Between the Lines Chapter 1

June 2013

My parents had named me Gunonandini, a funny long name that practically did not carry any real meaning. It meant a girl with a lot of talents. Perhaps, I was a girl with many talents, only time would tell! Summer in India was a tormenting time, but this year, the summer had been less harsh, and a shower that early afternoon had made the weather pleasant. The cuckoo bird had returned to the trees, singing its 'kuyu' song relentlessly. I dusted the cobwebs from the corner of the walls, as I hummed Lata's song from the 50s, immersing myself in the romanticism of the ballad. I was in my grandparent's house after almost fifteen years. The house had been locked for over a year now, and mother had decided to come to Ranchi to spend our summer holidays here. 

My grandfather had spent the last few years of his life in this house. When my grandmother died, my grandfather then seventy, had decided to move to Kolkata to live with his son, my uncle. But after a few years, he got bored of the constant noise and pollution in the cosmopolitan and decided to move back to his old town and beloved house, where he had brought up his four kids, my mother, her two sisters and Nakul uncle. I wonder what my mother's childhood was like. From the stories that she told me, it sounded like a different era. My grandfather had been fairly independent at the age of ninety. And then, one day, he just fell down, and my uncle admitted him to the hospital. He never recovered from the fall. My mother is a great singer, and though I never learned music in school, I picked up my mother's talent. I am perhaps a Gunonandini, or perhaps just a confused soul! My mother belongs to a family of musicians, her maternal grandmother played the veena, her maternal grandfather sang for the All-India-Radio and her maternal uncle was a violinist. My grandmother was an acclaimed Indian classical musician as well.I had to the horror of my mother's family, chosen Economics as my major in University. My father had been absolutely delighted with my decision!

Mother was out in the garden, trying to restore some of the fruit trees that had white ants all over them. The gardens in my grandfather's house were extensive, and though a large portion of the land, over an acre I believe had already been sold, the garden still maintained its charm and feeling of serenity, surrounding the old house in a cradle of love. With rose bushes in the front, and fruit trees in the rear end, the garden smelled like an organic perfume shop, an infusion of flowers, fruits, green grass and wet soil. Mom shouted at the top of her voice, "Guno, could you bring the shovel from the back verandah, near the store room. I need to bring our lemon tree back to life." I dropped the long stick with the mesh that I had been using to clean the cobwebs and hurried to the back verandah.

I had spent many winter holidays in my grandparent's house during my growing up years, with my cousins, laughing, playing hide and seek, and stealing sweet delicacies from the kitchen in the afternoons. They were such beautiful memories, that would always be close to my heart. The house was large though not massive. It had six bedrooms, a large courtyard, and two encircling verandahs that went all around the perimeter of the house. The back of the house consisted of the kitchen, the store room, and a host of toilets and shower rooms, six to be precise. I did not understand the concept of having all the toilets at the back of the house, and not being attached to the bedrooms. Why on earth would anyone want that? I wonder if they had architects in those days to build and design houses, probably not.

I must admit, I had been a very patient daughter for the last few days. I had spent a few days holidaying with dad and mom in Eastern Europe, after which dad had hurried back home for his work. I decided to accompany mom to India. Nakul uncle had come to receive us at the airport in Kolkatta, and we had spent an overnight at their house, after which we took the train to Ranchi. I definitely wanted to take the flight, but mom had insisted on the train journey. "It's been ages since I traveled by train. I want to experience it all over again, it reminds me of my younger, carefree days", she had explained. I decided not to fuss, I wanted to be extremely kind to mom. I had to disclose to her, my plans for my future. Mom would be shocked, but I had to persuade her. What if my parent's refused? Would I go against their wish? Was I that brave or selfish?. I did not have the courage to discuss it with my father, he would be absolutely furious. But mom was softer, and perhaps could be persuaded better. She had to be persuaded! There was no other way.

As I contemplated on my plan of action, there was a knock at the gate. It was the fishwife. My mom had met her last Wednesday at the weekly market. Ranchi was a small town in India, that had developed rapidly in the past decade. Well, as my mom claimed, the development was substantial, but the downside was that the city had become overcrowded with the wrong kind of people. Tons of people from the northern state of Bihar had swarmed the city. "When we were young, our colony had mostly Bengalis, and now there are mostly Biharis", her mom had sadly commented. She wanted her old Ranchi back. And so she refused to go to the grocery mart across the street. She preferred to shop at the local weekly farmer's market and buy vegetables from the vegetable hawker who sat at the end of the street, flapping houseflies from his sad looking vegetables.

