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ETWA|Ch11b: A Well-meaning Misstep

Every Thing We Are is a coming of age novel where Samyukta aka Sam learns that every thing we are is not always on display. This is my first attempt at writing a novel. I started this project as part of #NaNoWriMo2020 before I fell off the wagon. Hope you will read along as I get back to writing it. All episodes of this series are available on the ETWA page. Subscribe to my writing here.

Meanwhile, Chanchal was feeling very accomplished at the end of her call with Sam. She was a woman making her own decisions. She had no choice but to make that call. That little girl had to know that she was not alone.

In the evening, Siddu came home from work, angry.

“Did you speak to my sister today?” Chanchal knew from his tone that this conversation would be a towering concrete wall to scale.

“Yes”, she warmed herself up.

“What did you say to her?” he was egging her on to take the leap.

“Whatever you asked me to”, she said with conviction, centering her focus for the run up.

“Are you sure? Did you tell her that she just needs to hang in there till she turns 18?” he provided just the momentum he needed.

Chanchal thought back to her call and realised how naive she had been. She was asking a hostage if the kidnapper was in the room. Obviously Amma was listening to their conversation and obviously Ammu could not tell her so. Though the gravity of the situation dawned on her, she decided to stick to her guns.

“Yes I did. And it’s true. You know that she is free once she is 18, right? I am so tired of your liberal facade.” she said accusing him of being two-faced.

“What do you want me to say? I’ll say it anywhere. Yes, I don’t mind anyone else being gay. But not my sister.” Siddu accepted graciously. Chanchal looked around her to an invisible audience, as if to say, see, didn’t I tell you so?

“I will not have you or her bring down my family’s name.” This was not a new line of argument. It was one of his favourites in fact.

“I am trying to understand you here. What about this is bringing your family name down? Is it the sex? Then what about your ex-girlfriends then? How are they glorifying your family name?” Chanchal asked with as much earnestness as she could gather.

“What?” Siddu was truly unable to compute what his wife was saying. He felt that familiar urge again—to slap her across her brusque, loudmouthed face.

He felt that familiar urge again—to slap her across her brusque, loudmouthed face.

“If she is not allowed to have a girlfriend, how come you’ve had ‘so many’—your words, not mine?” she continued her line of questioning.

“Because I am a man. There, I said it. Happy? I am a man, and I know what to do with my freedom.” he said, trying to distract himself from the urge.

“What makes you think women don’t know what to do with their freedom?”

“First of all, Ammu is a child. Then, women are not brought up with the same kind of exposure as men.” he said triumphantly, suggesting that he had won the argument.

“Well, whose fault is that?” she rolled her eyes and looked around.

“Anyway none of this matters. I am not letting you mess with her future. I told you already that you can go back to your parents and do all this there.” he changed tack.

“Oh yes! You did. Because I am here only as part of your luggage and I can be sent back whenever you so please!” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

This time around, she was going to stand her ground. Why should she be the one to storm out of home. That too into that miserable weather outside? She was going to stay at home and ignore him.

She could ignore him but not her marriage. She didn’t know how her parents would react if she said she was having second thoughts about her marriage. Also when is it okay to ask for a separation. Is it as simple as ‘when you don’t want to live with the other person’? When does that moment arise? Is it when they leave dirty clothes on the bed everyday for two years and three months despite daily reminders? Or is it when they have fundamentally different views of the world? Why aren’t we taught all this in school?

Thinking through this was difficult. On the one hand, he didn’t hit her. Her in-laws treated her like their daughter. He didn’t have a problem with her working. He didn’t have a drinking problem. He wasn’t hell bent on having a boy child. It could have been so much worse. But then again, the bar is so low for men in a marriage. Siddu expected her to tow the line. To stay within the bounds of his worldview. If she disagreed with him, it made him mad. If she suggested a different point of view, he would scoff at it. What was the tolerance threshold for these traits? How much was acceptable? She was brought up as a girl and not a person to be able to make such decisions.

She was brought up as a girl and not a person to be able to make such decisions.

Whether in the UK or in Uruguay, for a literate and enlightened community, Keralites were probably the most regressive when it came to marriage and family status. She imagined a group of her father’s sisters and sisters-in-law sitting around at the next wedding in the family, talking about her failed marriage.

“Did you hear why Chinnu got divorced?” Kavitha the broadcaster, began. “I heard their wavelengths didn’t match”, she scoffed, answering her own question. The others laughed with derision.

“The number of children I had to make, to stoop to his wavelength!” said Shyla about her dead husband, the father of her five children.

“I stoop every night so that we can get through the day”, winked Padma who was famous for exaggeration.

“I know all the crests and troughs of his wavelength”, said Meena, the retired physics teacher trying to sound dirty.

“You mean when wavelength decreases, frequency increases?” Everyone turned to the oldest aunt Sujatha, who no one expected to join in.

“What about you, Hema?” Sujatha asked the youngest aunt. “Marriage is a dirty business”, she said tilting her shoulder to one side like Mohanlal, appropriating his iconic dialogue about narcotics. The group burst into spontaneous applause and back-patting. Uproarious laughter erupted.

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Next Chapter|Ch12a: Are Eyes For Seeing?

