Tunnel Vision (32 page)

*

When Ammi came back from the hospital her fatigue was evident on her face. Considering she had just undergone hours of labour to produce a mewling infant that had promptly and ravenously latched onto her (and continued to do so at regular intervals for the next few weeks), no one was surprised. The matrons in the crowd of well-wishers smirked knowledgeably and rattled off detailed accounts of their own post-birth trauma.

‘
I couldn
'
t sit for a month!
'

‘
I had to be carried to my room.
'

‘
The little thing wouldn
'
t leave me alone.
'

‘
My back ached for days.
'

‘
My bones still haven
'
t recovered.
'

‘
It was impossible to do any housework, I couldn
'
t even lift a duster, the maasi had to put the baby to my breast
'

‘
Blood, blood, blood …
'

This last comment was the only contribution of a wizened old crone, one of Ammi
'
s distant relatives, she seemed to be a human specimen of Hyderabad
'
s famed achaar, pickled in her own juice. Her words caused an awkward silence, but then everyone started talking all at once, as if to drown her out should she choose to speak again, and she just chewed spasmodically on her toothless lower jaw for the rest of her visit.

Well-wishers and friends, neighbours and relatives came for a couple of weeks after Adil
'
s entry into the world. It was obvious that the effort of making herself presentable and sitting sedately in a chair while random people examined the baby was taking its toll on Ammi, but she seemed powerless to stop it. Abba obviously had no objection to the fact that it was raining people, in fact he was so suffused with pride he looked like an inflated balloon in danger of flight, almost airborne with the sheer delight of it all. Only Ammi
'
s gentle nudges on the tie that bound them kept him grounded. Had all this happened when I was born? Had she moved visibly, inexorably, towards exhaustion day by day? At seven, I didn
'
t know what was normal and what was not. One of the neighbours had had her sixth child the year before and been up and about in hours. Ammi and I had popped in to see the baby and found her washing clothes, looking none the worse for wear. Her mother had been with her though; she was cradling the baby.

‘
That
'
s the way it
'
s done,
'
Ammi had whispered in answer to my question,
‘
when a woman has a baby she goes to her mother for a while, if she can. Sometimes her mother comes to her. Women look after each other.
'

‘
What about the men? Doesn
'
t the father help?
'

Ammi had laughed,
‘
Even if they tried, they
'
d be more nuisance than help.
'

True enough. Abba was a real nuisance to Ammi post-Adil. Even when there weren
'
t visitors to tire her out, he kept popping in and out of their room, trying to make clumsy overtures to the baby, waking him up when he was sleeping, talking incessantly about having a complete family now. Now? What about before? Had I not been enough? Had they not wanted me?

‘
Of course we wanted you doll,
'
Ammi reassured me as I went crying to her, tucking Adil under one armpit and making room for me in the other,
‘
and we were both so happy when you came.
'

‘
Shazia down the street says parents always like boys better.
'

‘
Isn
'
t this the same Shazia who told you the whistle you hear at night is the sound of the girl snatchers on the prowl?
'

‘
Yes.
'

‘
And what is the whistle at night actually?
'

‘
The night-watchman doing rounds to protect us.
'

‘
Then why believe anything she says?
'

‘
She
'
s not the only one who says it. Afreen says her grandmother distributed luddoos when her grandson was born but did nothing when she was born. She heard her mother and father talking about it one night.
'

‘
That
'
s why children shouldn
'
t eavesdrop on their parents, they don
'
t understand half of what they hear.
'

‘
So what were they talking about then?
'

‘
It doesn
'
t matter. What matters is you. Now I know what
'
s worrying you, you think your father wasn
'
t excited when you were born.
'

‘
Was he?
'

‘
I haven
'
t seen him that excited since.
'

‘
Really? Excited like he
'
s excited now?
'

‘
Even more so. He went around singing for days. I couldn
'
t shut him up. And you know he can
'
t sing.
'

I giggled,
‘
He doesn
'
t remember the tunes.
'

‘
No he doesn
'
t. Let
'
s hope your little brother is more musical.
'

‘
Maybe he
'
ll be a singer if he is
'

‘
God forbid! Now listen Ayesha, I want you to do something for me.
'

‘
Okay.
'

‘
When Adil is big enough to understand things, don
'
t let him know we liked you better. He
'
ll be hurt, just like you were hurt when you thought Abba wasn
'
t excited when you were born.
'

‘
That would be lying.
'

‘
Not exactly. You wouldn
'
t be hurting anyone. He
'
s a boy, see, they
'
re not as strong as us when it comes to emotions. You
'
ll have to protect him.
'

‘
Okay, Ammi.
'

‘
Good girl. Now run along and read a book or something. I need to get some sleep.
'

Kissing her gently on her forehead, heart warming at the smile she gave me, I ran out. Two minutes later, Abba went in. I could hear him talking for a long time. Then people came over. Ammi didn
'
t get any sleep till late night. The next morning she couldn
'
t get out of bed.

