Hitting the Wall on Their Face
What they were looking to avoid by skipping days of the week. And by not buying saris made from two different pieces of cloth. They could just as well have found if they had looked in her eyes.
But only if they wanted to.
They could have seen the ‘bad signs’ they were avoiding, if they had just looked in her eyes.
But why would they? She was their daughter, yes. She was the reason the family was known in any neighborhood that they had ever lived in, yes. But that could not possibly be enough.
That was because as far as they were concerned she was known for all the wrong reasons. Loud, cheerful, happy, playful, friendly. Yes, positive words. But not for a girl. Not at all.
Not a girl who belonged to the small town of Telli… how does it matter. So what if she had never lived there? So what if she was not even one of those ‘expats’ who was at least born there. She was born right here. Right there, in that second floor corner room at RML hospital. So what if when she spoke Malayalam a native could tell easily she was not from there. Why, she even pronounced, Malayalam wrong. (You see there are two ‘l’ sounds in Malayalam. She always gets confused between which ‘l’ sound comes first in that word.)
***
What he wanted to hear by looking in her eyes. And by trying to keep his hands on her shoulder in a friendly sort of way. He could have known if he had just listened to what she was saying.
But only if he wanted to.
He wanted to hear her say that she loved him.
But why would he? She was his fiancée, yes. She was someone who had given him some importance and space, yes. But that could not possibly be enough.
That was because as far as he was concerned as a girl born and brought up in a ‘home’ airlifted from Telli… well, that small town, (all values and ethics intact) this was her duty.
What else would she do? Defy him? Speak up? Speak her mind? Tell him what she actually wanted? Of course not. She couldn’t possibly do any of that. She was not even one of those expat girls who were defiled by the ways of the big bad city. You know, smoking, drinking etc. Why, she even knew how to cook and loved keeping her house neat and tidy. She enjoyed hosting people at home and making food that she knew they would like.
***
In her eyes they would have seen discomfort that she had with the whole deal. There was something amiss. A few beats, not even just one.
A bad sign is usually just an extension of imagination. Or quite simply, a legend that has overstayed its invitation.
The bad sign was that their daughter did not love the man they were asking her to marry.
***
In her voice he would have felt the tremor of fear. Unnatural fear. That there was something amiss. A few
beats, not even just one.
People usually don’t say certain things because they don’t know how to. Or simply because they don’t want to.
He did not hear her say it, because he was too busy saying what he wanted to say.
***
So what did this mean? Nothing. It would have meant something if either of them had cared about her. Her happiness, that smile. Her cheerfulness. Her life. (The things that she brought into my life, and the things I loved about her.)
But why would they?
This is natural. She is only paying the price of being a girl born into a culture where parents blame their daughter when she comes home after being badgered by her husband. Why shouldn’t she pay the price of being a girl who is scared of bringing shame to her family?
But more than that why shouldn’t she be scared of just being true to herself? After all, these are the values with which we bring up daughters in kitchens and sons in playgrounds in this country. A country where daughter destiny discomfort are conceptually intertwined! And except for pretense-stances on paper and in papers no one cares to change anything.
***
In a world where lying and cheating is easier, truth is indeed nothing but an experiment. An experiment that some people choose to undertake and most choose to run from.
And we are mostly slaves of our habits. And in the one life time we have if we can get by most things with a plastic smile and an artificial emotion why should anyone care to show real emotions?
Double lives. We live double lives. At home and outside. And triple. At home, at office and outside. Quadruple lives, so on and so forth. And those who have core ethics and beliefs prefer to just hide them when they hit the sturdy ugly wall of truth.
***
But what is the point of writing this now?
Maybe to tell her that the wall of truth which they all say is ugly is actually only as ugly as you make it seem in your head. And only as ugly as you make it by believing them. And some people, the kind who have always been misunderstood and are at odds with their world have to sometimes spend a lifetime cleaning up the truths in their life.
But why would she?
Because she isn’t alone. And she cannot escape that fact even if she tries to pretend it’s untrue. She needs to believe and make others believe that what to them, seems ugly and stubborn in her and in her life, is actually strong and beautiful. And it is up to her to stand by that wall of truth, defend it and make sure no one stains it anymore.