ETWA|Ch11a: A Well-meaning Misstep

“Yes, Amma. The shop that Vaithi sir’s nephew suggested is a little far from our house but it does have curry leaves. Yes, we made the trip last week. Yes, and peas parippu. No, I know. It’s different from kadala parippu. Yes, I got some last time. Yes, for making his favourite parippuvada. In English, I don’t know. I think it’s called split pea maybe. Hmm, what else? It’s getting colder here. Yes, yes. My coconut oil froze long back. I’m still using the packet Vaithi sir’s nephew brought us from home. I’ve put it in a wide jar so I can scoop it out like you do from your Bournvita glass jar. Yes, very convenient.” Chanchal said, being agreeable with her mother-in-law.

After three or four volleys of chit-chat, she politely suggested, “Is Ammu there? I dreamt of her last night. Probably because we are talking about her all the time here. Could I speak to her? I just wanted to hear her voice”, Chanchal brought out her ‘most polite’ tone.

“Ammu, are you on speaker?”.

“No”, said Sam though Sreeja had made her put the phone on speaker.

“Good. I had to speak with Amma for nearly an hour to get to talk to you. I know she’s there so just talk about your exam prep, OK?” Chanchal was being careful.

“I called to tell you that your brother and I don’t actually agree on how things should be. I didn’t mean any of the things I said the other day. Forget that whole solar system example and that spiel about how no-seventeen-year-old-could-make-it-in-this-world. I am with you—100%. In anything you want to do. I am sorry this is all very confusing for you. I want to help you through this time but it’s hard for me to contact you from here. I can’t support you publicly because Siddu will eat me alive. You know how it is. But don’t worry about anything anyone is saying. You just need to hang in there till you are 18. I have your back. I am here for anything you need. Not publicly. But you know”, Chanchal said in a passionate monologue.

I have your back. I am here for anything you need. Not publicly. But you know

When they hung up Sreeja took her finger off her lips. Then as still and calm as the mid-afternoon on a workday, Sreeja spoke, “Don’t forget that she is in another country. There is nothing she can do for you from there. Don’t even think of acting on her advice.” The menace in her mother’s voice made Sam rue her sister in law’s unsolicited support. It had got her into even more trouble.

Sam felt like she was floating in a large body of water; in an unending, bottomless limbo. She had had no contact with the outside world for over two weeks now. Her parents barely spoke to her or acknowledged her presence. They had changed the wifi password. If she had to go online, her mother would key in the password and then sit with her the whole while she accessed the Internet. There was no sign of her friends. She couldn’t access the Zassy group either. She heard in passing that they had come to the house to try and meet her but her parents had sent them away. It felt like she was drifting, unhinged. Who was that person who was in love with Madhu? That was someone else. Not her. But this person holed up in her room, studying, this is not her either. Neither of them, nor she knew how to disobey her parents. She felt helpless.

On many nights when she managed to fall asleep, she dreamt of a horse running across a field. Suddenly she was on the horse, the wind in her hair, life embracing her. She closes her eyes to take in the exhilaration of the ride. She had felt it before. Where was that? As that thought derails her, she feels the horse come to a halt. The animal is getting confused, irritated. She opens her eyes to check. It’s pitch dark. It feels like she is in a tube, like a well. She looks up instinctively to see if they have fallen into a well. But there is no light to be seen, no end to this tube. She feels around for the walls of the tube but there are none.

That’s when she feels her legs on the floor. What about the horse? Where’s the horse? She’s frantic now. She extends her arms now, in search of her ride. But she’s alone in this space. She faces ahead and takes steps out to meet the end of the tube. But the space, it’s walking with her!

She sits down, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Time goes by but she still can’t see in the dark. Her thoughts are racing. Does anyone know that she is here? Will she die here? What is this miserable place? She’s breathing hard. Her head is spinning. Suddenly the floor she is sitting on gives way. She wakes up with a start, clutching her table. It’s dark outside. When did she sit down to study? When did she fall asleep?

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Next Chapter | Ch11b: A Well-meaning Misstep

ETWA|Ch10b: Hide and Seek

“Amma, I told you last time also, it’s a very normal thing. It is not something she chose to do. That is the way she is. People say that about me no? That I am not like Selviakka. I am too tall to get married. But what can I do about it?” Semmalar asked drying her hands and rolling out the bedding on the floor where her mother and her slept. Her appa slept on the cot which doubled as seating during the day in their one room house.

“You don’t worry, Chinna. Don’t listen to anybody. I am getting money together. We will find you someone who is taller than you.” Vimala said, stroking Semmalar’s head to reassure her.

“Well, this is just like that. It’s not something you can change. Anything her parents do other than let her be will only make her life worse”, Semmalar explained.

“Easy to say. Her parents are very worried about her future. She is a good kid. She learnt all this from the TV I think. She watches all these English movies with naked women and kissing. No shame”, Vimala shook her head in disapproval.

“True. Maybe those movies taught her that it’s okay to be who she is. But you cannot change the feeling itself, Amma. It’s as odd as saying that a woman should marry a man. Have you ever wondered why? You for instance, what use is a man to you? He drinks away all our earnings and beats you. Other than that, what purpose does he serve?”, Semmalar asked outright.

“You won’t understand. He is the father of my children. There is no respect for single mothers in our society. But also, this is not right. Man and woman are supposed to be together. How will these people have children?”, Vimala was genuinely concerned.

“They are women. So technically they can give birth. But do you know India’s population? Maybe she doesn’t need to have children. Not everyone needs to have children, you know”, Semmalar knew she was pushing it.

