SIX
Two days later, Mrs. Ali was making pesarattu, spicy mung-bean crepes, for breakfast, when Leela came in. She hadn’t come to work the previous day.
Mrs. Ali asked her, “How is Kush? Is he all right?”
Leela looked tired. There were dark circles around her eyes as if she hadn’t slept all night. She replied, “Yes, madam. I think he will be all right. The doctor told us that he couldn’t say anything until Kush woke up. He was unconscious all day yesterday and woke up very early this morning. He recognized his mother and the nurses say that is a hopeful sign.”
“Thank God,” breathed Mrs. Ali.
“Yes, madam. The doctor told us that he would do his best, but in a case like this, involving the brain, it is ultimately in His hands,” said Leela, looking up at the sky with half-closed eyes.
After some time, she told Mrs. Ali, “I can’t come to work this evening again, amma. We are going to the Sitamma Neem Tree to thank Her and ask for Her blessings.”
“I understand. I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about going to that temple before,” said Mrs. Ali.
“We normally pray to Ammoru. But when they wheeled my grandson out of the operation theater and he didn’t wake for many hours, I was scared. So I went out of the hospital for a walk and on the way I saw a neem tree. I stopped in front of it and made a vow that if he woke up, we will go to the holy neem tree and make our offerings to Sitamma.”
“I plucked a couple of hibiscus and some jasmine flowers from the plants today. You can take them to the temple if you want,” offered Mrs. Ali.
Leela said, “Thank you, amma. In that case, I just need to buy a coconut and a few bananas.”
She carried on with her work and Mrs. Ali continued cooking breakfast.
The days went past. As Mr. Ali and Aruna were packing up on Friday, Mrs. Ali came out to the verandah and said, “Aruna, you said that you will let us know after a week whether you will continue to work here or not. The time is up today. What have you decided?”
Mr. Ali looked up in surprise. He had got so used to the young girl working with him that he had forgotten that Aruna had said that she would try the job for a week before making up her mind. He could not believe that it had been such a short time since Aruna had started working in the marriage bureau. It felt as if she had been there forever.
It had been a good week, thought Mr. Ali. Sixteen people had joined that week and Aruna had taken home four hundred rupees in bonuses. If it carried on like this, she would earn a lot more than she did in Modern Bazar.
Aruna said, “Yes, madam. I really like this job. I will stay here. The hours are a lot better and the work is also more interesting.”
Mr. Ali and his wife broke into smiles. Mr. Ali said, “Excellent.You won’t regret it.”
Aruna took her leave. Mrs. Ali turned to her husband and said, “You owe me a dinner.”
“We can go to Sai Ram Parlor. They have a new family room which is air-conditioned,” said Mr. Ali, half joking.
Mrs. Ali replied, “No! I told you before. I am not being fobbed off by idli sambhar; steamed rice cake and lentil soup is for everyday. Now, I want to go to a proper restaurant and eat chicken.”
After dinner, Mr. Ali switched on the television in the living room and lazily flipped through the channels until he came to one showing the local news.The newscaster was saying, “The protest at Royyapalem has entered its sixth day . . .”
He sat up straight and looked at his wife, who stared back at him with big eyes. He turned back to the television.
An attractive young female journalist holding a microphone stood in front of a dark, stocky man with a vast belly, wearing white cotton clothes and a Gandhi cap on his head. She asked, “What do you think of the protests against the Special Economic Zone at Royyapalem?”
“The protesters are politically motivated and are acting against the interests of the people of Royyapalem and our state. We have negotiated the best possible compensation package on behalf of the villagers that is totally in line with central government regulations. The people were happy with it until outside elements came in and incited them.”
“Will you negotiate with the protesters?” asked the interviewer.
“Absolutely not. These people are holding up the economic progress of our state. In the cabinet meeting earlier today, the chief minister has taken a personal interest in the matter. We will be ordering the police to take stern action against the protesters.”
The newscaster cut in and said, “That was Sun TV talking to the state industries minister. Now let us go to Bhadrachalam, where—”
Mr. Ali switched off the TV and looked at his wife, who was holding her hand to her mouth. He said, “I told the fool. I told him . . . we both told him not to go. Now look what has happened.Why does he go against our explicit words? Did we make a mistake in bringing him up? Should we have been stricter when he was a boy?”