And also, you see, she needs to be reminded that she has a daughter already and in doing this she is writing discomfort into her destiny also.
But only if they wanted to.
They could have seen the ‘bad signs’ they were avoiding, if they had just looked in her eyes.
But why would they? She was their daughter, yes. She was the reason the family was known in any neighborhood that they had ever lived in, yes. But that could not possibly be enough.
That was because as far as they were concerned she was known for all the wrong reasons. Loud, cheerful, happy, playful, friendly. Yes, positive words. But not for a girl. Not at all.
Not a girl who belonged to the small town of Telli… how does it matter. So what if she had never lived there? So what if she was not even one of those ‘expats’ who was at least born there. She was born right here. Right there, in that second floor corner room at RML hospital. So what if when she spoke Malayalam a native could tell easily she was not from there. Why, she even pronounced, Malayalam wrong. (You see there are two ‘l’ sounds in Malayalam. She always gets confused between which ‘l’ sound comes first in that word.)
***
What he wanted to hear by looking in her eyes. And by trying to keep his hands on her shoulder in a friendly sort of way. He could have known if he had just listened to what she was saying.
But only if he wanted to.
He wanted to hear her say that she loved him.
But why would he? She was his fiancée, yes. She was someone who had given him some importance and space, yes. But that could not possibly be enough.
That was because as far as he was concerned as a girl born and brought up in a ‘home’ airlifted from Telli… well, that small town, (all values and ethics intact) this was her duty.
What else would she do? Defy him? Speak up? Speak her mind? Tell him what she actually wanted? Of course not. She couldn’t possibly do any of that. She was not even one of those expat girls who were defiled by the ways of the big bad city. You know, smoking, drinking etc. Why, she even knew how to cook and loved keeping her house neat and tidy. She enjoyed hosting people at home and making food that she knew they would like.
***
In her eyes they would have seen discomfort that she had with the whole deal. There was something amiss. A few beats, not even just one.
A bad sign is usually just an extension of imagination. Or quite simply, a legend that has overstayed its invitation.
The bad sign was that their daughter did not love the man they were asking her to marry.
***
In her voice he would have felt the tremor of fear. Unnatural fear. That there was something amiss. A few
beats, not even just one.
People usually don’t say certain things because they don’t know how to. Or simply because they don’t want to.
He did not hear her say it, because he was too busy saying what he wanted to say.
***
So what did this mean? Nothing. It would have meant something if either of them had cared about her. Her happiness, that smile. Her cheerfulness. Her life. (The things that she brought into my life, and the things I loved about her.)
But why would they?
This is natural. She is only paying the price of being a girl born into a culture where parents blame their daughter when she comes home after being badgered by her husband. Why shouldn’t she pay the price of being a girl who is scared of bringing shame to her family?
But more than that why shouldn’t she be scared of just being true to herself? After all, these are the values with which we bring up daughters in kitchens and sons in playgrounds in this country. A country where daughter destiny discomfort are conceptually intertwined! And except for pretense-stances on paper and in papers no one cares to change anything.
***
In a world where lying and cheating is easier, truth is indeed nothing but an experiment. An experiment that some people choose to undertake and most choose to run from.
And we are mostly slaves of our habits. And in the one life time we have if we can get by most things with a plastic smile and an artificial emotion why should anyone care to show real emotions?
Double lives. We live double lives. At home and outside. And triple. At home, at office and outside. Quadruple lives, so on and so forth. And those who have core ethics and beliefs prefer to just hide them when they hit the sturdy ugly wall of truth.
***
But what is the point of writing this now?
Maybe to tell her that the wall of truth which they all say is ugly is actually only as ugly as you make it seem in your head. And only as ugly as you make it by believing them. And some people, the kind who have always been misunderstood and are at odds with their world have to sometimes spend a lifetime cleaning up the truths in their life.
But why would she?
Because she isn’t alone. And she cannot escape that fact even if she tries to pretend it’s untrue. She needs to believe and make others believe that what to them, seems ugly and stubborn in her and in her life, is actually strong and beautiful. And it is up to her to stand by that wall of truth, defend it and make sure no one stains it anymore.
And also, you see, she needs to be reminded that she has a daughter already and in doing this she is writing discomfort into her destiny also.