“I can’t win with you, ma. I simply cannot. I couldn’t care less if other people don’t have children but I sure hope you are going to have a chubby boy baby”, she said, just as they heard Anban serenading the street with a Rajini classic, Athanda ithanda arunachalam naanthanda.

They quickly turned off the lights and pretended to be asleep to avoid provoking him. As she lay there praying that she wouldn’t get hit today, she thought once again of what Semmalar had told her the last time they spoke about Ammu. “Amma, think of her as a person. Without the sex. That is her personal matter. Think of her as a 17 year old child whose parents are making her life difficult. Just try Amma. Maybe you are the only one who can see that.”

It’s certainly not easy for Vimala to think of Ammu as a normal person. But she had told Semmalar she would try. She heard Anban climbing up the stairs to their house making her hypervigilant. Semmalar got up slowly, heading to the back door. But then there was silence. They stayed there, in a midnight mime for a good 15 mins. Once they heard him snoring, they realised that he had fallen asleep by the door. Vimala said a silent prayer of thanks and hugged her daughter close.

“Amma, think of her as a person. Without the sex. That is her personal matter. Think of her as a 17 year old child whose parents are making her life difficult. Just try Amma. Maybe you are the only one who can see that.”

These thoughts stuck with her until she woke up one day with a sense of purpose. She walked into door number 204 that morning, determined to make the little girl’s life easier. She made Sam her favourite hot chocolate drink and took it to her room.

Sam was stepping out of the bathroom. Her eyes were swollen and red.

“Why ma, you watched some film in there aa? Why are you crying?” Vimala said jovially. Vimala noticed that Sam’s cheeks were swollen as if she had been slapped.

“I am not crying”, said Sam, as her eyes filled up. She was so grateful that Vimala had noticed. She was feeling more and more invisible with every passing day.

“Dont worry ma, here. I made you your favourite. You can’t say no!” Vimala said placing the drink on the table with a flourish.

“Thank you, Vimala”, Sam said with a dim smile. “I was beginning to feel that no one cares about me anymore”, she confessed.

“What are you saying? I care, ma. Everyone cares. Only, they are a little worried about your future. They will find a solution soon. Don’t worry so much”, Vimala said exuding confidnce.

“Vimala…”, came the call from the omniscient Sreeja. “What is that?” asked Sreeja pointing at the empty glass in Vimala’s hand.

“I made some hot chocolate for Ammu. She was crying so I thought…”, Vimala fumbled.

“Hmm…”, Sreeja cut her off with a gesture to mean ‘enough’.

Vimala followed her into the kitchen with the glass, grabbed the broom from the work area and made herself scarce. Once cleaning was done, she found Sreeja and broached the subject carefully.

“Madam, Ammu was crying in the room.”

“Hmm…” said Sreeja, not taking the bait.

“God only created her also madam. He must have a plan for her”, Vimala said vaguely.

“Yesterday, didn’t you clean the pressure cooker properly? When I took it out this morning, it was sticky”, Sreeja said ignoring her comments.

“Sorry madam. I will wash it again. And I will be more careful from now on”, Vimala agreed unconditionally.

“She has her big exams coming up also. Let her study in peace madam. She will have a bright future.” Vimala tried once more.

“That’s enough, Vimala. I don’t pay you to poke your nose into my business. Just stick to your job”, Sreeja cut her off.

Vimala knew that that was a hard stop for the official channel of communication. This conversation was dead in the water. She was lucky to get out of this with her job intact. She needed to think of a more discreet way to make her point. She made a note to take the next day off just to teach this woman a lesson.

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Next Chapter | Ch 11a: A Well-meaning Misstep

ETWA|Ch10a: Hide and Seek

When Vimala heads over to 201—Sudha’s house—that evening, she knows that Sudha will sniff out the details from her. Sudha has been on a hunting expedition since Sreeja spilled the beans to her. No amount of detail seemed to satisfy her. Vimala kept her head down and busied herself avoiding Sudha all evening. But right before she could leave, Sudha cornered her, saying,

“Here Vimala. I made Mysore pak today. Have some.” Sudha offering food was an invitation to chit chat. Vimala took the piece she was offered while Sudha dove right in. “What’s the latest next door?” she asked in a tone of faux friendliness.

Vimala hated being put on the spot like this. “Ammu is so much younger than Siddu, no? So they have pampered her a little bit. She is a good kid. But nothing compared to your Preethi here”, she said pointing to Sudha’s daughter’s room, hoping the nicety would get her off the hook..

“Oh Ammu could do no wrong up until now. What are they saying now?”, Sudha’s allegiances were clear. Vimala would not be leaving anytime soon. “They are very worried, madam”, Vimala knew that this was a vicious cycle. If she said what she really felt, tomorrow Sudha would tell on her to Sreeja.

“Of course, when I once told Sreeja that her daughter is becoming an adult, keep an eye on her, she came this close to saying mind your own business”, Sudha said gesturing with her hands. “Now see what happened?”

“Yes, yes”, Vimala agreed. “I told her the same thing about Ammu wearing shorts and watching bad things on TV. I even told her to look at your daughter madam, so well behaved.” Vimala elaborated in an attempt to end the conversation.

“Oh, you did?”, Sudha said getting up and walking towards her daughter’s room in a hurry. “Preethi”, she called out mid stride. “Vimala, wash your hands and bring me a plate of camphor from the prayer room. And don’t forget the matchbox.” Sudha called out.

