ONE
One.
The radio’s soft hum, a classic Hindi tunes, of 90’s filled the air, intertwining with the irresistible aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the savoury wisps of hot idle fumes from the kitchen. As I slowly opened my eyes, my mother’s voice pierced the calm “did you wake up or not, Nalini, rama?” The familiar query, a routine ritual, signaled the start of another day.
As I shook off the haze of sleep, my gaze fell upon my grandmother, poised serenely in the hall’s corner, lost in meditation. Her daily ritual of stealthy generosity never failed to move me, every day before I headed to college, she would slip me a clandestine gift – crumbled cash or hastily wrapped breakfast – hidden from my mother’s prying eyes. It remained our little secret.
The previous day her frail hands signaled me close, eyes sparkling with defiance. A folded 20 rupee note changed hand’s its value exponentially greater than its face. The mystery of its origin remained unsolved, but its significance was clear; unwavering love.
I hail from a lively household, part of a big family with a younger brother and three sisters – one elder and two younger. Our family comprises eight members, including me, living in a tiny home. It was pivotal year, 1988, when I secured admission to the nearby college, embarking on a journey to pursue a degree in B.S.C. As the years unfolded, my sisters followed suit, joining the same college in diverse academic streams.
Our daily routine consisted of walking to college a 2 km trek from our home, The luxury of renting an auto or commuting by bus was a distant dream. Our father’s monthly income struggled to meet the needs of our large family, leaving us to navigate the challenges of making ends meet. The month’s end often brought with it an added layer of financial strain.
My elder sister had chosen not to pursue higher education, instead dedicating herself to assisting our mother with household chores and awaiting the prospect of marriage. In contrast, my younger siblings were resolute in their pursuit of academic excellence, driven by a fierce determination to craft successful careers and contribute to our family’s financial well – being.
Each day blended seamlessly into the next. On one such ordinary day, As I prepared to leave campus, I saw my sister standing at the end of the aisle, which leads to college entrance, engaged in conversation with her classmates – 3 men and 2 women. As she caught sight of me approaching, she grasped my arm and introduced me to her friends. We engaged pleasantries, delved into various topics and before the sun began to set, we parted ways.
As we stepped into our home, my mother’s fiery gaze greeted us, her hand clutched around a wide belt, which is made of leather and its surface creased from years of use, which now is used as a symbol of punishment. But this time we hadn’t done anything out of ordinary. My mother’s anger stemmed from a neighbour’s gossip; we’d been seen talking to some young men near the college entrance gate. “didn’t I tell you to never cross that line?” she fumed, her words laced with worry. “Rumours will spread like wildfire, tarnishing your reputation. When I search for suitable husbands for you, these rumours will haunt us, then no one will marry you and our family’s name will suffer. If that happens, forget you have a family. I won’t let you live under this roof, disgracing all of us, her ire focused particularly on me, she lashed out with the belt “you’re the elder sister, it’s your responsibility to teach them and set a better example! Don’t you dare embarrass me like this again,” she scolded. My sister intervened, her voice trembling “Mother, they are my classmates” she explained, her eyes pleading I was the one who introduced her to them and we didn’t do anything wrong I promise,” she glared at me, then back to our mother. “We were just talking please forgive us, we don’t do it again.” “Alright,” she sighed, “before I forgive you, punishment is necessary,” Mother declared, her expression unyielding and with that she began beating me repeatedly, the belt stings ignited tears of pain. My cries echoed through the house until grandma rushed to my aid, her concerned face was a relief, she grasped mother’s arm, halting the blows and gently pried the belt from the grip.
Grandma’s warm comforting arms wrapped around me close, guiding me away from the scene “come dear,” she soothed, her voice a gentle balm. She led me to her room.
The nights tears had dried by morning, our household had reverted to its usual rhythm. My sisters and I attended college, returned home before mother’s curfew. A week passed, and then mother and father departed for their village to attend a relative’s saree function, taking my elder sister and brother along for assistance.
With our parents gone away for 2 nights, grandma became our guardian. My sisters and I have thrilled to have the house for ourselves. Coinciding with our parent’s absence, a public holiday cancelled college freeing us from routine. My sisters declared the day, a day of relaxation and fun.
We indulged in a culinary escapade, crafting our favourite dessert, a snack and a main course, with the spread ready, we settled onto a mat on the floor, snuggled up together under one blanket and tuned into our chosen movie on tv, when I looked outside from the window, the sky grew darker and cloudy.
The air felt cool and fresh, hinting at rain. Suddenly gentle drops started falling, pattering softly on the roof and windows. The rain grew stronger, thrumming a soothing beat. We snuggled deeper under the blanket when the cool breeze slipped in through the window, its soft touch tracing our skin filled with earthy aroma of wet soil.
The movies glow lit up our faces, while the rain’s calming sound lulled us to relaxation. It was a perfect evening just three of us, good food, a favourite movie with beautiful weather, as I looked at my sisters, never once I imagined this tender moment would become a distant memory, a bitter reminder of a bond that had changed forever.
