Moving On

The blackboard was almost buzzing. This was one of her favourite themes, a part of the curriculum Bina always enjoyed teaching.  She loved watching student’s eyes light up as she told stories, explained concepts, described milestones and   unveiled the events that have shaped feminist thinking in the sub-continent. Today’s class was about the history of the Indian women’s movement and she had a rich tapestry of ideas to cover. After class, Bina was tired and thirsty. As she walked down the corridor to her room, she took her phone out of her bag and noticed there were four missed calls.

She stopped outside the door with the sign “ Dr. Bina Kumar, Head  of Department, Women’s Studies”. Sitting down, Bina first gulped down half a bottle of water and then checked the calls. There was one from the maid. She guessed the maid wanted to know what to cook for dinner. The second was from her daughter Maya. That would be a complaint about her tiffin box and its  vegetarian contents. The third and the fourth calls caught Bina’s attention. Her ex- husband  and  ex- sister- in-law. Their calls were just twenty minutes apart. Something’s up, she said to herself and could feel a sense of foreboding. She knew even before she returned  their calls that this was  about  Ammi, her  ex- mum in-law.

Luckily, Bina had two free hours before her  next  class. She checked her mail, looked at the students’ attendance  sheets and then swivelled her a chair around  to face the window.  It was a cloudy day and the leafy university campus which normally sparkled in the sunlight, today looked dismal and grey.  Even the students’ clothes and chatter seemed subdued.

Bina first called Maya, then the maid and took a deep breath before calling Nitya, her ex-husband’s sister.  “  Ammi’ ‘s  sinking. The doctors have given her forty eight hours. She is in Jehangir hospital in Pune. And she has been asking for you”, Nitya’s voice was faint. It was obvious she had been sobbing, but Bina was too stunned  to offer  solace. “I”ll be there by  tonight. Or latest by tomorrow morning. Please tell her that. And take care .”  That was all she managed to say. It was a Friday, which meant she could leave by 3.30p.m.

Bina taught  her  next class on intersections between caste and gender, with thoughts of Ammi flitting in and out of her mind. Ammi was  forced to drop out of school at puberty, married  at sixteen to a wealthy farmer and became a mother when she was  not yet nineteen.  She  had  had no say  in any of  those events. At the age  of  forty, Ammi  decided it was time to break her silence and to always speak her mind.  Six years later, she  stood  up for her  son, defying  the  caste panchayat,  when  he  had wanted to marry  a “city girl” from “another community”. Bina remembered  that,  as if  it was  last week,  when it had actually happened  twelve  years ago.   

This diminutive woman had reasoned with her hulk of a husband, without raising her voice while Bina hovered  in the verandah, watching. Nostrils flaring gently, Ammi argued Bhaskar’s case with quiet determination. Her ruby nose stud seemed to glare at him. Bina had been petrified  that Bhaskar,  her boyfriend  from college, would  buckle  under   pressure  from his  Dad and the                “ community” . He almost   did.  Except that Ammi  decided  to stick her neck out and speak her mind. She  had  insisted  that  Bhaskar and Bina  go ahead and  get married,  in spite of Bina being “an outsider”. Ammi  had  liked Bina from their  very first meeting and  was convinced she was  good  for  her favourite, her  youngest son.  “ I’ll  handle  these tyrants and their tantrums” is all she said.  The “community” was so shocked, they relented and finally retreated. Bina never really knew what  she’d had  to  contend  with.

At the end of the class, Bina’s students were looking at her strangely. Today she was not just  discussing abstract  concepts and theories of women’s agency and subversions.  Her examples were  poignant and  profound. They could sense Bina’s  breadth of knowledge and depth of  conviction. She knew this was a class  that  they would remember for a long time. 

As she waited for the college bell  to go,  Bina called  her  husband and explained that she needed  to be  in Pune by nightfall.  Knowing how she felt about Ammi, he was concerned. “ Is  it OK   if  I  drive   you there this evening? I’m not happy about you driving alone when you are disturbed. And tomorrow we need to be here for Maya’s school day”, he said. Bina wanted Mathew’s  comforting presence, especially if she was going to meet Bhaskar . “ Will  be  good  if you  come along. Let’s leave as soon as we can”, she said. 

