in the family concentrates on how to make tasty and creative dishes for him. Sometimes we cajole him, shower kisses on him, sometimes we threaten him and sometime we blackmail him – all this to make him eat.

Could it be that he has got bored with food – eating for so many years, the same dal-chapatti-sabzi, the same taste of spices, the same smell of food. The very mention of food brings visible shudders from him, he does not even want to look at it and pushes the plate away. Is it depression that makes him react like this? In fact for the last couple of years, he has been shirking from food often leading to both physical and emotional weakness.

Long back when he was totally fine or you may say on the border line, my father-in-law once asked him, ‘Verma sahib why do you eat so little?’ He replied, ‘We should take only that much food which our body can burn. I do not work and if I eat more food where will the excess energy go? It will disturb the whole equilibrium.’ How clear he was in deliberately balancing his diet with physical work but now …

40

25 April 2011

Today while baking a cake I realized that I did not have any kishmish (raisin) at home. After my marriage whenever I visited Solan I was loaded with stuff bought by Dadoo from vegetables to fruits to dry fruits to sweets, he would keep on going to the market selecting the best and coming back loaded with the goodies. He had such a vast knowledge of all eatables, was a master in selecting the best papaya, the juiciest pomegranates, the sweetest melons and water melons, the tangy and sweet oranges, and the delicious grapes. He knew every texture and every fragrance of the best fruit. It was the same with the vegetables, the freshest and the greenest and the cheapest was the one that he chose.