Vimala did as she was told though she was furious inside. Sudha was going to ward off the evil eye by lighting camphor on fire and circling it around Preethi’s face before throwing it out of the house. Specifically, the evil eye that Vimala had brought upon Preethi by mentioning her good manners to her neighbour. And she was making the same Vimala bring her the ingredients. The good thing was that Vimala was free to leave once she brought her the paraphernalia because there was no way Sudha would perform the ritual in Vimala’s presence. Vimala politely made her way out of there and was still sizzling with anger when she gets home.

Sudha was going to ward off the evil eye by lighting camphor on fire and circling it around Preethi’s face before throwing it out of the house.

Her daughter, Semmalar who was a final year nursing student, was almost done with making dinner by the time Vimala got home. They sat down and ate dinner in a hurry. They had to get all the work out of the way before Semmalar’s father, Anban came home drunk. She prepped for the next day and was ready to slink away to her neighbour’s house if things got violent. She packed a pair of clothes and her books and left them by the back door. She got money from her mother for bus fare.

Vimala was adamant that she would protect her daughter from her husband. Before her older daughter Selvi got married, she used to protect Semmalar from getting hurt. The girls used to hide under the bed or behind the door as soon as he came home. But once, soon after Selvi’s wedding, Semmalar had intervened when Anban hit Vimala. And in his drunken stupor he had raised his hand on Semmalar. Since then Vimala made sure that Semmalar left the house when things got out of hand.

It was not that much of a hassle. It was only on days when he came back home. On many days, he would be so drunk that he would forget his way home or sleep on the pavement. On other days when he managed to get home, he would be in no position to have a conversation. Those were the good days. The dangerous ones were when he had had just a couple of drinks. Those were usually towards the end of the month when he ran out of money. Then he would be in withdrawal and itching for a fight.

All this scheduling had long become mechanical. Among all this, mother and daughter did make time for chit chat. First, they ate quickly and efficiently in silence. And once they were done, they began talking about their day while washing up.

All this scheduling had long become mechanical. Among all this, mother and daughter did make time for chit chat.

“You look angry, Amma. What happened?” Semmalar began.

“Ah yes, just as I was leaving, 201 madam did something nasty today. I was telling her about the other girl, who likes girls” she said, lowering her voice for the last phrase though they were alone at home.

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Next Chapter | Ch10b: Hide and Seek

ETWA|Ch9b: A Power Play

*Photo by Himanshu Singh Gurjar on Unsplash*

“Vimala…”, came Sreeja’s call from the kitchen, where she was beginning to prepare dinner while eavesdropping on their conversation. She knew the servant’s place in the family hierarchy. But she also acknowledged that Vimala was a mini her. Vimala was here everyday, taking care of her family pretty much how Sreeja herself did. Vimala was almost a wife. She was also Sreeja’s conscience keeper.

Vimala walked into the kitchen tackling the topic head-on, “Madam, Sunday I am going to muthumari amman kovil to pray for Ammu. Don’t worry madam. Young children, no? Mistakes happen.” Vimala knew very well that no conversation in that house was private.

“I don’t know, Vimala. Sometimes I think, is it something I did wrong? What could I have done differently to stop this from happening? You’ve seen her since she was a baby. What could I have done differently?” This was a rhetorical question and Vimala knew that.

“Madam, girls are always a problem. Boy means he will find his own way. But girls, too much problem. We can never sleep properly with a girl in the house. I have two at home no? I know.” Vimala was a soothsayer.

We can never sleep properly with a girl in the house.

Sreeja and Vimala shared a precarious power dynamic. While as employer Sreeja had the appearance of absolute power, Vimala was a treasure trove of family secrets besides being a great employee that the whole family approved of. Over the years, Vimala had taken many liberties that Sreeja had expertly brushed under the carpet in exchange for her exemplary service. When Vimala didn’t agree with a family member’s action, she was taken to dropping hints to let Sreeja know how she really felt.

“Remember, I used to say Ammu is wearing short clothes and going out. She is watching strange things on tv when I am cleaning the room. Then you used to say Vimala, she’s a child. Vimala, mind your own business. All this adds up ma. We have to be very careful while bringing up girls. One wrong step and it’s over.”

This confessional was turning into a game of chess. One had to be careful of how close to the queen one let’s the knight advance. Sreeja decides to nip Vimala’s snide remark in the bud.

“I know what Ammu needs. But her Papa won’t let me do it. There’s nothing a good caning won’t resolve. It will clear things up much faster than any of us can.” Sreeja said without feeling.

There’s nothing a good caning won’t resolve. It will clear things up much faster than any of us can.

“Abababa Madam, don’t do that. You can say whatever you want to her. Use bad words, shout, threaten. But hitting madam, will crush her soul. You know that my husband hits me on most days. The physical pain is something you can learn to live with. But in your head, it’s very difficult madam. You feel like the world has let you down. It makes you so diffident in life. And there is no coming back from that. It is no way to live.” Vimala pleads with Sreeja.

“Okay, okay. Talking this and that you have forgotten about the coconut you’re grating. It needs to go into this curry ma. Coconut won’t get hurt. Do faster.” Sreeja reclaims her position.

“Yes, ma. God bless you, ma.” says Vimala avoiding conflict and refocusing on the task at hand.