The fishwife measured the fish in her dangling measuring scale. I had never seen anything as antique as that, except my mom's wedding jewelry. Exquisite!, was all I could define it as. My mom smiled and chatted with the fishwife. The fishwife seemed pleased, she had probably charged my mom an additional couple of hundred Rupees for the small amount of fish she had given her. But both parties were happy, and I had no intentions of prodding on their happiness. Nakul mama, my uncle, had arranged for his old friend's son, Vishesh, to sleep over in the night in our house.He believed it was not safe for two ladies to live in a house in the night by themselves in India, especially in Ranchi. A handsome guy in his mid-twenties, Vishesh, was shy and introvert. He came every night to our house, had dinner, and immediately retired to the guest room that mom had cleaned up for him. He always carried a laptop in his hands, although I never saw him using it much. Of course his handphone he was addicted of. He was looking at it, even while driving his motorbike. Traffic rules in India seemed to be non-existent, at least in smaller towns.

Vishesh, followed through the gate, as the fishwife left, to pick up his pair of speakers that he had left behind in the morning. "I will come by 8 pm auntie. Don't prepare dinner for me tonight, as I have a pizza party at my friend's place. It's his birthday today, I told Guno yesterday", he said smiling at my mother. My mom looked at me for clues, but I faked a blank expression. She did not know how or what to answer, and concluded, "Never mind son, but do have dinner with us tomorrow". Vishesh was gone as quickly as he came, and mom sighed a gasp of relief, as he left. "Thank goodness, he is not having dinner with us today, He eats like a pig! I am not used to cooking that much, and how on earth should I know that a skinny boy like him can eat like Arnold!", mom said. "Mom, he did not ask you to prepare dinner for him, poor chap. And how on earth do you know how much Arnold Schwarzenegger eats? Did you date him before marrying dad?". We both laughed synchronously, and mom followed the cue, "Do you like the guy?, I mean Vishesh?". I hugged my mom, and said, "Yes, kind of. He is cute and naive. But not the way you think. But I do like the fact that he eats a lot, I mean a lot! I hope you make enough rice for an army tomorrow, now that you have already asked him for dinner", and we laughed some more.

I missed these moments with my mom. She was like a friend to me. I remembered when I was small, I shared with her my first crush, and she had advised me, "Boys are fun, but don't take them seriously. They never will be serious about you, and you will be left heartbroken. As long as you are in control, everything will be fine, always remember that", she had told me. I was thirteen then, and twenty-five now, and things had changed. How was I to tell her about Hubert? How could I explain to her that I was no longer in control, that I had lost myself completely in his love! Hubert was different. He was sensitive, calm, charming, and attentive. He was so different from me, and he loved everything about me. Sometimes his obsession for me made me hyper, and that was strange because I considered myself quite self-collected. But then, love was a feeling that was difficult to explain.It made you cry and laugh at the same time, and it made you mad. Yes, it did, and I could feel it. I was mad to like Hubert, there was nothing in common between us. He had no friends, I had tons. He was white, and I was brown. He came from Europe, and I came from India, or at least my parents did. My favorite food was 'Bengali luuchi', his favorite food was a sausage called Bratwurst and Sauerkrat. But who cared, he was, what I was not, and that made me crazy about him. I twisted my finger, to remove the mark, that Hubert's ring had left on my middle finger. I had removed it from my finger, in the car on my way home to Fremont. I felt like I was committing a felony by removing it, but giving my parents a nasty surprise would have been an even greater offense.

The next two weeks in Ranchi were life changing for me. I was introduced through an old friend of mom to a social organization, that provided clean sanitary napkins to the women in nearby villages.I was aghast to know the plight of the poor rural women in India. Most of them and their children had no access to clean drinking water and sanitation. Thankfully Ranchi was a town with enough rivers and streams, but the women had to walk miles to collect clean water daily for themselves and their children. The men of the tribal folk, that were native to the town, rarely worked and spent their lifetime living on the earnings of their women. But that didn't stop them from abusing their women or taking undue advantage of their physical weakness. Most women of the tribe had long-term health issues and had been abused in some form or the other, but it was their sheer grit that had continued to help them keep moving in life and provide for their children. Some kids from the tribal villages around the city had made it big in the corporate and government sector, after receiving free catholic education in churches and schools run by the Christian community in the city, but none had bothered to return back to their villages after moving out to bigger towns and cities. It was sad, but there was a gleam of hope, with the new generation of city kids, who were trying to volunteer for social organizations like 'Adi' which worked at the grassroots level. I spent a few hours every day during that week at 'Adi' town center to help them with their fundraising activities and events. It was an enriching experience, and I vowed to myself that I would not be like another tourist, treating this just as a one in a lifetime experience. I had to do something to help these women. Goodwill was not sufficient, neither was a donation. Something more concrete had to be done!