“Don’t worry about that now,” said Mrs. Ali. “What can we do to help Rehman?”
“You are right,” said Mr. Ali, and thought for a moment. “Let’s call him. He must have taken his cell phone with him.”
Mr. Ali called Rehman’s number. The phone rang several times before Rehman picked it up. “Hello,” he said.
“Rehman.We just saw the interview with the industries minister on television. Is everything all right?” asked Mr. Ali.
“Yes, abba. It’s going great here. The villagers are really supportive and we are attracting more attention every day.”
“The minister said that they would send the police in to clear you all out. Your mother and I both think that things will get ugly. You’ve highlighted the problem as you wanted, now leave the place and come back,” said Mr. Ali.
“Abba, I can’t do that. The people are depending on us. Anyway, I don’t think the police will dare to move against us.We’ve been here for almost a week and they haven’t done anything.”
“Don’t be silly, Rehman. You are holding up a major project. It won’t go on like that. Come back now and give up this foolishness,” Mr. Ali said.
“No, abba. I cannot do that,” said Rehman.
Mr. Ali gave the phone to Mrs. Ali and sank down into a chair, holding his face in his hands. After some time, he heard Mrs. Ali hanging up the phone. He looked up at her. She didn’t need to tell him that she had failed to convince Rehman as well.
Aruna was at home, sitting on a mat in the kitchen, dicing brinjals into a bowl of water. Her mother washed three cups of rice and drained the water away. She measured four and a half cups of water into the rice and put it on the gas stove. She said, “It’s good you got the vegetables. There were no vegetables in the house, and when I asked your father to get them, he shouted at me, saying that he didn’t have any money.”
Aruna smiled and said, “You know how naanna gets toward the end of the month. His pension is probably running out, and he must be getting worried about it.”
Her mother nodded and replied, “I know . . . but the house still has to run—we have to eat. What’s the point of shouting at me? It’s not as if I am asking him to buy me jewelry.”
Aruna sighed. Of late, as their financial situation deteriorated, her parents seemed to be arguing more.
They lived in a small house—one room, kitchen, and bathroom. The main room served as their living room in the day and bedroom at night. It held a bed against one wall and a tall, dark green metal wardrobe against another wall. She could see the wardrobe from where she was sitting in the kitchen. It had seen better days and was dented in a few places.
Not surprising, thought Aruna. It had come into the household as part of her mother’s dowry and was older than Aruna. There were a couple of metal folding chairs next to the wardrobe. The framed picture of Lord Venkatesha that hung on the wall facing the front door with a garland of white plastic flowers around it was not in her view.
The tiny kitchen held a two-ring gas burner, three brass pots with water for cooking and drinking, and an open wooden cupboard that held their provisions. One of the shelves of the cupboard was closed with a fine mesh door and held milk, sugar, and ghee. Everything in the house was old but scrupulously clean.
Aruna’s mother lit the second ring of the gas burner and put an aluminum pan on it. She poured a couple of tablespoons of oil into it. When the oil was hot enough, she took out an old, round wooden container. She slid the lid open on its hinge. Inside, there were eight compartments, each holding a different spice. She took a pinch of mustard seeds and put them in the oil.When they started popping, Aruna’s mother dropped cloves, cardamom pods, and a cinnamon stick into the hot oil. She added a small plate of chopped onions to the pan. The lovely smell of frying onions filtered through the kitchen and into the rest of the house.
Aruna finished cutting and joined her mother at the burner. When the onions were brown, she lifted the brinjals, letting the water drain out of her fingers, and added them to the pan; they sizzled loudly. Once they had all been added, her mother stirred the vegetables around. Aruna got an old Horlicks bottle holding chili powder out of the cupboard. She took out a spoonful of the dark red powder and mixed it into the onions and brinjals.
She closed the bottle, put it back in its place, and said, “Amma, the chili powder is almost finished.”
