‘How do I look?’ I typed on the phone. There was no response. Jahaan must be busy in some ceremony. ‘Just like her na?’ I forwarded another image after five minutes exactly, trying to catch his attention. I was finding it difficult to type on the phone screen with the polki haath phool adorning my hands. It was part of the whole ensemble of polki jewellery my mother and her mother had worn on their respective wedding days. Right from the necklace, the anklet, the maang teeka, the set was a coordinated adornment for the hands, the neck, the back of the palms, the ankles and the ear lobes, and I was wearing the complete ensemble today, and sitting happy and proud in front of the mirror. Ma was blessing me with misty eyes through the photo frame placed in front of the mirror. As I scrolled through the picture that I had sent him five minutes earlier, I noticed that my phone’s camera could not do justice to that mist.
In the picture before me, she sat on a royal chair with her palms closed on each other and placed on her left cheek. Her zardozi adorned head was tilted a little to the left side. It was the typical bridal pose in those days. The mist in her eyes was shining in the reflected glory of the raw diamonds on the ‘haath phool’ on her hand… the image that I carried along with myself while drifting into sleep every single night.
But I could not match her grace. In my case, the haath phool which was covering my hand right from the wrist to every finger tip was hammering my phone screen with every single movement. Well, rightly so, brides were not supposed to handle phones in the days when it had been crafted. I decided to get it re-cast into a necklace after the wedding. I did not want to miss the chance to wear it again.
The phone screen was still blank. There was no reply. I looked at Ma again.
For her wedding day every girl has a visual of herself, that she plays out time and again, editing and re-editing it till the moment arrives. This was mine….an image that I had envisioned when I was eight, to look like my mother who had left me when I was eight.
Since that day, her Zardozi sharara that I am embraced in today, has been in my closet, rather the locker of my closet along with all the jewellery . After she left, I shifted her entire wardrobe to my room…everything, right from her sarees, farshis, gararas, perfumes, footwear, bangles and bags, everything. I have always kept something of hers on me all the time. It keeps me at peace. I sleep with her muslin shawl every night. It still carries her warmth. Even the day I went for my IIM interview I wore her HMT watch. I have worn, at least tried on every item in her wardrobe till date, but for this sharaara and the haath phool. I had decided to wait for today, 17 years back, when she had left me.
For the same reason, I was the only girl who wore sarees, her sarees, as an undergraduate at college, not everyday, but almost. I was typically frowned upon for being outdated in terms of the latest fashion, especially by fellow female students. Nevertheless, it did get me some secret admirers both amongst students and the faculty. Jahaan was one of them. ‘That is what I like about you. You are different. You have class. You give a damn to what others think of you, just like my mom.’ He would whisper the last part in to my ears. The tickling breath would send a tremor to my eyelashes and a twinkle to my eyes. I never let him down. Even today, I am keeping my promise. Only he was not there to applaud and now, no response either.
We bonded over our mothers during the initial months of college. The only difference was that his was alive. He talked about her all the time. I could see how much he missed her. Often, my friends warned me about him being a Mamma’s boy. But I never bothered, as probably with my mother gone, I could relate to him more. He made me talk to his mother often. She seemed a different woman altogether on the phone, though.
Over a period of a few months, Jahaan had almost memorized my being, my moods, my dreams, my weaknesses, my obsessions and my Ma, who resided inside me. He was unlike the other men around. Often I would joke that he could replace my Dad any day. Weird thought. But that was the case. He was whatever I could have asked for, as if born for me, meant to be mine, all the time. Not all the time, though. His eyes spoke a different language, when his Mom called on the phone, which was twice a day. His body moved a different way when she came to meet him, once a month. Not that I was jealous or offended by her attitude, but yes, awkward at this overtly subtle change. After the conversation on the phone, or when her car would have left, he would slide back like a reptile into my mode. Yes, that is what I called it, my ‘mode’ and his mom’s ‘mode’.
‘And what about Jahaan ’s mode?’ he would sulk like a child.
‘Do you have any?’ I would quip ruffling his hair which he had smoothened with gel just before his mother had arrived. I liked them ruffled and also feared that these gels could make him lose his lovely mop soon.