Vishesh had eaten dinner with us for the next few days, after which he had invited us to his home. Mom had initially refused but then agreed after his parents came to our house uninvited, to invite us to dinner.They seemed like a nice family especially his dad. He kept talking about uncle Nakul, and how he and uncle used to play marbles all day long, in spite of their mother's bickering. We came to know from his mother that Vishesh was studying law at the local University and was planning to become a successful lawyer, and maybe a politician like Obama one day. It was hilarious, the whole discussion, and I could not hold my laugh. Vishesh's mother was slightly taken aback by my laughter. But her face turned pure purple, when I addressed her with her first name, to mention to her that her I had enjoyed the dinner. Of course, mom followed up with a proper explanation. I apologized, and thereafter addressed her as Mrs. Dutta. She didn't mind that. In fact, she enjoyed it. Smiling at me, she said, "All of Vishesh's friends can't believe I am his mother. One of them even asked Vishesh, your elder sister is so pretty, is she married? They mistook me for his elder sister, thank goodness they did not think I was his younger sister, or else Mr. Dutta would have been really upset". I laughed and replied, "Good heavens, was the poor guy blind, I mean was he in his senses? ". It was the second time I had laughed out loudly, and my mother decided it was time for us to go home. Potbellied Mrs. Dutta, had, of course, turned maroon by then. That was Thursday, and uncle Nakul arrived the next day. He had come to escort us back to Kolkatta, to catch our flight back home on Sunday. 

Sunday morning, Uncle Nakul went out for breakfast at Vishesh's house. We had to leave late afternoon. Mom handed me a paratha."Here, finish it! You will probably be hungry for the rest of the day otherwise." I held her hand. My voice was quivering. " Mom, I have to tell you something." Mom clasped my hands and said, "I am listening." Trying to keep my voice calm, I said, "I met a boy in Uni. You had met him last year. His name is Hubert. He is German. He proposed to me!". Whew, I had done it!.

Mom kept quiet for a minute. Then she continued, "I believe you have accepted his proposal. But I am an Indian mother, that too Bengali". She was getting excited, and I could sense it. I held my breath. She continued, "I need to talk to his mother, it has to be done the proper way. Of course, first I have to talk to your dad. I hope he agrees. But you give me his parent's number. I need to talk to them first. We need to meet and discuss. They will have to accept an Indian wedding. And yes, you will not wear white. That is not acceptable." "Mom, mom, calm down, we have not decided to marry yet. First, we need to finish our education, then find a job, marriage will have to follow", I shouted. "I am hearing no such nonsense, If he has proposed, and you have agreed, you have to get married as soon as possible. Did he ask you to wait? Do you understand his intentions?", mom exclaimed. "Mom, I am the one who has asked him to wait. He has already submitted his Ph.D. papers and has an offer in hand, but it is still not finalized. I on the other hand still have at least another year to go, before I finish my Ph.D. Marriage may not be a good idea now, as both our stipends are not enough for renting a nice house and meeting all the other expenses that come with a marriage", I argued. Our arguments continued for the rest of the morning until Nakul uncle came back.

Our flight to San Francisco was delayed by an hour. We spent the hour shopping for gourmet tea and silly astrology books at the airport. During the flight, mom held my hand and shed some tears, and I followed. They were tears of love, relief, happiness, of the pain of realization that we would soon be having separate lives. Mom said, "You were such a selfless child, you still are in a way. You just couldn't handle one thing, and that was jealousy. Your cousin Ridhi was jealous of you, and you just did not get along with her. You just couldn't accept the fact that girls could be jealous sometimes." I nodded in agreement. Mom continued," But now I feel jealous of your friend. I hope I can cope with parting from you! Obsession and love are two different sides of a coin, and when there is one, the other is missing. But I will always love you unconditionally". "I know mom, remember, you are still my mom, we will never part, our relationship will stay the way it is, I promise you", I said. "I know, I know, my child", mom said, as she stroked my hair, and then we both looked out of the window staring at the blackness outside.