She woke up. She lay on the bed, her eyelashes still lowered. In the tiny gap between waking and seeing, the first thing she remembered was that today was her day to go out, and she saw the restaurant drenched in sunlight. A little shiver ran down her body from head to toe. She opened her eyes in sudden panic. A pre-dawn trembling darkness hovered about the room. She had decided to get up when, for a moment, she couldn’t feel her feet. Perhaps -- unlike most days -- they hadn’t yet emerged from the other end of her quilt. Her eyes opened just a fraction, and began looking for her feet in the darkness. ‘Did they already go there, leaving me sleeping.’ She felt a sense of sadness overcome her. Her eyes began to well up. That’s when she became aware of her feet. She swung them to the ground and felt as if they had returned from a faraway place. As if obeying an unspoken command, her feet began walking of their own volition towards the garden behind the house. The delicate morning light pierced the dense strands of darkness and slowly descended on the pond behind the fence, like the vast wing of a bird. The ducks having just woken up, started swimming and seemed to be rubbing their necks on this giant wing. Leaning over the fence, she glided on the cold surface of the water with the ducks for a long time. Her hands were not holding the fence properly, they just lay between two iron spikes as if someone had placed them there. She didn’t even realise when Bhagatram, seeing her from behind, stepped out of the back door and came to stand next to her. As soon as Bhagatram asked ‘What should I make today bai saheb’ all the strands of darkness still visible around the wing of light suddenly vanished from sight. ‘Morning has arrived on this earth today at the stroke of Bhagatram’s voice,’ she thought. Leaving the ducks sliding on the water’s surface, she turned around and without saying a word, cut through the freshly fallen light and went towards the kitchen. Half awake, half asleep, an unsteady, tottering Bhagat trailed in her wake. As soon as she was within the four walls of the kitchen, she felt she had left all of herself behind, still stuck between the spikes of the fence. To get herself back, she opened the windows of the kitchen. All of them looked out into the lonely courtyards of the next door house where three chairs sat like serene wise men drenched with the dew that had fallen at night on the uneven grass. She looked away. There was only one way out of these four walls: the skylight. It was also the only way into the pond and the garden at the back. It was closed, and quite high up on the wall. Before she could think, she found herself holding a stool. She placed it just below the skylight. It wobbled. But not enough to make her change her mind about peeping out. She climbed on the unstable stool and opened the skylight, a thin film of dust slid out on the glass. She peered out. A pale blue sheet of mist was fluttering about outside. Gusts of a newly-risen breeze created ripples on the surface of the water. The ducks had swum away to a corner of the pond that wasn’t visible from the skylight. To get a better view, she rose on to her toes then strained higher, balancing on the tip of her big toe. That was when she heard the rustling and whispering. Several ballerinas holding coffee cups in their hands are walking about. They appear to have come from Russia. Her father has gone there on work. They have come with him. Looking like fairies, dozens of them wander around the rehearsal hall. Holding pieces of bread in one hand, the edges of the bread gleaming with honey, and coffee cups in the other, the fairies are laughing with each other. The light becomes even brighter when it falls on them and touches their perfectly smooth cheeks. They are standing close to the wall of the hall. Her father has crossed the hall and is talking to someone standing on the other side. In between he catches glimpses of her from the corners of his eyes. It seems to her as if the entire hall is overflowing with flowers in full bloom. The dancers wear caps made of delicate, sheer fabric. Navels gleam on many bare bellies. She starts at the sight of the dancers’ exposed navels, she feels she has seen something she had no business seeing. Her eyelashes start drooping. As though she’s not closing her eyes but covering their navels. The dancers seem to be floating on the floor. ‘Are they sliding around?’ Straining her fearful eyes, she peers at the floor stretching far and wide. It is made of cement not ice, and the dancers aren’t walking on their feet, they’re walking on their toes. ‘Oh god, what kind of girls are these? They’re walking on their toes, on nothing but their toes, and the whole body is steady and balanced in the air.’ Hugging the wall, she tries to stand on her toes. A stinging pain shoots up from her toes, piercing her body. Uff! How sharp is this pain.