Once they were on the highway, Bina’s mind  was  racing  back and  forth.   Calls home and calls to Nitya  kept  her  abreast  with what was happening  in the present. But conversations in the car with Mathew were mostly memories from another life. She looked at the St. Thomas figurine in the car and remembered the time, the family deity had to be worshiped in Bhaskar’s home. Ammi had  called her aside and   told her  what  exactly she should  do. How to arrange the trays, the haldi, the kumkum, the camphor and the  betel leaves. What she should wear, what was to be cooked and  served, in what order. Every  little detail.  She was briefed and well prepared to deal with another culture.  Mathew had  heard all this before, but listened and  squeezed her arm, gently. 

Looking out  of the car  and  seeing  farms with cowsheds,  Bina was reminded of   Ammi and her  cows.  Thirty kilometres away from Pune, on the  farm where Bhaskar’s parents lived, there used to be six  cows. They were Ammi’s and she had names for  each of them. She cared for them and the  “milk money” went into her personal kitty.  At five o’clock every morning, she would be in the cowshed, supervising  the milking and  sometimes doing the job herself.  During Bina’s visits, she often joined  Ammi  there watching her  talking to the  cows amidst the  hissing sounds of milking, calves mooing and  cow bells tinkling. When disease struck and her  precious cows died  within a  span of  four days, Ammi was inconsolable.  Bina couldn’t get away immediately. Her visit to the farm was three weeks later. At  five in the morning, she heard   sounds and  knew  someone was  up and  about. She found Ammi  in the  empty,  silent cowshed. The two of them sat there quietly for a while before heading back to the house. The way Ammi  slyly wiped her  eyes with the corner of  her saree, Bina knew  she was still  grieving.  Ammi never got more cows.” I can’t bear the pain of losing again ”,  is  all she said.

Mathew drove at a steady pace. They reached the hospital in Pune at  7.00 and were met by Nitya. Bhaskar was in the room with Ammi, but made an exit as  soon as  he  saw Mathew.  He couldn’t deal with anyone who might know about all his infidelities and what they cost Bina during the four years that they were married.  Bina went to sit by Ammi who gave her a wan smile.

‘ It’s good to see you.”, she said.  Ammi looked so frail in that large bed. Her white hair was lost in the white of the hospital sheets and her frame had disappeared into the oversized gown they had given her.  As she dozed  on  and  off, Bina studied the lines  on her face. There were laughter lines, crows feet, worry lines and a little scar near her nose from a childhood fall. They all seemed more marked since she’d  last seen her. The ruby in her nose stud was still there, dulled by time, but its luminous beauty intact.

As Bina and Mathew chatted with Nitya she could see  Ammi opening her eyes,  watching Mathew  and  her  from time to time.   At 8.00 pm  when her  food was  brought in,  she had to sit up to eat and then wanted to talk.“  There’s something I ‘ve  been wanting  to  say and  I must say it now”,  she said. 

“Shh Ammi.  Just rest. You are  going to be  fine. “

 “  No. Don’t know  if  I will  get another chance to talk to you. And Bina, I don’t want you think I am still hurt and angry  that you decided  to leave him  “

“Ok. Ammi.”

“ All  those  years  ago, I  knew  Bhaskar  needed  someone strong like you. And  so I took  a  stand. I should have also thought about what kind of man  you  need and  deserve. ”

“Oh, Ammi. There’s no need  for you to say  sorry. Please.”

“ Just one  more  thing. I’m glad  you’ve moved on.”

At that moment, Bhaskar  came in and brought an awkward silence with him. 

A phone rang. Mathew said, “Maya’s calling.  I‘ll  take  her  call and wait  outside”.

 Bina smiled at him and  thought, “I am glad I’ve moved on  too.”