Dollar Bahu (12 page)

B
y the time she returned from New York, Gouramma’s perception of America had changed a lot. She was missing her country. That month, she wrote out a list and gave it to Chandru. She had lost all interest in going to the grocery store or to any other store.

A few days after her return from New York, Chandru told his mother, ‘Amma, every Thursday I have a meeting at an office which is close to Bombay Grocery Store, the Indian store. Why don’t you come with me and buy whatever you want?’

‘Can I leave Manasi at home while she is sleeping and lock the house? Will we be back soon?’

‘That is not allowed in this country. Even if she is sleeping, bring her to the shop with you.’

Reluctantly Gouramma went to the Indian store.

Bombay Grocery Store was like any other Indian grocery store, packed with DVDs, vegetables, ready-to-eat food packets, different types of masalas, pickles, etc. The freezer was stuffed with palak paneer, samosas and batata vada. Gouramma realized one didn’t need to bring anything from India; everything was available in the US. She wondered why Jamuna always insisted that Gouramma send masala powders from India.

When Chandru dropped her at the store, Gouramma panicked. How would she translate Kannada words into English? While she was struggling, the lady across the counter spoke. ‘I can understand Kannada. Don’t worry.’

The woman was in her mid-thirties, and extremely active. She talked on a phone while she juggled some items. Gouramma realized that she was making tea.

‘Would you like some tea, Aunty?’ she asked pleasantly.

Gouramma declined politely, then added, ‘What is your name?’

‘Asha Patil.’

‘How do you manage all the work?’ Gouramma asked, impressed by her efficiency.

‘I work in the store from 11.00 a.m. to 3.00 p.m. My husband is here from 3.00 to 7.00. We alternate our duties.’

‘What do you do at home?’

‘I have two Gujarati women helpers. I get chapattis made. I also prepare samosas and other eatables.’

‘You must be busy all day.’

‘Yes. But then, money doesn’t come easily, does it?’

Though Gouramma wanted to know more about her, by this time she had learned that asking too many questions was considered bad manners.

Thus it became her routine every Thursday—Gouramma would bring Manasi and spend an hour with Asha Patil at Bombay Grocery Store. Gouramma liked Asha’s straightforward manner and affectionate behaviour.

During one such visit, Gouramma casually asked, ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Ten years.’

‘Don’t you feel homesick?’ asked Gouramma, a manifestation of her own feelings.

There was no answer forthcoming at once.

Asha went inside, brought two cups of coffee for them, and sat down. There were no customers in the shop.

‘I hail from a village near Akkalkot, near the border between Maharashtra and Karnataka. We speak Kannada at home and Marathi outside. We are a middle-class family and we own some land. I have two younger brothers. I was a strong young girl, so soon after I finished my matriculation exams, somebody in our village brought an alliance for me. They told us that the boy, Satish Patil, was in Bombay and was making good money in his business. My parents were gullible, and without any verification, they got me married off. After I came to Mumbai, I realized that my husband’s family lived in one room in a chawl. I had an extraordinarily bad mother-in-law and three even worse sisters-in-law. My husband owned a bhel-puri cart. The family got a free servant in marriage. I would work like a donkey all day long. My husband did not have a backbone and I suffered a lot.’

Her face saddened, as she recalled the past. Yet when one or two customers walked in, she attended to them very pleasantly.

‘Our daughter Vinaya was born. I always used to dream that I would live in a house with an affectionate mother-in-law and sisters-in-law and a loving husband. I would own a small house with a small garden in which my child would play . . . there would be peace and happiness around me.

‘But there was a vast difference between reality and imagination. The house was always noisy—fighting and shouting. I went into a depression. My in-laws thought I was acting, that I was being lazy. But one day my father came to visit me, realized my state, and took me back to my village. He had me treated at a good hospital in Miraj. Slowly I started recovering. It took almost two years. After that I refused to go back to my in-laws’ house. My father had a Gujarati friend whose relative wanted to open a hotel along with a grocery shop in New York. He told my father that they were looking for a hard-working couple, and my father felt it was a good opportunity for us.’