‘Let it be, bai saheb, why are you cleaning the skylight so early in the morning. I’ll do it later.’ Bhagat says, seeing her standing stretched on her toes on the shaky stool. He was standing at the door of the kitchen. Swiftly she shut the skylight, slowly lowered herself, easing down on to her feet, then placed one foot on the floor. She was still in pain.
‘Saheb will soon be up, should I put the water to boil for the tea?’ Maybe Bhagat was concerned about saheb but the truth was he could no longer control his own desire for tea. One foot was on the kitchen floor but the second was still stuck in the ballerinas’ rehearsal hall. A faint sound of someone crying began filtering in from the corridor. Suru stood behind the door, rubbing her cheeks with the palms of her hands. Her frock was wet. Even as she asked ‘What’s wrong?’ she realized what had taken place. Suru slowly turned towards her room and said, ‘It happened again!’
She placed her other foot on the floor too and ran out to the back of the house. Clothes were spread out on a silk clothesline in one corner. She came back, made Suru sit on a chair in the verandah, kissed her forehead and began changing her clothes. The worry lines on Suru’s forehead gradually began to fade. Leaving her sitting on the chair, she took a laundered sheet out of the almirah and went to Suru’s bed. Veenu’s angry voice could be heard from upstairs. ‘Why didn’t you wake me earlier, I’m going to be late again, once again…’
Veenu couldn’t help but fall asleep early and she treated this as a kind of preparation to wake up early, she’d go off to bed without a care and when she didn’t wake up on time, would scream her head off sitting in her room, creating an uproar in the house. This happened almost every day. She ran to Suru’s bed, and in a kind of panic, began scooping up the wet sheet that was spread on it like a fishing net. Briskly, she lifted the bundled-up net, then quickly made her way to the upstairs room. Veenu lay on the bed, kicking her legs in a tantrum. Seeing her, she began kicking her legs even more frantically. She looked at Veenu from the corners of her eyes and opened the door leading to the terrace. It was as if a whole lot of lukewarm morning sunlight was just waiting to rush into the room. No sooner had the door opened than the abundant sunlight came streaming in, flooding the floor, Veenu’s bed, the books lying on the bed, Veenu’s rigid body, the clothes scattered around the room, and in a moment, had absorbed all of them within itself. She continued standing at the door, as if she had been cheated out of something. If she wanted to, she could wrap the sunlight around her like a sheet. Or pour it into buckets and throw it out on the terrace, if she wanted she could swim in it. ‘The sunlight is so thick today, you can touch it,’ she thought. She wanted to go out on to the terrace, but that sentence kept echoing intermittently in her ears, ‘The sunlight is so thick today, you can touch it.’ Unknowingly, she began stamping her feet softly on the floor, her feet touched the thick sunlight, making a chhap-chhap sound. Soaked in the sunshine, she had become light, very light. It was as though the sunlight had absorbed all her weight like it was water. Her eyes closed. The gentle stamping of her feet continued. ‘Today the sunlight is so thick, chhap-chhap. Today the sunlight is so thick, chhap-chhap…’ Holding the wet sheet in her hands, she began twirling round and round, and the sheet heavy with Suru’s pee coiled itself around her. She continued her twirling. Drowning in the sunshine, she was light, so light.
‘Amma, amma, what are you…?’
Veenu’s voice came to her faintly, from far away. Still twirling about, she said, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming…’
As soon as she opened her eyes, she found Veenu standing in front of her. She started.
‘Where are you going?’ Veenu asked, staring with wide open eyes.
‘Nowhere!’ she said and ran to the terrace, removed the sheet and began spreading it out on the tightly stretched washing line. She could hear Bhagat’s anxious voice coming from below, ‘Saheb has woken up.’
‘Amma, why didn’t you wake me earlier?’ The morning sun fell on her tear-stained cheeks. Now Veenu would sit on the bed and cry for the next one hour. She wiped Veenu’s face with the edge of her sari and without saying anything, began going down the stairs. Seeing her, Bhagat pointed to Ketan’s room and in the manner of imparting the latest news, whispered, “Saheb has woken up.’
