Ente Sammaanam

‘I’m sorry’, she half whispered into the phone. Or at least that’s what he could make out of the barely audible words. He had spoken for about 20 minutes trying to explain how they could work things out. He told her it wasn’t as hard as she thought. He was desperately trying to convince her that she was being stupid with this decision. He repeated again and again that she did not have to end things so. At that point of time that was all he could think of doing and probably all he could do. She listened to all of it, not uttering a word. If it weren’t for her muffled sobs and her futile attempts to fight back the tears he would’ve thought she had hung up. She didn’t want him to know she was crying. She was always like that, always strong; or acting so, even at a moment like this. He didn’t know why she did that. He didn’t know why she was doing this. Well he partly did, but he couldn’t understand how she could do this to him, to herself. He tried his best to make her see sense, pleaded to her, praying that his words wouldn’t fail him. They never had, but now was the time when he needed them to work for him the most. It was now or never. And after listening to everything he had to say all she said was, “I’m sorry’ and after a small tear-swallowing pause added, ‘Sorry for everything’. Click. Beep. And the line went dead.
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She was born on a beautiful November morning. One look at his daughter and Keshavan knew exactly what to name her. She was bright like the sun rays on a November morning. He knew her warm smile would cut through the cold winter fog. He had thought of naming her ‘Sita’, after the greatest and most strong willed woman he had ever read of, but as he cradled this tiny new born miracle that glowed in his arms, he changed his mind and whispered into her ears, ‘Tejaswini’.
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Tejaswini didn’t know how long she had been standing there. For her, time had frozen. Everything had frozen around her. Her own thoughts were like the old broken gramophone in her grandfather’s house at Shoranur. She remembered how he would proudly show it off to anyone who would listen or not. ‘Major Sahib had gifted it to me. “A token of my undying gratitude for saving my life” he had said. Vallya manushyan. Great man. When I was in the Indian army years ago…’ and he would repeat for the umpteenth time, his favourite story of how he dodged bullets to save his superior’s life. The gramophone had only a single disc that played some foreign music she didn’t understand. And always the disc would play for two minutes and get stuck at a line that she comprehended as ‘mar-anam-te… mar-anam-te… mar-anam-te…’ Right now she thought not of the gramophone or of her grandfather who passed away years back. Right now she thought of nothing but how she could’ve messed up her life so. Right now she could only think of how stupid and reckless she had been. Right now, as she stared blankly at the vast Arabian Sea in front of her, she could only think of what a disgrace she has proven to be to her parents. And the thoughts kept coming back. Mar-anam-te … mar-anam-te… mar-anam-te…
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Tejaswini was probably what every parent’s dream daughter would be. She was what people easily labeled, ‘gifted’. Intelligent and smart, she had also acquired her father’s flair for writing. Born into a very prosperous and renowned family of a small village in Shoranur in Kerala, Tejaswini had a lot to live up to. Her grandfather had been an army man and had much more than his gramophone to be proud of. Her dad was a government employee, better known as Writer Keshavan Nair whose works of Malayalam literature had earned him many awards. But she did not have much trouble keeping up the family pride. She was after all, gifted. And no one was surprised when she aced all her exams. No one was surprised when she opted for engineering with top marks. No one was surprised when she wrote GRE and went to America. But then how long can life carry on as an expected flow of events?
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She was no stunning beauty but one couldn’t call her bad looking either. God made most of his creations to balance out the rest you’d think. Why bestow such a brilliant girl with added astounding looks and complicate her life further? She had been given what most people craved for- a loving family, high IQ, healthy life, and a little more than just about enough money. Who needed beauty? Just when you think God is a generous and benevolently calculative creator, he plays his little games.