‘Did your husband agree to come with you?’

‘Of course. Once I said America, he agreed immediately. We became illegal immigrants and worked in New York for some time. Afterwards, we regularized our immigrant status. We worked from morning to evening in the kitchen. Still, life was better than in Mumbai. I gradually understood how the business ran. So one day I took the lead and requested our employer Arunbhai to allow us to start out on our own. He was upset at first, but later, he agreed. Thus, we started Bombay Store here. However, I still buy all the groceries wholesale from Arunbhai.’

‘How do you feel now?’

‘I feel great. This county has changed my life forever. There are no signs of depression at all. What I used to dream about has come true. My husband was listening to his mother before but now he is devoted to me. We helped financially for all my sisters-in-law’s weddings but I never visit them. My father had taken a loan for my treatment. I have returned that loan. I have also helped my brothers to start businesses. It is only because of this country that all this has been possible. There are many women like me in India, tortured by their mothers-in-law. But they do not have any option. Sometimes, they commit suicide, sometimes they run away and some get into depression. For me, god helped in the form of America. I am extremely happy here and I don’t feel like going back.’

‘Are you not worried about your daughter, when she comes to marriageable age?” Gouramma asked.

‘No. What is going to happen with other girls here will happen to my daughter too. I know many Indian girls who have far more loose morals than American girls. Here, everything is in the open, but in India, since society does not accept such things, they do them anyway without the knowledge of their parents.’

Gouramma’s mind was reeling. She felt she was seeing the world from a new perspective.

O
ne day Chandru said, ‘Amma, the button on my shirt has come off. Could you please stitch it on today?’ Gouramma usually did all such minor work during the afternoons. She hunted around for a sewing kit, and was surprised when she could not find one. She thought it may be in Jamuna’s wardrobe. Gouramma had never opened Jamuna’s wardrobe. She respected Jamuna’s privacy. When she opened the wardrobe in her hunt for the sewing kit, she saw a lot of saris in one corner and a pile of photo albums in the other. She located the kit underneath the photo albums, and just as she pulled out the small kit, the albums tumbled and fell.

As she busily gathered them up, some pictures which had falled out of the albums caught her eye. There was a picture of Jamuna and Chandru at Niagara Falls. What caught Gouramma’s eyes was not the spectacular beauty of the Falls but what Jamuna was wearing. Gouramma immediately recognized it as the same chiffon sari which Jamuna had gifted Surabhi for her birthday during one of her visits. Curious, Gouramma looked through all the photographs very carefully. She recognized several of the saris Jamuna was wearing in the pictures.

Gouramma was shocked. When Jamuna had said, ‘I specially brought these saris for you since they will suit your colour,’ Gouramma had praised her to the skies for her generosity. Gouramma preferred American saris as they did not fade even after frequent washing: they remained fresh. She now realized Jamuna had cleverly got rid of many of her old saris and had received so much appreciation and gratitude for that.

How could Jamuna have behaved like this? There was nothing inherently wrong in passing on a used sari but, Gouramma felt, one should not lie about it. Jamuna had done it all so cleverly that even if Gouramma accused her of giving away old saris, she could always say, ‘Oh, I bought you an identical sari’ or ‘Where is the proof?’ and create a scene. But worse was to follow. Gouramma found a photograph taken at Jamuna’s cousin’s wedding. Jamuna and her mother had posed along with the bride, both in expensive silk saris. The same saris had been ironed and professionally folded and gifted to Surabhi at her wedding. Gouramma was furious. She thought to herself, I was crazy about all American things and expensive silks, but it does not mean that I will accept a used sari as a gift.

She was deeply hurt and decided that never again would she ask Jamuna for anything from America.

Normally, Jamuna and her friends got together every Saturday. The idea was to have fun for four or five hours, play games, discuss an interesting novel or poetry, exchange news and gossip and go home after a sumptuous lunch. It was usually a potluck party, with everyone bringing a dish.