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Next Chapter | Ch10a: Hide and Seek

ETWA|Ch9a: A Power Play

“Putta, come eat ma”, Vímala coaxed Sam. It was almost tea time. Sam had started skipping meals on the pretext of board exam prep. “You carry on Mama. This is a timed prep test. I’ll eat once I am done”, she would say. And her parents let her make excuses so that they could all avoid the awkwardness at the table.

“Vimala, I’ll finish this chapter and then eat”, when Sam started with her excuses, Vimala, their house help, would shut her books announcing to the room, “How much will she study? So many people have written these exams. Nothing to worry”. She had been working with Sam’s parents since Sam was a baby. She was well versed in all of Sam’s moods and mechanisms. Six days a week, Vimala came early in the morning, helping Sreeja with the chores. Once she had breakfast around 1030 am, she headed over to Sudha’s house next door. By tea time, Vimala would be back here to clean up and help with dinner. And by 6 pm she left for Sudha’s house again to help out there.

In a house, the kitchen is many things at once. It’s a battleground and a prison. But it is also a haven and a confessional. No part of life is out of bounds in a kitchen. Everything gets discussed here. And the kitchen was Vimala’s office. Whether they liked it or not, she knew everything about this family. Vimala was around when Sreeja and Vineeth got pregnant with Sam and were deciding whether to keep her. She was here when Sam took her first steps. She remembers missing Sam at home when she started school. And Vimala was washing dishes the other day when Vineeth came home and broke the news that changed Sam’s life. This was her workplace and she took pride in knowing the ins and outs of this family.

“Come, come, come. First eat, then work”, she insisted before Sam could protest. She turned to Achams, “Amma, you tell her. You need strength even to worry, no?”. Vimala had a way with people. She was a middle-aged woman in a neatly pinned up sari with a severe bun that pulled her hair away from her face. She wore a red rose flower in her hair everyday and had a smile that lit up her eyes. “Good morning ma, how are you ma?” she would greet everyone in a single breath.

As Sam sat down at the table, Vimala served her rice and sambar. When she began eating, Vimala presented her with a card. It had a picture of the goddess Mariamman. “Keep this under your pillow. She will protect you”, she said, turning the card over and pointing to the hymn inscribed there, “Pray to her everyday for 14 days. She will take care of you.”

…don’t buy flowers today ma, your husband has bought’. Then only I knew something was wrong. In these many years, he has not bought me a safety pin. Aaahaha, flowers it seems!

“I’ll tell you a story. My husband and I got married so long back that Rajinikanth still had his natural hair then.” Both Vimala and Sam knew that this story would make Sam laugh. She had heard it a thousand times from Vimala and laughed out loud each time. But this time Sam flashed a thin, vague smile. The effort made her sigh. But Vimala continued, “When he first started hitting me, it was to the tune of ‘naan autokraaran’ from Rajini’s film, Baasha. Do you know this song?” Sam shrugged in response.

“First I thought that he hated me, auto drivers and Rajini. But with time I realised that he was crazy about Rajini, dreamt of being an auto driver and didn’t really care about me. He hit me when he got very drunk. And he got very drunk when he bunked work and went to watch the first day first show of Rajini films.” Sam was smiling now.

“How did he hit you?” Sam asked, as was expected of her in this familiar sketch.

On cue, Vimala hitched up her sari and broke into a performance, “naan autokaaran autokaaran naalum therinja route kaaran, nyaya mulla rate kaaran”, imitating the thalaivar’s moves. Achams looked up from her book briefly and smiled. Sam laughed for the first time in days.

Once she was done, Vimala hunched closer and in a conspiratorial tone, continued, “A couple of years back, my husband had another woman”. She looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I got to know from the akka near the temple who sells flowers. One day when I went to her as usual to buy flowers for my hair, she said with a naughty smile, ‘don’t buy flowers today ma, your husband has bought’. Then only I knew something was wrong. In these many years, he has not bought me a safety pin. Aaahaha, flowers it seems!” she scoffed.

“That evening I prayed to Mariamma, told her all my worries. And she made that woman leave him in one week’s time. I am serious. One week! She told him that Amman came in her dreams and asked her to stay away from him. One night when he was drunk, he only told me ma. Believe me. Amman will take care of you”, she insisted, folding her hands in prayer.

“Coming Sunday, I will go to the kovil near HBR layout. Little far it is. It will take time. Not possible on other days. But I will go and pray for you, ma. Don’t worry.” she said quickly as if she were running out of time.

“Vimala…”, came Sreeja’s call from the kitchen, where she was beginning to prepare dinner while eavesdropping on their conversation.

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Next Chapter | ETWA | Ch9a: A Power Play

ETWA|Ch8b: Insubordination

For the first couple of minutes, she walked through the English winter in a blinding rage. When the prickly numbness poked through her outrage, she turned back to where their car was parked. Once the warmth of the heating enveloped her in its arms, she held the steering wheel and let out a low, long frustrated growl through her gritted teeth.

Too much. It was all too much today. Being married, on a dependent visa, with no job, in a foreign country and now this. They were planning to get that child married off. How will Ammu manage? She knew that as an adult there were times when she couldn’t handle being married. Right now, she didn’t know if she was putting pressure on her marriage or if the marriage was putting pressure on her. It’s always been the little things until now. How he glared at her when she swore, how he expected her to be a good cook, how he laughed at wife jokes. Were all marriages like this?

