Different Strokes

Name:
Location: Hyderabad, AP, India

Lover of art and music. Fair and just, balancing the scales always as a true Libran. Partial towards chocolates.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Penitence

“Anita…Anita”….The words landed softly on her ears. She had pined for these very words for years. The voice landing on her ears seemed to dissolve her entire present. It felt like the warmth which the first sunbeam spreads, melting the first frost of the year into spring. The name seemed vaguely familiar, of someone she had known very intimately. Her eyes fluttered open and as she began to get acquainted with the surroundings, it dawned on her that “Anita” was her name, her identity.

She shut her eyes tight chanting the words “I didn’t hear it” as though trying to convince herself fervently. No sooner did she shut her eyes to the present than the past was beckoning out to her. Green meadows, yellow sunshine, lazy cows chewing cud, the frontyard in which she played with her caretaker Ammu; all seemed like yesterday. Raju the potter’s son and Nimi the shy girl who had no mother were her childhood playmates. On sunny afternoons, walking back from school sucking on ice candy, they counted the number of blue buses which plied to and from there village carrying people and vendors with their wares to sell in the city. The blue buses were like match boxes made of tin with their paint peeling off. Yes, a part of her wanted to go back to those days of innocence. Yet she was restraining herself from treading those paths again. “Anita”.. She heard it again.

Her heart skipped a beat, when she recollected the echoing words. She gulped down a glass of water and rushed to the window to get a bout of fresh air; air, which was free from the stench of her past. She hadn’t realized the quick transition from Anita to Annie, her dreadful past making the transition less painful.

She shook her head attempting to throw out all memories and turn into a blank sheet of paper. Popping a sleeping pill to calm her throbbing nerves was the only thing she could think of. The pill knew it’s job well and made no mistake in lulling her to sleep.

The next morning carried an aftermath of the previous night’s excursions. With a heavy head, she staggered to work and just when she thought that she was having one of the worst days of her life, her phone rang to make it even worse. Her secretary Suzie said it was a long distance call from India. She knew who it was. She clenched the phone so tight that her knuckles turned white. It was her mother. All that Ma said was “It’s the 10th of November”. Anita winced at these words. She immediately clung for support and unemotionally said “I’ll be there”. She had never spoken to anyone about her family. She had orphaned herself very conveniently in this alien land.

The phone call made her quit work early. She went into the shower with her clothes on and turned on the cold water. The drops of water felt like a thousand daggers on her skin. She didn’t realize when her eyes started to pour out water of their own accord. She came out of the shower, her eyes red and swollen. She quickly changed and slid into bed.

She lay under the covers staring at the ceiling, with the colour drained from her face. She couldn’t avoid it anymore. So, she just shut her eyelids and thought of Diya. She remembered the time Diya was born, when she had come out of her mother as a naked child covered with blood. Diya hadn’t cried, but she had smiled. Papa also rejoiced as he took the baby wrapped in a white cloth. Diya was an angel to everyone. But, to her, Diya was just a blood covered mass, which she must rid herself of. Slowly, her place in the house slipped to the second position. It was always Diya first. As Diya grew, she competed with Anita for everything, right from pencils, crayons to Ma’s love and attention. Even Ammu her caretaker, now having her hands full with Diya betti, couldn’t find time for Anita and her games. Suddenly, Anita found herself to be alone and blamed it all on the new comer. This hatred and insecurity in Anita’s mind was not to die out. But, each and everyday, it simply strengthened. In school, Anita spurned Diya and taunted her, kept her away from her friends and her belongings.

That particular day in November, they were on the banks of the river, which was running strong and swift as it was monsoon. Diya liked the monsoon season a lot and insisted that they spend some time everyday by the river. She would watch for birds and imitate the sounds they made. She knew which flower blooms the best during that time of the year. That day, Diya saw a rare yellow flower blooming by the river which intrigued her and she quietly went over to the river to get it. The silt was slippery and so she was soon engulfed in the laps of the mighty river. For a second, Anita panicked not knowing what to do. She knew that she was not strong enough to pull Diya out. So, she ran to the village to call for help. While she was running she thought of what might happen if Diya drowned, she would get to have all her things back, she wouldn’t have to share anything, not even Ma’s love. She halted in her tracks and let out a laugh, a laugh that was very unlikely of her. It was the Devil’s laugh. She purposely delayed getting help. She could hear Diya in the distance screaming “Didi…Didi..”. She waited till the screams died down and then ran to the village and informed people of the mishap. They all ran to the river, to only to find an eerie calm, in which the gush of the river was the sole sound.

Ma went berserk with this tragedy. She didn’t bother to eat or sleep, she didn’t care about the others who lived. This aloofness of Ma shadowed Anita’s childhood in which she was hungry for Ma’s love, a soft caress , a single glimpse of her affection.

Years rolled by and Anita went to the city to finish her graduation and got an opportunity to work in one of the leading firms in the US. She went to her village to meet her parents before she left. Ma had grown old and had forgotten how to smile and mechanically said that she had put a bed for Anita in Diya’s room. Anita felt of pang of hurt. For Ma it was still Diya’s room though she, Anita had lived her entire life in it. Feeling suffocated with her non-existence in her mother’s world, she quietly put her belongings in the room. With nothing to do till lunch time she started rummaging through stuff that Ma had carefully preserved and stacked as Diya’s stuff. She happened to find Diya’s drawing book and flipped the pages callously and in one of the drawings, Diya had imagined her sister to be a fairy, in a golden gown, with white wings symbolizing purity, with the words “I love Didi” near it. She felt the fairy in the picture turn into a demon and clutch at her throat. The wings where not white now, they where red, stained with Diya’s blood. She wanted to run away, she wanted to escape, hide from herself. She left abruptly and took the immediate flight abroad. It was 20 years now that she had left her home and never turned back since.

Presently, she opened her eyes and found herself in her apartment and a strange fatigue that she had never experienced before seemed to engulf her. She was tired of running from life, from herself and from truth. This exhaustion instilled some courage in her; the courage to go back, the courage to face the truth, the courage to pay her last respects to her sister.

The next day she was on a flight to India and after a tedious journey reached her village. She was welcomed by Ma who had still not found her smile. She looked at Anita with memories of her long lost daughter in her eyes. Even now, Anita was looking expectantly towards Ma, simply to be acknowledged as Anita and not as the other daughter who lived. She stayed in Diya’s room, ate in her plate, drank from her cup and sat by her grave. Tears trickled down her face and fell on her tomb. What she felt was an immeasurable amount of guilt. It was monsoon again, she walked by the river. She saw the yellow flower almost at the middle of the river. She walked to get it. It was like Providence guiding her to it. The gurgle of water was all she could hear. As she closed her eyes the bank turned into a thin line.

Late in the evening, there were people with lanterns calling “Anita…Anita”, to be met by the same eerie calm as on Diya’s death.