Her mother said, “I know. The chilies from Bandar are in season. I am waiting for your father’s pension next week to ask him to buy five kilos. If we wait too long, the best chilies will be gone from the market and we’ll have to buy late-season variety, which are not as good.”
Aruna said, “I got some money today. We can go and buy them tomorrow.”
Mr. Ali had given Aruna her commission for new members each day. She had not told her family about this money and had been feeling guilty about it as she watched her father getting more and more irritable as the end of the month drew nearer and his pension slowly ran out.
Her mother was surprised. “Where did you get the money? You haven’t been there a month yet.”
“This is not my salary. This is the commission for new members.”
Aruna’s mother nodded. Aruna could see that she didn’t really understand but she didn’t ask any more questions.
Aruna and her mother worked well in the kitchen together from long practice. They divided the work silently, without talking about it, and soon, dinner was ready.They went into the main room of the house and sat under the fan on the bed, which did daytime duty as a settee. Her younger sister, Vani, came home from college and changed. Her father was sitting outside and Aruna called him in.Vani unrolled a mat in the living room and her mother got the dishes from the kitchen. Aruna got the plates and glasses, and they all sat down for dinner.
“Vani, why did you come back so late?” asked Aruna’s father.
“I went to the library with my friends. I told you this morning that I would come back late today,” replied Vani.
“Hmph . . .” grunted her father, resuming his eating.
“Your sister got some money today,” said her mother.
“Really, akka? Cool. How much did you get?” Vani asked Aruna.
“Four hundred rupees,” replied Aruna.
“Wow. That’s great. Can you give me a hundred and fifty rupees? I saw a great piece for a churidar the other day. Next-door-auntie said she will help me stitch it in the latest fashion if I get the cloth.”
Aruna thought for a moment and said, “Okay . . . I will be getting three weeks’ salary from Modern Bazar as well, so that’s fine.”
“Fantastic. Let’s go tomorrow and buy it,” said Vani, obviously excited. “I will go and tell next-door-auntie straight after dinner.”
“Her husband will be back by then. Go tomorrow after he has left for the office,” said her mother.
“Ohh . . . I can’t wait,” said Vani. Aruna looked amused at her younger sister’s suddenly miserable face.
“It is such a waste of money. You have enough clothes,” said her father.
“Leave it be. They are young girls and they are not even asking you to pay. What’s your problem?” said their mother.
“Doesn’t matter whose money it is. It is still a waste,” her father replied.
“Naanna! All the other girls in the college wear different clothes for different occasions. I am the only one who wears the same clothes again and again,” said Vani.
“You should have gone to the government college. There would have been other poor girls like you there. Who asked you to go to the corporate college?”
“But naanna, the corporate colleges are much better and they gave me a seventy-five percent discount because I got such good marks.”
Her father turned to Aruna. “How come you’ve got money now? Have they already paid your salary?”
“No. Don’t you remember? Sir said that he would give me twenty-five rupees for each member who joined. Well, it’s been a week and sixteen members joined, so he gave me four hundred rupees,” replied Aruna.
“You shouldn’t waste the money on frivolous things,” said her father.
Her mother replied, “Aruna bought the vegetables today and is getting Bandar chilies tomorrow for the house. Don’t grumble.”
She turned to Aruna and said, “When you get the money from Modern Bazar, buy clothes for yourself as well.”
Aruna smiled and nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow, when I come home in the afternoon, I will go to Modern Bazar and resign and ask for my money.”
“I will come back early and we can go to the shops,” said Vani.
“No. I don’t know how long it will take me to get the money from the store. Let’s do it on Monday, because that’s my day off,” said Aruna.
Vani agreed, obviously deflated at the delay.
“Hmph . . .” grunted their father, but everybody ignored him.
While eating, Aruna looked covertly at her mother. She was thin and she didn’t have any jewelry except her mangalsootram and two thin earrings. She was wearing an old cotton sari, much faded from repeated washing. Just like mother herself, thought Aruna. Genteel poverty had slowly ground her mother down, but Aruna could still make out the pretty woman she must have been at one time.
Aruna was surprised at how forcefully her mother was standing up to her father. This was unusual because she was usually quite docile. Something about her daughter earning money was making her ready to stand up to her husband, thought Aruna.