Chandru was away at New York that Saturday, and Jamuna organized the get-together at her home. Jamuna told her mother-in-law, ‘Let us make idli-sambar. I will help you.’ By this time, Gouramma knew what that meant. She felt she was only a servant in her son’s house and everything had to be decided by her Dollar Bahu.

After she finished the cooking, Gouramma put everything on the table and decided to take Manasi for a stroll. Manasi was nearly ten months old.

Gouramma was still very upset by what she had found out about Jamuna. She had always praised her Dollar Bahu to high heaven but now realized how undeserving Jamuna was of that praise. After a long walk, Gouramma returned home. Manasi was asleep in her stroller. When she reached the door, Gouramma heard her name and stopped for a minute. She was curious to know what Jamuna and her friends were saying about her. Foolishly she thought, maybe Jamuna is praising my services.

She listened in on the conversation. Girija said, ‘Jamuna, you are the smartest of all. I can trade my PhD to possess your talent on how to handle a mother-in-law and win her heart.’

‘It seems her mother-in-law always treats her like her own daughter! Is it not surprising?’ said Veda.

‘Nothing so surprising. My mother-in-law is greedy and stupid. My co-sister-in-law Vinuta is from a poor family and innocent about the ways of the world. My sis-in-law Surabhi does not have any brains. It is easy to manage such women.’

Gouramma began sweating. Her Dollar Bahu continued spewing out her real feelings. ‘I give them what I don’t like and they don’t suspect anything. For example, I pass on all my old saris to Surabhi and I tell her, due to customs restrictions, I rewrapped them. They believe me. My mother-in-law cannot understand that she should get along with Vinuta who slogs day and night for these people but instead, she praises me. I always believe in divide and rule.’

‘Jamuna, I don’t know why we should take anything from here. Nowadays we get everything in India. Last time, I played a trick. I went to Burma Bazaar where we get all imported stuff, much cheaper than in the US, without warranty. I purchased some things for a few thousand rupees and told everyone at home that I had brought them from America. Everybody was very happy,’ said Girija.

‘No wonder you go with an empty suitcase from here. You are also quite smart,’ Jamuna complimented her.

‘Jamuna, are you planning to go back to India sometime?’

‘No way! Here our husbands listen to us; we can eat, drink, dress and roam around the way we want. It is better to send some dollars as gifts than to settle in India. My father had clearly told me that he agreed to the proposal only because Chandru was in America, otherwise he would not have bothered. My parents had already judged these people before they accepted the proposal. My mother advised me to be nice, speak to them well, but keep them at a distance. That advice has helped.’

Rohini said, ‘If you really calculate and get someone from India at the time of delivery, it is so advantageous.’

Jamuna immediately replied, ‘That is why I wanted my mother-in-law for one year. She was dying to come to the US anyway, and my husband wanted his mother to come. It was at the right time that I called for her. In this one year, she has looked after us, the house and baby sat Manasi.’

‘And one doesn’t need to worry about anyone stealing either. The cost of the ticket is nothing, once you add up all these benefits,’ added Rekha.

Gouramma couldn’t bear it any more. She collapsed on the steps with her head in her hands. Oh god! Why was I so stupid? she cursed herself. Her head began to throb. For the first time she felt that her husband was a clever man for not coming here. She felt like running away to India immediately. She also realized that she had married her son off to an evil-minded person, falling prey to her wealth and sweet talk.

Just then Manasi woke up and began to demand attention. Gouramma picked up the child and went into the living room. Jamuna got up with a sweet smile and told her, ‘Everyone says you have a magic line in your hand and no five-star hotel can compete with your sambar.’ Gouramma did not even smile. She quietly went to her room.

That entire night Gouramma cried, and her wet pillow was testimony to her uncontrollable grief. She missed Vinuta. Now she could finally appreciate that poor girl. She regretted her own attitude towards Vinuta. She felt awful when she remembered that she had never even given Vinu any gift, be it for her pregnancy or on any other occasion, and how badly she had treated her in the run-up to Surabhi’s wedding.

How blind I was! Why did I behave so stupidly? she kept asking herself through that wretched night. And the answer became clear. It was the Dollar. The Dollar had blinded her, making her unable to see the reality.