Lying in bed, Ketan was stroking the stubble on his cheeks. When he saw her, he sat up hastily. She put the cup of tea in his outstretched hands.
“Is it a little extra cold today?’
She stood quietly, feeling Ketan’s sentence spread, scatter and slowly vanish in the air. As he bent over the cup, a small bare patch revealed itself in his scalp amid his tousled hair. She wanted to cover that bare patch with the palm of her hand but she quickly turned and went out of the room.
‘Amma pick me up on time today.’
Clutching her sari, Suru stumbled behind her. She looked tightly shackled in her clean school uniform, the red ribbons on her shoulder-length plaits quivering intermittently. The school was close by but Suru’s reluctance to go there made the way seem excessively long. Even before they reached the school, she was busy making preparations to leave.
‘Amma where will you be standing?’
‘Amma you remember, no, the school at two o clock…’
‘Amma come a little early…’
‘I forgot your tiffin, wait here, I’ll get it from the house.’
Before Suru could say anything, she made Suru stand on a big stone on the side of the road and ran home. Her sari pallu ballooned and fluttered behind her, strands of hair escaped her bun, and her lungs began filling with air. If she leaps forward, putting a little pressure on the soles of her feet, she will begin flying. Almost flying like this, she went home to pick up the tiffin and when she returned, Suru had got off the stone and started walking alone towards her school.
Carrying heaps of newspapers, Ketan made his way to the garden behind the house. A profusion of the sun’s rays were falling deep into the pond, getting trapped in its layered ripples, the whole pond was aglimmer. She kept feeling that this particular morning was not passing as quickly as other mornings. ‘Whenever I have to go there, the morning passes in fits and starts.’ Head bent, engrossed in cooking, she thought if she cooked more intently and with greater concentration, she’d be able to propel the slow-moving morning forward faster. A quiet peace had settled over the house. Only nearby sounds could be heard, mingling with the distant noise of cars. Ketan could hear the rustling of newspapers, Veenu the scratchy sound of her dry sniffles and Bhagat the sound of his own breathing echoing in his ears. She stared at the rotis puffing up over the gas. The trembling peace was pierced by the vegetable vendor’s loud cry, ‘Tamatyor, tamatyor…’
Ketan gathered his newspapers and went inside. Resting his head against the kitchen wall, Bhagat had fallen asleep. Deep in sleep, he had started snoring. Ketan tiptoed past him and pressed his lips on the exposed area between her shoulder and neck. His touch lingered where he had placed his lips. It didn’t travel to other parts of her body. For a while that patch of skin felt cold, then the sensation ceased.
Veenu came to ask for money to go to college.
‘Amma I’ll be back late today.’
The glow had returned to her tear-washed face after her bath. There was not a trace of the morning’s distress left in her eyes, they were shining like the sunlight-drenched glass in the windows. ‘Who knows what kind of life she’s leading behind these windows?’ she thought.
‘I’ll work in the library today.’
She was leaving, in jeans, shirt, a bag hanging on her shoulders. Because she walked so straight Veenu appeared taller than she was, thick black hair flowing down from her head, tarrying for a moment on her shoulders, then down her back where it moved and shifted like silk.
As soon as Ketan was ready and had sat down at the dining table, as soon as Bhagat came out of his sleep, stopped snoring and was back on his feet, the kneaded dough on the stone slab seemed to become round faster than usual. The roti too, just off the tawa, puffed out faster than usual on the flame. Suddenly, every task was finishing faster than ever. What’s happening? Had her wish, her longing, broken free? Ketan quickly finished eating and got up. Brushing the flour from her hands, she went towards the bathroom. In the time it took her to remove her clothes, Ketan had opened the door of the house.
Sitting in the verandah, listening to the sound of water coming from the bathroom, Bhagat dozed off. He had seen her go through her tasks hurriedly. He realised that today was the day bai saheb went out. After everyone leaves, she’ll have a long bath. Then she’ll light an incense stick in front of the goddess’s picture, do the aarti, dry her hair in the sun, wear a beautiful sari, gather her open hair into a bun, silently walk up to him and say, ‘Shut the door. I’m going. If saheb calls, tell him I’m in the neighbourhood buying something.”