Was it too much to expect Siddharth to be on the right side of LGBTQ rights? Was she making a mountain of a molehill? How exactly did this issue matter in their relationship? In theory, she believed that it was possible for two people with differing opinions to live under the same roof. But her theory had discounted the inherent power structure in a marriage. You need breathing space to be able to disagree. How was she going to stay married her whole life? Was she to tow his line because she was married to him? If she didn’t have an income, do all the decision making rights in the family automatically revert to her husband? She had been collecting doubts about her marriage for a while now. But today her doubts bounced off the walls of her head like the stack of cards when you win a game of Microsoft Solitaire. She drove mindlessly until her muscle memory took her to Caffe Nero, a coffee shop she frequented.

When she got back, Siddharth had already left for work. He must be pissed that I took the car, she thought. When he brings it up, she made a mental note to remind him that it was bought with her savings. It was the least she could do to needle him for what he was getting her to do. She idled around the house, google searched ‘how to earn money on a dependent visa UK’, cleaned up and fixed herself some lunch. When there was nothing left to do but call Ammu, Chanchal calmed herself down with a deep sigh and dialled her number.

Imagine all the made up rules together are the sun and we are planets that revolve around it.

“Ammu, how are you?”

“I am so glad you called, chechi. It’s horrible here. Mama-Papa don’t talk to me. They don’t let me meet my friends or go out. I am trapped. They talk about me as if I were invisible or dead. They’re planning to take me to some guruji to ‘cure’ me. I think I will go mad here.” Sam was relieved to speak to her.

‘Aeey…don’t say that Ammu. I’ll make sure that no one cures you. Trust me, I know how you feel. When I was your age, I used to feel that I am an individual who could choose the life I wanted to live. We are also brought up to believe that, no? But the truth is that we are bound by society and its made up rules. That’s what keeps us from total chaos.” she said, keeping it vague.

“But society does change. It has to. Otherwise we would have all been stuck in the dark ages.” Sam countered.

“Hmm. Are you sure it’s society that’s changing?” Chanchal sharpened her argument.

“Imagine all the made up rules together are the sun and we are planets that revolve around it. And our lifetime is one revolution. But like the earth we also rotate on our own axis. What’s changing is our orbit around the sun. It makes us believe that society is changing. Take marriage for instance. Yes, divorce is acceptable now. But we still consider marriage to be sacred. Or women at work. Socially, yes, it’s acceptable for a woman to work, but that’s provided she takes care of her family first.

Ammu, all I am saying is this. Your love for Madhu might seem harmless to you now. Why should the world care if I love a girl, right?”

“Right…”, Sam agreed tentatively sensing a ‘but’.

“But that is not how the world works. This will affect your parents’ future, as much as it does yours. Society will brand them as bad parents who couldn’t keep their child in line. They will lose respect in their social circle. Their neighbours will speak ill of them behind their backs. And their extended family will forsake them. I am sure you don’t want to see your parents hurt. Chetta worries about you. He worries that your family will be an outcast if this news gets out.” Chanchal said, pouring all her bottled resentment into this task.

“You could get married as soon as you turn 18 in July.”

“No, I don’t want them to get hurt. That’s not my intention at all. I can go away to college and they will not be troubled by me.” Sam reasoned.

“This is not a problem that simply goes away, Ammu. Can’t you see that? There is only one way to save your family. It’s a bit extreme but it’s still better than being cured.” Chanchal swooped in for the kill.

“What is it?” said Sam, her voice perking up with hope.

“You could get married as soon as you turn 18 in July.”

“What? No! What are you saying? But I have to go to college.” Sam blurted out, unthinking.

“Come on! Marriage doesn’t mean the end of life”, said Chanchal, feigning high spirits. “You can still study after you get married. Once you’re married, your parents can breathe easy. And in time, everyone will lay off your back. It’s the perfect plan if you ask me”, she added for good measure.

“But I like women, chechi. I don’t want to marry a man”, Sam said, feeling this loopy conversation tightening around her neck.

“Well, that’s where society comes back into play, isn’t it? In our society, that’s simply not an option. Maybe in another 50 years it would be. But right now? I am sorry to break it to you. But there is no way that’s going to happen”, Chanchal waltzed into morbid reality.

“You don’t need to make a decision right now. But think about how marriage can make your life easier. If you agree to it, it will end all these knots in your life. Don’t think of why you shouldn’t get married. Think of how marriage will make your life easier”, she said matter-of-factly, spinning the narrative on its head.

“Chechi, I thought you were on my side.” cried Sam, in confusion and disbelief.

“I am on your side. I don’t want you to go up against a giant you can’t crack. It will chew you up, spit you out and make you wish you were dead. There is no winning against society. Not for a 17-year-old like you”. That final jab was meant to decimate any resolve Sam had left.

There was silence on Sam’s end. Chanchal continued.

“Ammu, I am on your side. But I really don’t see how you can pull this off. Your family is against you. You have no money. No employable skills or qualification to find work. Humpfh… You don’t even know if Madhu would want to leave with you. You don’t have access to your phone. Take 24 hours. I’ll call you tomorrow. If you can tell me a safe way to get out of home and live independently with Madhu, I will support you”, she said knowing very well that someone as mollycoddled as Ammu, with no real experience of how the world worked would not be able to devise a plan by herself.