‘To be every moment with you, that is my only mode’, he would chuckle back.
I remember the beautiful but exorbitantly priced dress he got me on my birthday. His mom had sent it, he informed me, almost at the end of the dinner, while trying to shove down a slice of my favorite chocolate cake, through my pursed lips.
‘Just handle it with care, beta’, she began. ‘Nowadays you don’t get these rare arts. It is very expensive and precious. Don’t let it get sweat stained. I have enclosed a note for you with detailed instructions for its storage; which entails keeping it only in a dry area, and mind you, it must be wrapped only in an organic mull cloth when not in use.’
‘Ohh! I almost forgot; happy birthday beta.’ The call got disconnected much before my ‘thanks’ could take off from those chocolate-stained lips. I nearly stopped them from expressing their love on the ‘expensive’ and ‘precious’ dress. ‘She did not mean to demean you, or show off. This is just her style of speaking. Let me tell you, she has the purest heart,’ came a rejoinder and I frowned at his observation, and gorged another piece of cake to overcome my discomfiture.
‘Just like yours,’ Jahaan was trying to adopt a diplomatic stance.
And what about: ‘I would love anything Jahaan puts his finger on, without even having a look.’?
I stared at him in wait for the reply that never came. This last part was reiterated by his Mom every time she drove down to the city to meet him. He thought I was misinterpreting her words in the first instance. Later, he insinuated that I was manipulating them to fan my unfounded insecurities; more so, when she got unwell and had to be hospitalized. But strangely, she still had the strength to drill in these one-liners when I called to check on her. Even Baba thought I was over reacting. May be I was.
Luckily, we moved abroad for work in the same company immediately after our post graduation. She could not travel that far. I chose to keep the calls formal. Rather, now I simply ignored whatever little incident surfaced occasionally, during those conversations. Baba often explained that I had a great life ahead with this great guy, and that I should not waste it over petty comments, even if they were intended as snide.
We worked really hard in the organization, and our work was being acknowledged all over. It was time to start up our own venture. Baba was really keen and had been pushing us to do it. He wanted me to be to get hold of my dream before, God forbid, he would leave. He travelled often to help us in the process. In fact, it was his idea to name my future business after Ma. We had discussed it an innumerable number of times, over coffee after dinner, over the years.
But now it was to be a joint venture. So I suggested that a fusion of the names of both the mothers could be worked out, when the three of us sat in conference, working out last-minute details. Jahaan jumped at the idea. He had hugged me and run out of the room to share it with his Mom, over the phone. Baba smiled at me. A while later, Jahaan rushed in and handed the phone to me. Her voice was very low. She must be really unwell.
‘Beta, I know what I am going to say may hurt you, but in families like ours, we do not name a new venture after a dead soul. Please do not get me wrong. I am sure she was the purest soul but you are my children. I am only thinking of your happiness.’ A voice visibly tired from coughing all night, declared itself from the phone screen. ‘Even your Mom would want it to be so,’ she added, with a faint sigh.
‘But she is my Mom’, to which I just got a stare, a harried one, in response. I looked at Jahaan and then Baba. Their stares were clueless. I shut my eyes and thought of Ma. She stood there with a worried smile.
‘Rightly so, aunty. In fact, let us not keep anyone’s name, especially those of the elderly. You never know with Covid…’ and left the rest unsaid. I could see a sullen Jahaan biting his lip and Baba much in despair.
‘I have a solution. Let us name the company after Jahaan and me. If we die, even the company dies. Safest. No shagun-apshagun business.’
I walked out to the pantry and re-entered with the cake. I removed the layer of icing with a butter knife and instead, put our names, with the icing stick. I looked at Jahaan. He put on a half smile, and Baba none at all.
‘But what did I do, Baba?’ Baba was visibly upset as I drove the car on the way back. Jahaan stayed back, as he wanted to chat some more with his mom and show her around the new office. ‘He is such a nice boy. You have no idea the ruckus any other boy in his place would have created.” I could not believe that these words were coming from him. He pretended being busy, cleaning his spectacles.
‘Exactly, that is my point. Any other boy would have told his mother, not to insult my Ma.’ I stopped the car and took away the glasses from him.