As she shut the gate she saw the house door closing too. She saw the faint shadow of apprehension floating in Bhagatram’s eyes, which he hid from her by swiftly shutting the door. She started walking on the uneven footpath. She could feel her heightened heartbeats echoing in her ears. She didn’t remember on which wrist she’d tied her watch. Still looking ahead, without glancing at her wrists, she gently felt for her watch. She stepped off the footpath, hailed a taxi and almost whispered the name of the restaurant to the driver. As soon as she said the name, she felt a tremor go through her body, just like she’d felt at dawn, before the day broke. She thought he smiled as he turned the meter down. She sat crouching a little on the back seat, periodically popping up like a fish to see the road ahead. Measured against her heartbeats, the way seemed very long. After a while the taxi stopped near the restaurant, the driver, carefully hiding his smile, turned around and said something. By now, her entire body felt captive to her racing heart. The clamour of her heartbeats drowned out all other sounds. She rummaged in the depths of her purse, pulled out the first note she found and held it out to the driver.
She entered the restaurant and looked around. Most tables were empty. A few strangers were hunched over some of them. She heaved a sigh of relief. At the sight of the familiar face at the counter, her leaping heart slowly steadied. As soon as he saw her, he smiled warmly. She wanted to express her gratitude, but the realisation that she’d made it here safely again hadn’t yet permeated her entire body. Literally floating on trembling feet she went and sat down at her favourite table. The window nearby overlooked a small grassy lawn. A sheet of sunlight lay on the grass and a few birds, as if deep in thought, sauntered about. Every now and then, a breeze swept over the bushes that formed the fence. A tall building rose behind the bushes, its hundreds of glass panes shimmering in the glare, as if showers of light were pouring out of them. She took a book out of her purse and opened it on the table. Seeing her, a bearer came up, his gaze affectionate. ‘I was just wondering how come memsaheb hadn’t yet come,’ he murmured as he reached her table, ‘What will you have, memsaheb? The usual?’
‘Yes.’ She answered, looking out of the window. The birds hopped about, the flowing breeze ruffling their feathers. They kept straightening the disordered feathers. The yellow leaves that had fallen from the bushes lay strewn on the greenery like so many coins of sunlight. The bearer was weaving his way through the tables and chairs carrying a cup of coffee, sugar and toast. As he was emptying out the tray, a girl entered the restaurant walking quickly, with a boy almost running behind her. She starts stirring the sugar into her coffee. They sit down at a table close to her. The girl gets engrossed explaining something to the boy. He listens to her in a distracted way.
Paying careful attention to what they’re saying, she looks out at the blades of grass stirring in the sunlit lawn. She’s happy to be sitting there, book in hand, quiet and peaceful. A few fleeting glances come her way, but nothing more. It is as though she is alone in an enormous jungle or gently swaying on a ship deck in the middle of a vast ocean. The girl is a little older than the boy. Her shining open hair hides half her face. The boy is wearing well-fitting clothes, he listens to the girl’s almost pleading, imploring voice heartlessly.
‘At least come with me once!’
‘How can I come? Think about it, I’m in such a fix.’
Wary that she might clutch his hands in a bid to intensify her entreaties, he rests them on his thighs below the table. Unconsciously, the girl’s eyes search for his hands on the table. As she listens to the girl’s suggestions and the boy’s repeated refusals, she pauses at the pages of her open book: ‘We stay in the chowk area of the bazaar. You could see the blind in one of those dark houses, and it was difficult to separate them…’ She leaves the story suspended in these lines and her mind drifts far away. Somewhere very far away, on the shore of a sea, her mother, dead these many years, is calling out to her, running after her. From somewhere behind the mounds of sand, her father who died many years before, is warning her, again and again, not to go too far into the waves. She’s flying in the air watching them. The voices from the nearby table, the girl’s heart-rending and pathetic, the boy’s emotionless and unfeeling, scatter on the sandy shore like so many seashells and snails.
Perhaps I forgot to write that in the middle of all this, she had lit a cigarette.