She was right.

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Next Chapter | Ch9a: A Power Play

ETWA|Ch 8a: Insubordination

On Siddharth’s end of that long distance phone call, his wife Chanchal, though seated at the dining table next to him, was far away in her thoughts. Midway through the siblings’ conversation, she had drifted away to her wedding day.

Their wedding reception had been a grand affair hosted by Siddharth’s family. Both families had brought their own photographers to make sure the wedding was adequately documented. Her entire team from work was there—a boisterous bunch turning heads of all the guests. When it was their turn to greet the newlyweds, Siddharth’s photographer suggested that they do a classic wedding photo. One where all the men pulled her towards them while she tried to hold onto Siddharth using her other hand. Her colleagues obliged and for 15 minutes or so they lit up the evening with their shenanigans. They played their parts with panache, clutching their broken hearts and cracking up the guests with an agreeable dose of corniness. Once the performance was done, they hugged her and took their party off stage.

Much later in the evening, when the rush of guests had subsided, they got off stage to get dinner. Siddharth turned to her and said, “You know…I am a modern, liberal guy. Tonight was fine but now that you’re married, I hope you will keep a respectable distance from your colleagues. They are men afterall. You know what people will say.” That was odd. But she had smiled and let it pass because she didn’t want to start the marriage with a fight. She did stop to smirk at his odd choice of words though. “It’s not just me that’s married. We are married”, she thought to herself.

She was definitely not happy with how Siddharth was taking the news of Ammu’s affair. Their arranged marriage was a toddler, learning to walk in a child-safe living room in the UK, bumping into arguments, finding its feet. She was thankful this was happening far away from the watchful eyes of their families. Turning to Siddharth, she said,

“Why are you so mad at Ammu?”

“Why am I mad? Are you serious? He replied, answering a question with a question.

“Yes, I am serious. I would like to know why you are mad.” Chanchal took the bait rather purposefully.

“Okay, I am mad because Ammu is my sister. I want her to have a good future. Her actions have consequences not just for her but also for our entire family.” Siddharth explained.

“What world do you live in? Even if you go by the law, it’s been decriminalised in India. That means even the most regressive folks who run the country, think it’s time to accept homosexuality. You might say it’s for votes. But even then. I mean, it’s the most natural thing, isn’t it?” Chanchal said, wondering how they had never discussed homosexuality before.

“Have you stopped to think what your parents would say if they got to know?” most of their serious conversations usually circled the family-culture drain.

“How does it matter? They are my parents. How does their opinion matter in your sister’s life?” She knew that using logic against this cultural reasoning was always a bad move.

“What world do you live in where your parents’ opinion doesn’t matter? Maybe it doesn’t matter to you. But it matters a lot to me. What they think of me and my family matters a lot to me.” Indian culture was always his trump card.

“What world do I live in? A world where you are not the centre of my universe.” She would not back off this time. This was important.

I would say keep your feminism to yourself. Or maybe you could go back to India and make your independent decisions there?

“Haha, what an independent woman! Err…without a job might I point out. Oh, and don’t forget about your dependent visa!” he scoffed. When his work allowed him a transfer to the UK office, she had quit her job and moved with him. Back in those early days of marriage and romantic hope, she was sure that it was the right thing to do.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time before I find a job. And stop being so petty.” She refused to lose this argument. This insubordination would definitely make her mother cringe.

“Oh that’s good. So until then, I would say keep your feminism to yourself. Or maybe you could go back to India and make your independent decisions there? If I had known that you were so forward, I wouldn’t have married you. All I wanted was to marry a nice, simple girl who would make my life easier. And don’t you dare stuff my sister’s head with this rubbish.” Siddharth presented a veiled threat.

“I will talk to your sister if I want to and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Chanchal was defiant.

Siddharth wanted so badly to slap her. How dare she make light of such a serious issue? But thank goodness for his presence of mind. He remembered that slapping your wife might have legal consequences in the first world. Just for this freedom, how he wished he lived in India. Anyway, as long as she didn’t have a job in this country, he could keep her on a tight leash.

“Let me tell you what you will do. You will call Ammu and calmly convince her that she needs to get married when she turns 18 in July.” he said, having regained his composure.

But before he could continue, Chanchal put on her coat, grabbed her keys and stepped out of the house.

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Next Chapter | Ch8b: Insubordination

ETWA|Ch7b: The Unravelling

Chetta and I are thick as thieves. He has always been on my side. Once, when I was ten, I knocked over and broke the TV while trying some hip-hop moves in the living room. When our parents found out, Chetta took the blame for it. He said that his hands were full, he wasn’t watching where he was going and had stumbled onto the TV by mistake. Our parents weren’t impressed and he got into a lot of trouble for that. But whenever I get into trouble, Chetta is my parent whisperer. He listens to our parents, agrees with them enough to pacify them and then reasons with them on my behalf. And he always comes back with a reduced sentence.

“Have you lost your mind?” he said in reply to my hello.

“Haha, good one”, I replied.

“What you need is one tight slap!” he was acting furious.

“You really sold this to them, no? Did they buy into your ‘outrage’?” I chuckled.

“Are you serious? You want to joke around about this?” he sounded angry.

“…huh?” I was confused.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he was definitely angry.

“I…errr…I didn’t think…” I was at a loss for words.

“Yes, that’s right, you didn’t think. You never do, you spoiled piece of shit!” he spat out.

