Pramila’s Monologue

by N. Shobhana

[box]Pramila, mother of convent-educated and Engleesh-speaking Jyothi, often goes down the memory lane in her extended monologues. N.Shobhana pens a story that touches on the role of English in upward mobility for Indians, the concerns of urban, nuclear families and the pride of a parent in her child.[/box]

‘…Honey, you have no clue, she keeps irritating me! No!! I have tried talking to her, she never understands.  How long will I bear her? It’s not that she is a burden.  But Unni should also be responsible enough. She is his mother as well….!’

A phone conversation was in progress. Pramila loved the sound of English, especially when it was her daughter speaking. It’s true that she did not understand a word, but that really did not matter. A sense of pride filled her on such occasions.  Her eyes would smile behind those thick glasses and would often turn moist in happiness. Mera chokri engleesh bolta ye!¹

The conversation continued in the drawing room. In the kitchen, Pramila was comfortably seated on her armchair. Her fingers were busy sorting garlic. Pramila paused and placed all the sorted garlics, crowding her lap, on a plate. She was in deep thought. Thoughts which took her down the memory lane.

She was the one who had insisted that Jyothi should be sent to a convent school. Pithambaran was not very keen. He used to discourage her.

‘How will we manage the fees? We have no assets to sell. And who will guide them with Engleesh?’

‘We will manage somehow. They should go to that convent school in Akurdi. Look at me; if I would have known Engleesh would have I married someone like you?’

Pithambaran had laughed out loudly, and Pramila had joined him.

‘Pithambaran was a good man!’ Pramila thought.

‘He would not spend a single penny without my knowledge. He would place his family over any of his personal needs. All his life he worked in that Rahul Bajaj’s company. He was lucky; he died when he was working. He was a human machine.’ Pramila was engrossed in her monologue. She was used to such monologues. When her daughter and her Marathi husband were away at work, she was forced to spend the entire day in solitary confinement. Thus she developed this unique skill of talking to herself.

‘Jyothi was in a Malayalam medium school during her LKG. It was after her Junior KG that we shifted to Pune. Unni was just two years old. We had a cycle then. I still remember how Pithambaran used to take us for cycle savaris. What fun! Coming back to the point, convent education was a must, so we needed an Engleesh teacher to tutor Jyothi. It was Bhavanedathi who told me about Lakshmi Miss. God knows where she is now!’  Pramila continued.

Suddenly there was an interruption.

‘Amme, can you stop? I am on a call!’ Jyothi shouted from the drawing room.

Pramila muted her conversation. But she continued. She could not silence her memories. They were perennial. They would never dry up.

Every day at 3.30pm Pramila would take little Jyothi to Lakshmi’s house. She would carry Unni along. She would wait outside Miss Lakshmi’s house till the class got over. She would bathe Jyothi just before the afternoon classes.

‘They are Brahmins, we need to be clean!’ Pramila would often say.

During those days Pramila and her baby boy Unni were a common sight outside Lakshmi’s apartment.  Jyothi was very intelligent; she grasped the foreign language very quickly. She always stood first in her convent school’s elocution competitions. She did her graduation in Engleesh. Pramila’s dreams flowered.

When she first held Jyothi’s graduation certificate, her fingers trembled in joy. She called up her mother, 70–year-old Thankamani.

‘Ammachiye, ole graa-ch-uateayi!² She is a B.A.!’

‘Ente deviye!’³

The first graduate in Pramila’s family. Her pride had reached its brim. Not just any B.A.! B.A. (Engleesh)

‘Okay I’ll talk to her, one last time. I’ll be direct this time. Bye, Honey!’ Jyothi put the receiver down.

She entered the kitchen with a serious demeanour. The sight of her daughter side-tracked Pramila’s silent monologue. She smiled at Jyothi, her pride. But there was no response.

Jyothi sat on the kitchen platform and said, ‘Amma, we need to talk!’

***

1 My daughter speaks English!