‘
What do you mean you can
'
t move?
'
Abba
'
s raised voice woke me up mid-morning. I hadn
'
t gone to school for a couple of days, Abba had said we all needed to celebrate.

Ammi
'
s response was an unintelligible murmur to me.

‘
You can
'
t move, or you won
'
t move?
'

‘
I can
'
t move,
'
she was louder now, but her voice was oddly flat.

‘
But you have to move! I haven
'
t had any breakfast.
'

‘
Why don
'
t you have a boiled egg and a slice?
'

‘
I don
'
t want a boiled egg and a slice. I want an omelette.
'

‘
I
'
m too tired to even get up. Can
'
t you make it yourself?
'

‘
I don
'
t know how to make it the way you make it,
'
his tone was wheedling now, the aggression fading, he sounded like a little boy talking to his mother.

‘
Then you
'
ll have to go without it today.
'

‘
That
'
s nearly two weeks without one.
'

‘
I
'
ve just had a baby. I need to rest.
'

‘
You were up and about in no time after Ayesha.
'

‘
I
'
m older now.
'

‘
Other women pop out dozens and nothing happens to them.
'

‘
According to their husbands.
'

‘
What
'
s that supposed to mean?
'

‘
Nothing.
'

‘
Are you saying I
'
m not considerate of you? I don
'
t care for you? Who used up all his savings so you could go to a fancy clinic for her delivery?
'

‘
I didn
'
t ask you to.
'

‘
But you hinted at it. So-and-so gave birth here, so-and-so only had a dai, so-and-so said the clinic was the best,
'
he mimicked someone, it wasn
'
t her,
‘
you practically taunted me into doing it.
'

‘
I didn
'
t. And even if I had, so? You did your duty and now I have to make you an omelette?
'

‘
At least. I did my duty and now you do yours.
'

‘
Well, I
'
m telling you I can
'
t.
'

‘
Don
'
t be lazy.
'

‘
I
'
m not being lazy, I
'
m not well,
'
she wailed. The baby started crying.

‘
Now look what you
'
ve done.
'

‘
He wouldn
'
t have woken up if you hadn
'
t made such a fuss! What does he want? Shut him up.
'

‘
I can
'
t if you keep talking.
'

‘
Abba,
'
I poked my head around the door,
‘
I
'
ll make you an omelette. I know how Ammi does it.
'

They both looked at me. Even Adil paused in nipple-swallow to grunt approvingly.

‘
Ok,
'
Abba retreated,
‘
at least one woman in this house knows how to take care of me.
'

Ammi refused to get out of bed even after Abba, pleasant on a full stomach, renewed his cajoling. By mid-afternoon, after she had even refused a meal sent over by neighbours, he went to the doctor.

BHOOL NA JANA PHIR PAPA,
NAURUS LAY KAY GHAR AANA

JINGLE OF JUICE AD IN
‘
90S

~

B
ack then, doctors still made house calls. There were one-man clinics/dispensaries in many neighbourhoods where the doctors would be more than happy to close shop and accompany a supplicant home. I recognized the young man with a moustache who trotted in with Abba, he had given me a shot in the bottom once. That sort of thing you don
'
t forget. He had to wait a while before being taken into Ammi
'
s room. When he did go in, I attempted to follow but was stopped at the door by my father, who winked as he held me back but left the door a little ajar so I could peep in and watch the proceedings.

Moustache-mouth took Ammi
'
s temperature, her blood pressure, poked and prodded her in various places, all without meeting her eyes. There was a certain propriety involved with female patients and male doctors, I had noticed it before. Doctors laughed and joked with Abba, made small talk, bantered about cricket and politics, this that and the other as they examined him. With Ammi, it was strictly a
‘
what I need to know and what I need to tell you
'
kind of conversation. She never relaxed, they never attempted to make her. Another one of those differences between men and women I was noting as I grew. To male doctors, men = people, women = patients. Strange.

Ammi kept her eyes fixed on Abba the whole time the doctor was examining her; he was standing by her side holding Adil in both hands, the doctor began asking her a series of questions. He noted her answers on the small writing pad he removed from a pocket of his safari suit. There were quite a few, and once or twice he shook his head and clucked like an anxious hen, but I couldn
'
t make out what either of them were saying. Then he put his pad away and asked Ammi to do something; I couldn
'
t hear what but she cast a pleading look at impassive Abba. She sat up and he palpitated the small of her back. Then he gestured for her to stand. Pulling her dupatta all the way across her chest, like the only garment of an African woman (I had an encyclopaedia with pictures), she swung her legs over the side, stood, swayed alarmingly and sat right back down again. The doctor said something to her, perhaps
‘
once more
'
but she shook her head in refusal and rested against the headboard again. Abba stepped in and told her to do it. This time I heard her curt,
‘
I said I can
'
t,
'
and cringed; I hoped they weren
'
t going to yell at each other in front of the doctor. He seemed like a nice man, I didn
'
t want him to be unhappy.