Three cups of tea lay on the table untouched. The cookie jar sat next to the cups, undisturbed. The chirping of birds outside was crisper, owing to the silence inside the house. Meera wondered what to do. Her husband was out of town owing to some office work. His job was very demanding. Her daughter Naina left yesterday for her first job to the States. Meera had been so busy packing up everything for her - from her tooth-brushes to her dresses, from her shoes to everything she might need for the kitchen.
"It would take time to settle in Naina. You must have everything when you land so that you don't have to run here and there for small things." Meera had told her daughter.
"You worry so much Mom. I will be fine." Naina had protested just like any other girl her age. But she knew deep in her heart that her mother worried for her since it was the first time she was going so far from her.
The farewell was heart-rending for the mother. She had spent her entire life around her only daughter. As the plane took off, Meera remembered the umpteen lullabies she had sung to Naina. She recollected the many times her daughter fell while learning to walk. She relived the many moments they would look in the mirror admiring each other in their new outfits. Her first smile, her first tear, her first accomplishment, her first failure, her first love, her first heart-break, her first mistake - Meera had lived through it all. And now, she stood there waving good-bye to her little bird as she flew in search of her dreams.
Meera had returned to the empty house. Her past two decades of life had been her daughter's. She opted out of job as she wanted to give in her hundred percent to her little star. She would prepare breakfast for her, and wake her up for school or college. She would make her favorite dishes, buy things as per her daughter's tastes. Her friends were treated with some luscious delicacies. It was fulfilling for a mother to see her daughter smiling.
But now, what was she going to do? She had no appetite. She did not prepare breakfast. She looked out the kitchen window. This was the place where the two would often stand and talk for hours, watching the outside world go about its business. They would crack jokes at some weird sight, and have some serious discussions too. Today it was all silent. No-body was there to talk to.
Meera cleaned the last night's dishes. She wiped the kitchen counter clean. Then, she went to the bedroom and straightened up the pillows that she had tossed here and there thinking about Naina. She looked at the watch and wondered how long she would have to wait before Naina's plane landed. She switched on the TV and incessantly changed the channels. Then, she turned it off. She went back to the kitchen window and stared blankly. She turned and headed towards her daughter's room. Th door was ajar. Meera peeped in, as if hoping to find Naina inside. All she met was nothingness. She traced her steps back to the kitchen. She started peeling some potatoes absent-mindedly. "What will you eat today Naina?" She muttered to herself in the dead silence. Just then the phone rang. Meera ran to pick it up. Naina had reached safely.
"There is something in the drawer for you." Naina told her mom.
"Stay safe Naina. Eat well. Take care of your health. Keep calling...." was all the Meera could say.
The call ended. Meera was relieved. She started chopping potatoes at a faster pace. Suddenly, she remembered the drawer. She ran to open it up.
There lay a letter, a pen and a book.
On the letter were the words:
When it rains outside and there is no umbrella, I will imagine you covering me in your aanchal. When I feel hungry, I will eat thinking that you are feeding me with your hands. When I look out the window, I will talk as if you are standing next to me. When I sleep, I will hold the pillow tight as if I am holding your hand. I will take care of myself for you. Promise me that you will too, for me. I want you to write, every single day, a letter for me. I want you to take up all that you gave up many many years ago. It won't be easy, but as you taught me, it is not impossible to do something if you have a heart in it. Read every night, as if you are reading to me. Begin with the book I am leaving. I know you will like it. And please Mom, take care of yourself, for me. I will miss you.....
Meera's hands were shaking. Her eyes all welled up. She took a few deep breaths. Then, she looked at the book. The title brought a faint smile on her face. It read : The Good Daughter
P.S. - Three Cups of Tea is a book written by Greg Mortensen and The Good Daughter is a memoir written by Jasmin Darznic.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
It is said that books take you to places you cannot go. These places are not just the ones that are physically remote. These are places hidden deep within our consciousness - places where lurk darker thoughts, sinister emotions, hidden pains, feelings of anguish, secret desires, ambitions crushed, goals to be achieved, undisclosed loves, words unsaid but often thought of consciously as well as unconsciously. Authors, sometimes omniscient like God, tell everything about the characters, and at other times, they leave it to the reader to draw conclusions. Narratives, by way of perspective, become powerful means of interrogation and understanding. Who we are, what we think, whom do we identify with, where are we in the timeline of history, what limitations do we possess which we are unaware of, and many more questions like these are answered through the books we read.
