Monologues

by Vani Viswanathan

He simply doesn’t understand. ‘Didn’t expect this of you,’ he says, throwing his hands up in the air. ‘You’re a confident, independent woman, and you can’t speak to your parents about us?’ I shake my head sadly. He is enraged. ‘Why did we even do this then? You think I’m a fool?’ No, my mind answers. I always knew my parents will never agree. I knew it would come here, and I tried my best not to get involved, but I couldn’t cheat any more: I really liked you, and so I gave in. Of course you don’t understand. You swear and walk away from my life.

***

‘In those days,’ said Mr. Krishnaswamy, relishing his coffee with a slurp, ‘there wasn’t as much resentment among women about their roles as there is today. But they knew what a key role they played in a household: everything revolved around the woman. Take me, for instance; all I did was work and bring money home. My wife managed the little money we had efficiently, brought up the six children, and most importantly, was my biggest source of strength. True as it were to women of her generation, she never questioned my decisions, but adjusted herself accordingly, be it the endless moves we made from one town to another, or the couple of times I quit my job to try my hand at something else. Without her silent support, I would nowhere be the contented retired man and father of six successful children that I am today. I’m glad that these days women do anything that men can, but as we fight to get equality, aren’t we forgetting what women are best at – nurturing? Would my children have grown up the same way if I had stayed at home to take care of them? I sometimes wonder why women don’t realize that when they are staying at home, men are paying them the biggest tribute they can to any human: they entrust their progeny in them. Kalyani, the coffee is excellent!’ he added distractedly.

***

Aarthi hated the frequency with which tears flowed these days. She took a tissue and blew her nose, and the baby stirred in his sleep. She looked at the boy. Would he look obviously Mongolian? She had had a friend whose sister was a Down’s Syndrome child, and Aarthi remembered that this girl’s speech had been slurred, she used to wear thick glasses, she was flat footed; and she needed help dressing up, her friend had told her. Aarthi was fraught with terror. Why had she brought this child into this unforgiving world, where he would only suffer? She closed her eyes and the tears streamed down her cheeks, and into the corners of her lips. The saltiness shook her awake. What was Aarthi thinking! He was still her child, a living being, with a unique body, DNA and his own personality, his own idiosyncrasies. She had cared for him for nine months within, and of course she would continue doing the same while she lived, and, she added straightening herself up, for as long as he lived.

***

Janu didn’t have the usual enthusiasm in her voice. ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’ ‘Yeah, Ma, I guess so…’ So she didn’t want to talk about it. ‘What did you cook for dinner tonight? I made fried vazhakkai, your favourite…’ ‘I’ve been invited for interviews from the university, Ma, but he doesn’t want me to go.’ ‘But why not?! He did say when you left for the U.S that he had no issues with your studying further, and you’ve been talking about it for ages now…’ ‘I don’t know, now he says it’s too expensive. I said I can pay for it by being a teaching assistant but he doesn’t quite like the idea. And he wants to know what exactly I’m going to achieve studying further in History… it’s insulting, Ma. ’ her voice drifted off, and I swallowed back tears hearing the disappointment ridden in every tone. ‘Adjust, my dear, things will not be rosy all the time…’ ‘I know,’ she cut me short. After a moment’s pause, she asked, ‘How did  you not see this coming when you thought he was the perfect match for me?’

***

Vivek felt somewhat awkward waiting at the station with a bouquet in hand. He wasn’t alone, though. In the 20 minutes he’d been waiting, he’d seen hundreds of girls clutching little teddy bears, flowers, balloons, and similar cutesy items that made him sick. Why, right next to him, till about a minute back, a man in crisp formals was standing uncomfortably holding a bouquet with a huge teddy bear  stuck to it. Vivek felt some unspoken kind of solidarity with this man until his girlfriend came along and promptly handed over her purse to him which he took with immaculate manliness. He had no idea how Sandya would react – it was his first Valentine’s Day with her and he wasn’t sure which way to go, for she was a tough woman – she had made the first move, she was the boss of their relationship, and was extremely no-nonsense. He was sure he’d made the right move by removing the teddy bear that had come with the bouquet and stuffing it into his bag. And just then, Sandya saw him from afar and waved. He put on his best smile and presented her the bouquet as she came close. She gave him a nonplussed look – almost as if wondering how on earth he could have thought she’d like flowers – and after a moment’s pause, threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Lilies are my favourite! How did you know?’ Vivek breathed deeply. Girls are weird. Unpredictable, and in some comforting way, predictable too.

Pic : Debashis Nayak – http://www.behance.net/Debashis

prashant poladia – http://www.flickr.com/photos/poladia/

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