The next morning she spoke to Chandru. ‘Manasi is old enough to go to a day-care centre. It is almost a year since I have been away from home. Your father must be lonely. It is better that I go back.’

‘Please do not go now. It seems there is acute water shortage in Bangalore and the power supply is very irregular. After a few months, I will take you to California and Disneyland. You will enjoy that,’ Jamuna tried to coax her mother-in-law to stay on, not aware that she had seen through her ways.

‘No. I want to go back. I am getting bored here. How long can anyone stay away from home? My place is in India and I feel comfortable there, in spite of all the difficulties.’

‘Yes, Jamuna, let her go. She has helped us so much; we should not hold her back any more. I will ask around for someone who is going to Bangalore soon.’

That evening, when Chandru returned from office he said, ‘Amma, do you know Shanta, daughter of Alamelu? It seems Alamelu was your friend.’

‘Of course I know Alamelu. We were neighbours when we were children. Shanta is Girish’s age. Don’t you remember her? She used to play with you when we went to Ajji’s house during the holidays. Where is Alamelu now?’

‘I don’t remember. But today I met Shanta and while talking, I spoke about you and she remembered you at once. She wants to talk to you.’

Just then, Shanta called. ‘Chandru, I am leaving the gym now. I can pick up your mom. She can stay the night with me, and I’ll drop her back tomorrow evening. Ask her whether she is okay with it?’

Gouramma agreed immediately, and started packing an overnight bag. ‘Why does Shanta go to a gym?’

‘To exercise, to keep her body in good shape. I am planning to join,’ said Jamuna.

‘There’s no need to go to a gym to get into shape. Doing housework will keep you fit. Vinuta never backs out from doing any housework and she has never put on an extra kilo, even after delivery. She is slim, without going to any gym.’

Jamuna was surprised to hear something positive about Vinuta from Gouramma for the first time.

When Shanta arrived, the first question Gouramma asked was, ‘What happened? You had such lovely long hair!’

‘Aunty, with so much to do, it is difficult to maintain such long hair. So I have cut it short.’

‘Vinuta has thick long hair. She manages to maintain it with regular oiling and washing, though she is also a working lady.’

This came as another shock to Jamuna.

Without a word to Jamuna, Gouramma got into the car. During the drive she sat silently having learnt not to ask personal questions.

Shanta’s house was not a bungalow. It was a two-bedroom house in a residential complex. It was a simple, ordinary house with the bare minimum of everything. On a stand, there was a picture of Shanta and her daughter. Shanta warmed the food in the microwave and put it on the dining table for the two of them.

Gouramma asked, ‘Where is your daughter?’

‘She is in school in India.’

‘How is your husband?’

‘Oh, that is a long story. I was married to Mukund after my graduation. You know that we were five sisters and Appa was quite worried about our marriage. Mukund was working in a software company, in a small job. After marriage, I started working in the same company and I was smarter than Mukund. So I got promotions faster than he did. My daughter Lata was born then.

‘My company sent me here on an assignment. I brought in Mukund and Lata. Mukund expected that I should be a dutiful wife and also developed a complex because he had to report to me. We had constant fights. As he earned less than me, he would draw money from my account without my knowledge and make merry. The day I came to know, we fought and separated. He was unable to stand the fact that his wife earned more than he did. He always compared me with some other women and taunted me that they were good women because they served their husbands well. He had too much of a male ego and it was difficult to stay with him. Now, Lata is in Ooty and I visit her once a year. I will bring her here for her college education. I am saving every penny for that. That is the reason I live so frugally.’

Gouramma felt saddened, but Shanta continued brightly, ‘I am happy in this country. This society does not look down upon single women—unmarried, divorced or widowed. They don’t gossip behind your back. Nobody asks personal questions. If I do well, I will earn more money. I am contented. These difficulties have made me face the realities and I no longer need a protective shelter.’

The next morning, Shanta dressed in a typical south Indian sari and escorted Gouramma around the temples nearby.

Later in the evening she dropped her back at Chandru’s place.