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Like every perfect daughter, Tejaswini had perfect parents and a perfect life. When you’re a perfect daughter, your parents have nothing to complain about. And what’s more perfect than parents who don’t complain? She had always lived in Kochi. One could say she was used to city life. Of course, Kochi is no Bombay, Delhi or Bangalore, but it is as far as city has gone in Kerala. Amidst the general conservative crowd, the Kochi youth has gained its name as ‘modern’. And that is good enough for a city life. Tejaswini was the ‘modern pennu’, modern girl. Shoranur was her yearly vacationing destination. Greenery is no scarcity in Kerala. But only the ‘modern people’ from the cities know how it is slowly vanishing from God’s Own Country too. The villages however were still the green backyards. In fact, people at Tejaswini’s small village in Shoranur are so used to the lush surroundings that they find it very comical when tourists drop their mouths and gape, fascinated by the serene green beauty of a normal Malayalee neighbourhood. ‘Ayalentha, ithu vare thengu kandittille?? Komali!’ (Has he never seen a coconut tree before? Clown!). But Tejaswini understood the fascination, for she was fascinated too. There was something about her village that she never found anywhere else. Maybe it was because she was a small writer who loved nature or maybe it was because she was born here or maybe it was just one of those things you can’t explain. And there was her beloved muthassan, waiting for her, waiting with his endless stories from the army camp.
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It was grand celebrations the day she got enrolled into the American university. She had a high score after all. Getting into a good university for a course of her choice was no surprise event. Yet, she was thrilled to receive the confirmation. Calls and congratulations poured in. “Keshavan Nair’s daughter, what a gem!’ people had to say. She never stopped smiling that day. Neither did her parents. They were proud of daughter. She had achieved what she wanted. She always had. But Tejaswini knew that day her parents smiled only half heartedly. America sounded good. America sounded hip. America sounded rich prosperous and wealthy. But America sounded too far off and dangerous. And like every average Indian parent of those times, they worried a little for their daughter. But she had wanted this. She had worked hard for this. So they smiled for her. They trusted their daughter. She was wise and she was 21 now. And she smiled too. She was going to America. Two years later her smile was going to be wiped off her face. Maybe forever?
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America was what dreams were made of. It looked exactly like in the movies. It was exactly like she had dreamt of. All those days she had between her acceptance to college and actually leaving, she used to dream of her life to be. She was no country simpleton, but even the ‘modern pennu’ of Kochi had to drop her mouth and gape at the way things worked in America. She loved the place. She made a lot of friends. She soon forgot her lush green ‘Shoranur’ house and her Kochi. It was not intentional. But she had so much on her hands then. Work, friends, parties, music… America was no place for people who liked to sit idle. And she had so many friends. Never before had she dealt with such an assortment of nationalities. The writer in her was fascinated by the cultural harmony; the girl in her was enthralled in the excitement. She called her parents once a week. And so they knew she was fine. More than just fine actually, she was happy. Very happy.
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Tejaswini was bright and smart but she was a poor judge of character. She blindly trusted people. And that is why people say everything comes with a price. Tejaswini was ‘gifted’. But God forgot to remove the price tag from it.
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She had thought of it a hundred times before but she could not remember. She remembered the party. It was two years after she had first landed in America, the dreamland. She remembered her room mate’s friend, a strikingly attractive girl offering her a drink. She had had been to a lot of parties by then. It was one of the things she wasn’t used to back home. But she liked it. And she had had plenty of drinks before. So it was natural of her to just take it. And so she did. Next thing she remembered was getting up in the morning with a mild headache. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. One month later she learnt she was carrying.
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And now she was standing at the port. Staring at the water, wondering again what had happened. And she knew it was all futile. She had no memory. She wondered which was worse, that she was pregnant or that she had no idea how it happened at all. Her flowing river of thoughts was interrupted by new tributaries. What should she do now? She has scarred the family pride. How will she face amma and achan? Secretly, she felt relieved muthassan was no more. One person less whose shocked and disappointed face she did not have to endure, one person less to be pained at her cost. And almost instantly cursed herself for thinking so. Has she indeed become so ruthless? Has she changed altogether? Where was the little Malayalee girl who loved the country side of her grandfather’s house? Was she no more the loving little girl her parents had brought up with countless dreams and aspirations? And she knew she wasn’t. And that was when she decided she had to end it all. She no longer willed to live. She had disgraced her family. All these years her parents had been proud of her. And now she had smeared burnt ash on their faces. She could not face them. She couldn’t go back home. She looked at the water below, slapping against the rock pavement she was standing on now. It almost hissed a welcome. She could see the pointy rocks beneath the waters too. Tejaswini was ‘gifted’ but she didn’t know to swim. She wondered if the rocks beneath could take a life. She picked up her mobile phone and dialed her father’s number.