‘Beta, if her customs do not allow it, is that her fault? And give my glasses back. I need them.’
‘You don’t.’
I folded the glasses and shoved them in the dashboard compartment. ‘And you still think I was wrong? Tell me with your hand on your heart, did you not feel hurt?’ Baba sighed and placed his palms on my cheeks as he always did when trying to convince me about something I was not ready to accept.
‘But that is what companionship is all about. Adjust. Be sensitive towards others’ feelings.’ ‘I know Baba, that he is the greatest companion, but only when its not about her. Why can’t he ever assert my views to her? Why can’t he ever try to convince her?’ I placed my palms on his hands which were resting on my cheek. Something in me wanted him to convince me, whichever way possible.
‘May be he does tell her’. Baba tried to convince me.
‘I doubt.’
‘Did you ask?’ He said.
‘Yes, a few times. He just looks away. Those eyes that reflect only myself; they do not let me ask more’.
‘See. You match like the back of each other’s hands’. My father was being his usual self. He took his hands off me and enacted the hitting of the back of the hands. Fathers always know how to make their daughters smile. ‘Plus, she can’t travel by air. She won’t bother you. You never know with life….how much time is left with her..’
‘Baba you are being mean now.’ I pressed the ignition again.
‘Just focus on both of you. Let her not be the center point. Things happen. Just treat her like a difficult boss who does not mean any harm’..
If I could handle your Ma, believe me, you can handle anything.’ The flash of their teasing banters left me amused. Thereafter, Baba’s advice became my mantra. I behaved as if nothing affected me…as if a movie was being played out. I was supposed to passively watch it, pass no comment, exert no participation, and just follow instructions, reasoning out that it was a ritual.
Last month our marriage was finalised. I left everything to her, even my shopping, what I was to wear on different functions, the guest list, my make up. I shut Ma’s wardrobe for the time being, just in case I get tempted. I knew what Jahaan would say: ‘Just do it for me.’ Yes, I decided to shut it for the time being, for his sake. How did it matter, if it kept everyone happy? As Baba revealed, even Ma would have asked me to do the same. That was the deal: instead of getting hurt, do not get involved.
‘Hey, how do I look? Just like Ma ?’ The moment my phone flashed, I picked up the call without even checking who it was.
An agitated Jahaan interrupted. ‘Why did you do this?’
‘What?’
‘We had decided na? Till wedding day, all these ceremonies will be as per her wish’.
‘ So? Everything is as per her wish,’ I replied.
‘But look at you?’
‘Look at me… Don’t I look good?’
He did not answer and turned his face away.
‘But you always knew. I had told you I had been saving this for my wedding day.’
I requested the make up artist to go out for five minutes. The concealer she had put on my cheeks was already flaking off.
‘But Mom did not know about this. She had got you an exclusive one from Kolkata, from the best designer. You cannot imagine the hard work she had put in, getting it created. It took six months of her health.’
‘But this was my Ma’s wish. My wish. Just one little thing. And instead of giving me a compliment first, you rushed to her to show her my picture. I could not believe it.’
‘But your mother is dead, and now you want mine to die. Look how disturbed she is!’
I did not reply and forced myself to keep a straight face in front of the screen. My cheeks were feeling itchy.
‘Listen, am so sorry. But I cannot see her like this, wailing her heart out, looking at her son’s bride in a dead woman’s clothes.’
‘Stop calling her a dead woman, Jahaan.’ A shout repressed so long, now bellowed out of me.
‘I’m sorry. I know I get hyper sometimes. But what to do… I tend to lose my mind when it comes to Mom.’
He was pacing across the room with his phone in front of him. If it was possible, I am sure he would have leapt out of the screen to force me. The indiscriminate shaking of his head, left and right, had helped his mop of ruffle break through the barriers of gel, just a wee bit.
‘But let us not spoil everything. Let us do it for our own happiness, and then as it is we are pushing off for good, away from everything; Just you and me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, but please, only for today, for me, for us, as always.’
‘Yeah, as always.’ I let out a sad chuckle.
‘It is just a dress.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I repeated. Simmering inside.
My haath phool hammered the phone screen again
Very Nice
The end left me so angry but that is life!