Something of Myself
Monday, April 16, 2007
She was looking beautiful. White saree with larger-than-life-size floral prints. Her goggles reminded me of a legendary Bengali actress. If this were a profile shot, you would have easily mistaken her for Zenaat Aman. She was sitting on the rooftop in Hauz Khas; holding on to a copy of Jane Eyre and from the photograph you could tell that she was actually clinging on to it. Something about Jane fascinated her.
I instantly fell in love. The marriage of beauty and art. Of flesh and letters.
He saw the same picture too. Her hair, at that time, kissed her calves. It was that long (free-flowing?). Obviously, he could not resist.
They married after dating each other for 10 years. Uh, she tells me it was actually 11. Uprooted from the sophistication of Delhi, she was now living in a pocket in Calcutta - where incessant addas, football fanaticism, hero-worship, political rallies and intellectual conversations defined the idea of sophistication. She took to it rather well, after struggling to make room for herself in a 3-bedroom flat where grandparents and in-laws and cousins and guests all stayed together.
The love between them kept her going. Sacrifices were made. After all, if you have been having aloo ke paranthe for breakfast for some 28 years of your life, it is not easy to have muri and chocchori. But he was equal to it. He stepped out of the house with her when it went unbearable for her and stepped into the world of nuclear families.
She stuck with him, like she did to Jane Eyre. The copy has yellowed over the years. The lines remain. She cannot even see properly these days. Her fertile days are over.
He breathed his last sometime back.
But amidst all this, I wanted to wish her Happy Birthday today. She might not even read this but I will know that these words stand as a testimony to a figure who has been my mother.
Ma.
Here's wishing the very best that remains to the Jane Eyre of my life.
I instantly fell in love. The marriage of beauty and art. Of flesh and letters.
He saw the same picture too. Her hair, at that time, kissed her calves. It was that long (free-flowing?). Obviously, he could not resist.
They married after dating each other for 10 years. Uh, she tells me it was actually 11. Uprooted from the sophistication of Delhi, she was now living in a pocket in Calcutta - where incessant addas, football fanaticism, hero-worship, political rallies and intellectual conversations defined the idea of sophistication. She took to it rather well, after struggling to make room for herself in a 3-bedroom flat where grandparents and in-laws and cousins and guests all stayed together.
The love between them kept her going. Sacrifices were made. After all, if you have been having aloo ke paranthe for breakfast for some 28 years of your life, it is not easy to have muri and chocchori. But he was equal to it. He stepped out of the house with her when it went unbearable for her and stepped into the world of nuclear families.
She stuck with him, like she did to Jane Eyre. The copy has yellowed over the years. The lines remain. She cannot even see properly these days. Her fertile days are over.
He breathed his last sometime back.
But amidst all this, I wanted to wish her Happy Birthday today. She might not even read this but I will know that these words stand as a testimony to a figure who has been my mother.
Ma.
Here's wishing the very best that remains to the Jane Eyre of my life.
2 Comments:
Speechless! tears rolled out reading the post. A love story that was possible only in that era, somehow, our generation has lost the meaning of romance, the need to look beyond oneself.
And of course, Happy Bday aunty, may you live long to see your son achieve everything that he desires.
:-) Love stories like I one you mention still happen today. I guess we need to look at the right places and the right people. We are so self-obsessed and so short of time that our inclination towards observing individuals and pursuing their little stories get lost amidst the battles that we fight everyday. Thank you for your comment.
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