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She had left for India the moment she learnt of the dreadful news. She did not know whom to turn for help. And all she could think of was her parents then. She wanted to see them. Cry in their arms. Hug amma and ask her what she was to do now. She did not think of anything else. That’s how for the first time in two years she returned to Kochi.
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‘I have a small presentation and conference in Bangalore’, she explained to her parents. They weren’t fools of course and they weren’t to be convinced with one line. She had done her research before announcing this. She had to make a few ISD calls to her friends in wretched America to enquire about conference halls and universities. ‘My professor insisted on it. I’m like one of those student representatives from my university. I have to go day after’ Writer Keshavan Nair was not a fool. He said he wanted to talk to her professor the next day. Tejaswini nodded. He trusted his daughter. And the price tag gleamed.
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He could not believe what he was reading. His hands trembled and sweat was breaking on his brows despite the fan above. He could not finish the letter. He slumped onto the chair nearby as the letter fell from his hands and landed on the table next to muthassan’s framed photo.
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She did not have the courage to tell her parents. She saw their beaming faces, markedly happy to see her again but she did not miss the faint sign of anxiety at her sudden arrival. They did not make it obvious of course but she was smart and intelligent after all. Within ten minutes she knew she had made the wrong decision coming home. She could not bear smiling at her parents, putting up such a poor show when she held a truth that would shatter them. She reached home and wrote them a letter. She told them everything in it. And she put it in an envelope. By afternoon she was off to the Kochi port.
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Her father tried everything to save his daughter’s life. He didn’t know where she was. All she said was she was still in Kochi. He pleaded her not to end her life; that it was cowardice and solution to nothing. He said he loved her. He said her mother loved her. She said nothing. She loved him too. She loved her too. She loved them all. She loved her land. But she had betrayed them.
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She stood up. She was certain of what she had to do. She was leaning against the metal chains that claimed safety to the people on the safer side. There was a man reading a book 3 feet away from her. There were always so many people at this time. She closed her eyes. She thought of her lush green Shoranur for one last time. She thought of her childhood. She thought of muthassan and his stories. She thought of amma and achan. She saw them all in her eyes for the last time. Her eyes welled up with tears. And she was fighting back tears. She asked for forgiveness and leaned over.
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Well, almost leaned. That’s when the book caught her eye- her father’s book ‘Ente Sammaanam’ (my gift). The first book he had written after Tejaswini was born. The book was about a father who lived and died for his daughter. She saw the first few pages flutter in the wind. She knew what the lines on the first page read. And she couldn’t jump. She could not end her life. She owed it to the ones who loved her. She sat there, broke down and cried.
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The lines read, "For you, my gifted daughter; the light of my life. For my life’s tejjassu. For my Tejaswini, 'Ente Sammaanam’". Keshavan Nair's words had not failed him after all. Just when you think you can have it your way, God plays his little games...

she.... in white...

she had always looked beautiful in white. they all knew that.. white was her favourite colour. she looked happy... a very peaceful and content look on her face as she lay there covered in that white sheet, surrounded by white lilies. but somehow, they could not think of her as beautiful. not today...

white was Amie's favourite colour. she had worn a beautiful white frock on her fourth birthday. a big white bow had adorned her shoulder length blond hair. daddy had got the bow from Singapore specially with that frock in mind. daddy would get the whole world for her if she asked for it. his daughter was his life. his only daughter. his only beautiful baby daughter. he had so many dreams for her. year after year as she blew the candles on her birthday cake he dreamt another dream for her. every year she insisted on buying a white dress for her birthday. and daddy would dream of his little doll one day in a white flowing gown ready to leave her folks and start a new life. daddy would dream of his precious darling in a white suit ready to take on a new job and face the world. daddy dreamt so much... after all daddy had only one daughter, daddy had only one kid; daddy wanted only the best for her. she had his eyes, his nose, his hair; she was his flesh and blood. she was his everything.
and then the fifth birthday, sixth, seventh; years just passed by. and daddy just grew fonder and fonder of his little angel Amie.