“Chetta, Mama-Papa have been horrible to me all week. I was hanging on, hoping that you would help me out of this…” I gagged, tears streaming down my face.

“You will have no contact with this girl, ever again. Do you hear me?” Chetta’s voice was trembling.

“But I love her, Chetta…”, it seemed pointless to say anything more.

“You fucking listen to me, you dimwit. You are no longer a child. What you do has repercussions on other people’s lives. Have you ever stopped to wonder what Chinnu’s family would think of this little affair of yours? Why would you, when you cannot think beyond your own nose. Do you understand the mess you’ve put me in? I have worked very hard to be in a respectable position in my life. I will not let your little romance ruin things for me, understand?” he shouted as I hung up.

I wished that this was one of those situations. But it was becoming abundantly clear to me that there would be no more ‘one of those situations’ in my life.

When Mama and him had that explosive conversation about me, where he said all those horrible things to her, I had assumed that it was his way of diffusing the situation. He has always had a plan. And he has always been on my side. And a part of me had been waiting for his plan to set things right.

I was in 8th standard when I broke the brand new phone he bought me. It had fallen off the balcony, all the way down five floors of the building. I had immediately let him know. And he promptly informed our parents not to shout at me. He said the phone—a birthday gift from him—was a matter between him and me. They were not to give me a hard time about it. And just like that they had laid off of me, fearing his disapproval.

I wished that this was one of those situations. But it was becoming abundantly clear to me that there would be no more ‘one of those situations’ in my life.

I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. My ears were ringing as if a train were whistling down its tunnels. I had run up a thousand steps for his approval and he had upset my stride with an unexpected shout. I fell in a weightless, unseeing spiral, down a dark shaft with stale air. I couldn’t breathe. I was confused. Does ‘Ammu have a prashnam’ as they say or am I the prashnam? I was beginning to believe that I was the prashnam. I was unravelling.

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Next Chapter | Ch8a: Insubordination

ETWA|Ch7a: The Unravelling

*Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash*

“Mone”, Achams began, as Papa sat by her bedside. Since the night of the black coffee expedition, this had become a nightly routine before he went to sleep. Papa had practically stopped talking to me. In order to sidestep the awkwardness, I headed to the bathroom as soon he entered our room. Ten minutes later, I was in bed with my eyes shut to the world, though sleep was nowhere on the horizon.

“The other day in the newspaper, I read an article about Kudumbashree by Ratna Biswas. Remember her?” Achams was making small talk. Kudumbashree was Kerala government’s community network programme for women, aimed at ending poverty.

“Yes, yes…she was staying with you during her PhD research, no? What year was it? 1999 or was it 2000? I remember it was before Ammu was born.” Papa chimed in.

“It was 2001 March. She was part of the ILO team evaluating the rollout of Kudumbashree throughout Kerala. She was going to work out of our village for 3 months. And the Registrar brought her over to stay with me. Anyway, she lives near the Nandi temple. I spoke to her today.”

“How did you get her number?” Papa was amazed.

“Oh, first I called the newspaper but that was a deadend. So then I called the Registrar and he got me a landline number. We weren’t sure it would work. But that number belonged to the organisation she used to work for. I told Leena, their receptionist, how I knew Ratna and how I was in Bangalore. And she got me Ratna’s mobile number from the organisation’s founder.” Papa made a sound that accurately expressed his surprise at his mother’s competence.

“[…] I will make sure that all the obstacles in her way are removed.” Achams assured Papa.

“She has given me her address in Basavanagudi. But I was thinking I could take Ammu along because I am not so sure of the roads here.” Achams said to my delight. I hadn’t left the house since the showdown. It had been over a week.

“Sure, she can go with you. I was thinking, if possible, could you stop by at the Dodda Ganeshana Gudi? It’s a ganapathi temple close to the bull temple. I’ll make a list of poojas to do there. Actually, I should come along with you. That would make things easier. I am a little busy this week. Can we do next week?”

“Ayyo, she is going to America next week. Don’t worry about it. Ammu and I will go. I will make sure that all the obstacles in her way are removed.” Achams assured Papa.

The sanctions I was threatened with had promptly set in last week. They gave me two choices. I could study or I could help Mama with housework. It wasn’t a choice really. If I wasn’t studying, they expected me to be doing chores. For the most part, I pretended to be busy studying so that I didn’t have to speak to them. Also, my board exams were only a couple of months away. Studying, it turns out is both a good excuse and a good distraction. As long as I was huddled over a book or the computer, my parents ignored me. And I didn’t mind studying at all. Infact, I loved it.

I woke up early, studied all day, did my chores and got into bed early. But I slept very little. And I couldn’t bear to dance. Actually, I couldn’t bear to even think about dance. That meant I couldn’t think about music too. Anyway, I had put a lid on all of these painful things and shoved them down, somewhere difficult to reach. Whenever I felt them try to break free, I hurried into the bathroom. I had picked up a new bathroom habit. I chewed my nails in the bathroom, as I waited for the feeling to pass. As I chewed on them, I saw a montage of my parents’ horrified faces. Biting your nails was a filthy habit I was told as a child. Now as they mouthed those lines, I said, “You said I was filthy, so how does the habit matter now?” These were just my fantasies of course. Neither of them noticed my chewed down nails.

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Next Chapter | Chapter 7b: The Unravelling