On Monday, Vani didn’t feel well in the morning. By midmorning she was chirpy again. Aruna thought that her sister’s illness was very mysterious—striking just in time to prevent her from going to college and then vanishing conveniently so they could go shopping. The girls got ready and left. They took a bus and went to the town center. They spent some time looking through various shops but ultimately went to the shop where Vani had seen the cloth for the churidar, and bought it.
“Thank you, akka.This is going to be lovely.What shall we do now?” asked Vani.
“I was thinking of buying a sari for mother. She didn’t buy one for the last festival because Vishnu-uncle died, remember?” said Aruna.
“That’s a great idea. Let’s go to Potana’s. They have a good collection. We also need to buy something for you. Remember, amma told you to,” said Vani.
The two sisters made their way to the sari shop. They left the bag with the churidar cloth with the girl outside the sari shop and were given a token. They asked for directions and made their way to the second floor.The floor was covered wall-to-wall with thick mattresses. They took off their shoes by the stairs and walked past the open wiring and disconnected water sprinklers onto the mattresses to a salesman who was free, and asked him if he could show them silk saris. The man nodded and indicated the floor in front of him.
They sat down on the mattress, folding their legs under them. The salesman turned to the wall and took out ten different saris without even speaking to them. He spread them all out in front of them, showing a bit of the border and some of the main part of the sari.
Aruna and Vani looked through them, whispering to each other.
“Which ones do you like?” asked the salesman.
Vani pointed out three. “We like the green color of this one, the blue border in that one, and the mango-seed motif on that one.”
“Who are the saris for, madam?”
“One for our mother and one for elder sister,” said Vani, pointing to Aruna.
The salesman pushed the seven saris that the girls had rejected to one side, and went back to the wall and selected ten more and spread them out.
This time they were much more to the girls’ liking. The girls took longer to decide. Aruna discreetly looked at the price slips stapled to the bottom of the saris. They selected four in this round. The salesman cleared the ones they did not like, and took out five more saris from the wall, but Vani shook her head, not liking any of them. He turned to take out more, but Aruna stopped him. “Enough! I think we’ve seen enough. We’ll decide on one of the ones here.”
“No problem, madam. If you want to see more, just let me know,” replied the salesman.
Vani went through them, saying, “Yes, no, no, yes, no, yes . . .”
He added the saris that Vani did not like to the big pile on the side. They were now left with four. Aruna and Vani talked about them some more and selected two—a plain light green sari with a dark green border and a reddish-brown one with a traditional mango print.
Aruna pointed them out to the salesman and said, “I like the plain green one for myself, but I am not sure about the other one for amma.”
“Good choice, madam. The green sari is machine loom—easy to maintain for a young lady like you.The red one is slightly more expensive but it is a handmade kalamkari print from Bandar.”
Aruna’s ears pricked up at the name of the port town. “We cannot get away from that town!” she said.
“Pardon, madam?” he said, puzzled.
“Oh, nothing. We just bought Bandar chilies the other day.”
“The best variety, madam. This is from the same place. Very traditional design.Your mother will like it very much.”
The sisters looked at each other and nodded. Aruna said, “Okay, pack them up.”
The salesman quickly folded the selected saris, pointed to Vani and asked, “Anything else, madam? What about for the young lady?”
“No, that will be all,” replied Aruna.
The salesman took out a receipt book and wrote out a bill for them. As Aruna took the bill, she asked, “Do the saris have blouse pieces attached to them?”
“Not for the green sari, madam. You will have to buy that separately.”
They got up and walked across the mattresses to the stairs. As she was putting on her shoes, Aruna saw the man folding all the saris they had rejected and putting them back in their place. She was glad she wasn’t working in Modern Bazar anymore. Working on a shop floor was hard work. Aruna and Vani made their way down to the ground floor and went to the cash counter and got in the line. The cashier stamped the bill “Paid” and returned it to them. The girls then went to the next counter, where a security guard was standing. He took the bill, took out the saris that had made their way down, and put them into a bag, stamping the bill “Delivered.”
The girls came out with the bag, exchanged the token for their earlier purchase, and made their way home.