But mummy was not the same. Amie couldn't remember the time when mummy had last kissed her; or hugged her. in fact Amie couldn't remember the last time she had even looked at her with love in her eyes. but Amie couldn't bring herself to think that mummy hated her. daddy told her mummy was ill; that she was in a lot of pain and thats why she behaved so. all her friends at school had kind and caring mothers. Sarah's mummy was a wonderful lady. Amie found her beautiful too. of course, Amie found her own mother beautiful..but only in photos. she found her to be angelic in those wedding photos of hers, wearing that beautiful off shoulder white bridal gown. Amie thought she looked happy and full of life in them. she had never seen mummy like that ever in real life. it seemed so impossible for mummy to have been normal and like all other mummies. Amie never understood what disease mummy had. but it made her look bad. she was always irritated and angry. she didn't even seem to be happy with daddy.
Amie's mother had had a wonderful marriage. she had fell in love with the most amazing man. she was the envy of all her friends. she had everything she could ask for. she was beautiful, had a loving and wonderful husband who gave her anything she wanted, lots of money, a big villa with a beautiful garden that had rows and rows of white lilies and roses... she had her room painted white.. white was after all her favourite colour. her husband never said no to anything. she was Cinderella living her fairy tale.. that was until the day they gave her the news. and then Amie came into her life...
she was shocked when they told her she would never be a mother. but her shock was nothing compared to her husband's. he had always wanted a baby.. 'a beautiful baby daughter' he used to say. he cried that whole night. he hated his wife for not giving him the only thing he wanted. he felt cheated and deceived. what had he not done for her.. he loved her, gave her everything she asked for. and she could not give him the only thing he wanted so badly. he hated her for that. he hit her and shut her up in her room. she cried and pleaded. she threatened him that she would die. and he knew it was beyond her, one sane moment was enough for the educated man to know his wife was not at fault.deep down he did love her. but he did not feel it anymore. sometimes he would go up to her to fall at her feet and ask for forgiveness. but sane moments are such a rare thing. what sanity can u ask of a man who has been denied his life's greatest desire? emotions are such an unfair means of the creator to take away the logical thinking of mankind... probably that is His way of keeping mankind in its place; that small slip of feet when he reaches too high up on the ladder. and he never did go up to her. he hated her. he had no explainable just reason but he hated her.
and then he brought Amie home. she was the most beautiful baby in the orphanage.. and he thought she looked just like him. no one would say she was adopted. no one. she was his flesh and blood. she was his own daughter. he loved her from the moment he took her in his arms. and she would be the only reason he lived for. no one else mattered. not even his wife. his wife who could not give him a baby. his wife who was just another being in his huge villa for all he cared. his wife who, he now hated more... and she hated Amie. she hated Amie for taking away everything from her. as years passed and daddy dreamt another dream for his little daughter, she hated Amie more. she hated Amie for taking her place. she hated Amie for sharing her favourite colour. she hated Amie for everything. She blamed Amie, that little kid no more than seven, for ruining her life. she hated her enough to kill her. maybe then her life would be different...maybe then her husband would love her.
Amie hoped her mummy would one day be like all the other mummies. her mummy beat her when daddy was not home. she refused to even look at her. mummy would not comb her hair or read her a story at night. mummy would never even come near her. mummy always screamed at her. she heard mummy screaming at daddy too. she heard her mummy cry at night. she heard her hitting daddy. she heard her yell and shout. she heard her screaming at daddy that she would kill herself. but daddy was the sweetest person Amie knew. everybody loved daddy. daddy would never harm mummy. daddy loved mummy so much and mummy would never care. but she knew mummy was ill and all this was not her fault. she hoped mummy would get alright soon and they would also be like Sarah's family who went out on picnics and movies together. she dreamt of that day. and she knew it would come soon. in fact she had a feeling it was coming too soon. maybe tomorrow would be the day. it was Amie's birthday and mummy seemed a lot better today. she did not cry today. she even thought mummy looked at her and smiled today. maybe she was getting alright. maybe all was going to be fine. Amie saw her mummy trying on that new white dress daddy had got her. Amie thought she looked beautiful in it and she rushed to try on her new white birthday dress too... all was going to be fine. her mummy was going to be alright. it was going to be her best birthday.

