Incomplete - 2

Thoughts wired and connected through fragile palms, Sharada stayed awake as grandmother slowly entered her sleep. Strangely that heavy breathing feared her mind and ironically "one sleeping became dangerous"; slowly releasing herself, Sharada, worned out, extremely weak pulled herself forcefully towards the hallway that lead to a wooden staircase.

The vacuum in mind is now stirred by several memories which were buried under the rubble as she takes her first step.

Involuntary thoughts about her grandmother had now taken over her. Wide array of questions raced her mind - What was so different about her (grandmother's) life to that of mine? Did she suffer more than me? Or did she really have a better life than me? Was she happy at all or led life just because it’s meant to be? Undoubtedly she has always been a woman with a strong character. She knew exactly what she wanted and from whom. Any hurdles in her wish were conveniently given the name of culture, religion and customs. Smart with words, she convinced people of the village, gathered sympathy and managed to maintain that for years. Yes, hypocrite is the word. But who is not a hypocrite in this world. We all are. All of us are real life good actors.

I have been always been a victim of her critical comments, taunts and edgy looks. She used to detest me, I knew why.

In spite of all this she wanted to see “ME” one last time.

Taking the last step Sharada now enters the room towards the left. (Switches on the lights)

Her eyes wander aimlessly, captivated by the photographs hung on the wall. Photographs as old as a century may be. The entire wall was dedicated to family pictures. Some pictures traced the youth and old age of her grandmother. These were the witness of hanged time. The frames were tattered covered with layers of dust accumulated over the years. Apparently no one bothered about their value. Her vision fixed on a particular picture. She rubs the dirt on that frame to have a closer look. “That’s my favourite” she spoke to herself. It had her sixteen year old grandmother- so innocent, feminine and beautiful. Such milky blemish less skin, sharp nose, rosy lips, graceful slender body, talkative almond eyes, long black straight hairs that touched her hips, red “Bindi” (made out of powdered sindoor) on her forehead stood out in her pearly round face. Sharada wondered her grandmother’s enchanting looks could have won her front cover in Vogue magazine. Smiling at her thought she reaches to the window next to that frame to open:

1943
The window opens to a well. Sharada visualizes her 16 yr old grandmother drawing water from the well with tender hands / palms at 4.30 am in the morning, barefoot. Dressed in a simple 9 yard royal blue saree (madisar / puduvai), how attractive a woman can look! T’was in the year 1943. As a routine work her conditioned mind cleans the entire house along with the entrance. She sits to decorate the entrance with colourful rangoli- a custom carried out in the southern part of India. She then progresses to take bath with the remaining water in the bucket, washes her saree and blouse, dries them by squeezing every inch of water from it and wears the same again (a wedding gift). Taking on to her habitual tasks she enters the kitchen and prepares to cook for the family.

Big sigh- ‘Aaaahh.’ A sense of acceptance creeps in. Grandmother has indeed undergone a lot. Married at the age of 16 to a man who was 26 years older than - 42 years old; unimaginable today. The only reason for her to get married was poverty, security, enabling her parents course their responsibilities. My grandfather, a Vedic scholar, preached and propagated the Vedic scriptures in Sanskrit and possessed a huge ancestral property. He had no consistent occupation which could support the family financially, however, all compensated by her brothers who all took care of this 20 member close knit / extended family. Mute and suppressed my grandmother took everything that came her way in her stride. Then, there was no option of complaining as she came from a very poor family. The only option she had was to cry, sob, howl and carry on with the duties the next day. She stood there as the oldest / youngest daughter-in-law.

Customary or by tradition, first granddaughter is christened after her paternal grandmother. Many a things were different, some were similar, common, including one to begin with the Name "Sharadambal"