I came across some really good books recently which I would recommend everyone to read. They are inspirational, and tell us how one can achieve a goal despite financial or other hindrances. These books tell us how small we are, enveloped in petty thoughts and confining mind-sets. They tell us that greatness is achieved by serving humanity. They tell us that nothing is greater than serving others.
Promise of a Pencil by Adam Braun
Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen
Things a Little Bird told Me by Biz Stone (Twitter co-founder)
The first two books tell us how a common person, without a lot of money, but with a deep desire can surmount all hurdles to keep a promise. Both the books also deal with the issue of education, and its relevance, its undeniable importance for all. They also give a peek in other cultures, especially, Greg Mortensen's book. The tile of Greg's book itself is window to the culture of the people living in Baltistan. A thing as simple as a cup of tea is all it takes to bridge the gap of hearts, or as they say, to break ice. Biz Stone's book is the confessions of a self-made successful businessman. Biz talks about creativity, about dreams, about ego, about risk-taking, about failure, about success, about the desire and steadiness of trying, and not quitting.
I now want to dwell a little on a book that has kept me awake recently. A book that has made me cry, that has made me wince in pain as the characters in the book became part of me or, should I say, I became one with them.
This book is Khaled Hossieni's A Thousand Splendid Suns.
This book is a splendid historical chronicle of Afghanistan from the Soviet occupation through to the time the Taliban take over. History affects all. It is told keeping in mind the closeted life of Mariam and Laila, the two protagonists of the novel. But it is so much more than that. It is the story of Mariam who dotes on a father who fails her. It is the story of Laila who has never seen her brothers as they have been out in the war-zone, and yet, strangely, her life is overshadowed by their absence. It is the story of Mamy who pines for her sons and stubbornly refuses to leave the war-torn country as she wants to see her sons' dream come true - the expulsion of communists from their territory. It is the story of a woman whose womb is barren and who endures the wrath of her husband who just wants a son. This woman is Mariam and her husband is Rasheed. It is the story of the one-legged Tariq who cherishes the friendship with Laila, and will, despite his handicap, fight for her honor without hesitation. It is the story of the two friends who part, love that is forsaken, friendship that is formed in the most unexpected corner of life. It is also the story of a little child Aziza who is scared at the sound of bomb-shelling and seeks assurance from her mother by simply hugging her. And the mother in return keeps her safe from all save the brutal father.
Hosseini has crafted a flawless narrative that brutally shakes you to the core. The violence out there in the streets is told only as a matter of fact. It is what the protagonists cannot witness. Their life indoors, is more violent and affects them in a way the larger historical events do not. It is the abuse they face in their own home, at the hands of their own family, that forms the master narrative. History stands right outside the door.
I wish to quote a few lines that have amazed me and left me speechless.
"A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing Mariam. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed, it won't stretch to make room for you."
"....each snowflake was a sigh heaved by an aggrieved woman somewhere in the world. That all the sighs drifted up the sky, gathered into the clouds, then broke into tiny pieces that fell silently on the people below."
"Careful where you step," Babi said. His voice made a loud echo. "The ground is treacherous."
"....there was a scrambling, a bare-handed frenzy of digging, of pulling from the debris, what remained of a sister, a brother, a grandchild."
"But when it came to fathers, Mariam had no assurances to give."
"Aziza shrieked at the thumping of mortars. To distract her, Mariam arranged grains of rice on the floor, in the shape of a house or a rooster or a star, and let Aziza scatter them..."
"And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion."
Hosseini writes in the Postscript to the novel that he wanted to explore "the inner lives of these two fictional women and look for the very ordinary humanity beneath their veils." And he has done that brilliantly. It is this very denial of 'ordinary humanity' from the male fraternity, from the power-holders (be they in the house or outside), that provokes a response of restlessness as we read the book.
The UN this year has launched Orange the World campaign to increase awareness against the violence women meet in their day-to-day lives.
A few lines by me here...
Born unwanted, raised
raised sitting at the periphery....
Married, sometimes sold off....
I survived but a dream died....
Sometimes looted, sometimes uprooted
prodded, traded,
squashed, crushed
trampled upon
I survived but a dream died....
Sometimes fertile, sometimes barren
Scoffed, rebuked
Used, misused, abused
I survived but a dream died......
Branded, disgraced,
veiled, exposed,
strangulated by masculine stares
choked up, touched, maligned,
innocent yet tarnished....
I survived but a dream died.....
Written for Indiblogger IndiSpire Edition 93.
Also liinking to Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Survival