and they all came for the funeral the next day. daddy sat in a corner. he had no expression. he looked frozen. he spoke to no one. her white dress had been smeared with blood. he was the first one to see her. the sight had made him dizzy. everything had gone blank after that. he didn't know who had made the arrangements for the funeral. maybe his servants, maybe his neighbours, he didn't know. all he knew was that it was his fault. he knew he had made her do it..
but she looked happy... a very peaceful and content look on her face as she lay there covered in that white sheet, surrounded by white lilies. she had always looked beautiful in white.. but somehow, they could not think of her as beautiful. not today...

Daddy's girl :)

25th June. Last day of my second semester holidays. I had to pack my bags and leave by the 2 ‘o’ clock train. My lovely month long vacation had ended and I wouldn’t be home for at least 6 months. Emotions running high, Amma (for ppl who don’t know amma is Malayalam for mother) trying her level best not to look too upset; all bags were packed, locked and we were ready to go. Achan (Malayalam for father) was supposed to reach home by 12:30. But as always work bogged him down and rushing at the 11th hour; he came hurrying at 1 ‘o’ clock. Rushing the baggage into the car it was VT station (Mumbai) ahoy. I really didn’t want to go back, especially not after fighting with Achan, but last minute rushes always got me tensed. The argument that ensued in the car was inevitable I guess. As much as both of us hated to fight, we hated admitting a fault. Like father, like daughter!
Now Achan was the kind of person who wouldn’t let his emotions take control of him; especially if it was the kind that led to tears. He would never cry. Or let’s say he wouldn’t admit it even if he did. Deep down I know he missed me when I left home, but he would NEVER let it show. Amma was near to tears. You could see the tears welling up but she was trying her best to keep a straight face. And Achan? He didn’t look the least bit sad. One could look at him and think he was going to see off his boss instead of his daughter! Me? I was talking to my brother, listening to last minutes of Hindi songs and trying not to think of the days ahead at college (I should probably mention here that I despised my college. If it weren’t for my roommates I would’ve dropped out in the first year!)
Amma finally gave in as we reached the station. My brother was still holding together. Achan was walking in front of all us with me tagging behind, my suitcase strolling along. And then suddenly, Achan turned around and held my hand. He gave me a huge smile and started walking. All of a sudden I didn’t want to go back at all. I hadn’t walked holding hands with my father for a long time; probably not after my 5th or 6th standard. Later he got busy with work. It was rare for us to go out on family outings anymore. Either he’d be busy or I’d have classes. And now, after all these years I had grown up. Grown enough to travel all alone from Mumbai to Chennai by train (in most families, this is still a big deal for a girl!) I was doing my second year BE and walking, holding my father’s hand. This might seem very trivial to you but somehow it felt like a big thing for me that day. Five minutes and a lot of crying later I was off. Back to Chennai. Back to college. Back to the hostel.
When the train reached Pune a few hours later, I saw this middle aged man walking on the platform with a little girl- his daughter for sure. The girl couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12 years old. I couldn’t help smiling even as I felt a tear roll down my cheek.
I so wish I could go back in time- to the days of the 5th and 6th standard when we used to go out together every so often; spend time as a family; when I had fun with my Achan. Everything just changes so much as you grow up. There are so many things you wish wouldn’t change but you cannot help it. Time just slips by and you stand there like a helpless onlooker wishing for it all to stop but then again, unable to do anything about it. And all you can think of is to say- that’s life!
And in the hustle bustle of your daily activities, you sum up all those feelings into just one line... i love you dad :)