by Anupama Krishnakumar
Nine women. Nine emotions. And their waits. Anupama Krishnakumar writes nine bite-sized stories centered on women and the Navarasas. Part 2 features Raudram (Anger), Kāruṇyam (Compassion), Vīram (Courage) and Śāntam (Peace).
Raudram (Anger): Ranjani’s wait
Ranjani married Ashwin on the 15th of March 2010. Everyone – their parents, grandparents, relatives, neighbours – had been totally convinced that theirs was a match made in heaven. Having grown up in a conservative family, Ranjani trusted the decision of her elders and agreed to marry Ashwin, assuring herself that he was indeed the man of her dreams. The first few months of her marriage had been a breeze – the novelty of everything making for a smooth ride. But just as Ranjani was beginning to believe that her initial nervousness about her marriage was perhaps uncalled for, Ashwin’s abusive nature began to rear its head. What started off as petty fights moved on to gaslighting and soon, Ashwin began revealing excessive narcissistic behaviour. He teased her, made fun of her likes and beliefs, trampled her dreams, buried her self-confidence, cut off her friendships, constantly monitored her actions, blamed her for all problems, and turned into a control freak.
Having endured two years of Ashwin’s abuse, and pregnant with their first child, Ranjani now sits at the table, waiting for her husband to come home for dinner. She waits with anger simmering inside her as he refuses to pick up her calls following a nasty fight in the morning. After an hour, Ashwin saunters in, speaking into his phone. Once he hangs up, she asks him, ‘Ashwin, why weren’t you picking my calls?’ ‘My, my, how dare you raise your voice?’ he barks and seizes her violently by her hand in a first sign of physical abuse. At that instant, all the pent-up anger resulting from her fruitless wait for things to turn better, come gushing forth; and Ranjani slaps her husband on his face and storms out of their house, seething with rage.
Kāruṇyam (Compassion): Kirti’s wait
It’s been six years since Kirti lost her best friend, Rashi. Rashi, Kirti recalls, was a lovely person, full of dreams and hope – always willing to lend an ear to anyone who wanted to be listened to. In a cruel and ironic twist of fate though, Rashi committed suicide because she was depressed. Kirti shudders when she thinks back to the day when they discovered Rashi lying motionless on bed, after consuming an overdose of sleeping pills. That day Kirti had felt guilt pierce her heart when she thought of how she hadn’t the slightest clue of what her best friend was going through. Why didn’t she, for once, think that Rashi may have needed help? A bit of compassion, a shoulder to lean on and cry? That regret drove her to pursue psychiatry and turn a therapist. Six years on, the goal she had determinedly waited to achieve comes true and Kirti sits in her private clinic. The board with the words ‘Kāruṇyam: Listening with Compassion’ hangs in front of the building and Kirti waits to lend a compassionate ear to anyone who wants to be listened to.
Vīram (Courage) : Veena’s wait
For a passionate violinist, fractured fingers are possibly the worst nightmare. For weeks now, since Veena broke the fingers of her left hand in a freak accident, she has continued to gaze at her violin with a broken heart and despairing eyes. Every time a new tune played in her head, she would itch to run up to her violin and bring the magic of that tune out of her fingers. It was hell when she couldn’t. But, the worse thing was this slowly diminishing confidence, this unsettling, nagging fear of whether she would ever be able to play the violin the way she used to. With such terrible thoughts crowding her mind, she would, during her every visit to the physio, ask him if she would ever be able to flex her fingers like before. And each time, Dr. Sridhar would patiently tell her to continue doing the exercises and add, ‘All it takes is courage.’ Today, after an arduous wait of three months, she lifts the violin in her hands, runs her fingers over the strings and the bow. She positions her left-hand fingers over the strings, holds the bow with her right hand, and begins to play a tune very, very slowly. Her fingers feel numb, frail, and stubborn – all at once, and a pain shoots through them. For this wait to end, all it takes is courage, she tells herself and begins to play again.
Śāntam (Peace): Shruti’s wait
At 5:45 in the morning, the alarm clock promptly wakes Shruti up. From the moment she wakes up, she is very conscious of every second ticking by, fast and furious. She brushes her teeth, switches on the coffee maker, puts the milk to boil, keeps the rice in the cooker, does some groundwork for breakfast and lunch before her cook comes in, gets her kids’ lunch boxes out to the table, fills their water-bottles…and then, she wakes her older one first, gives him a cuddle and a kiss – and then a steaming cup of coffee; she serves her husband coffee too, by this time, and in the few minutes left before waking her younger one up, has a quick mug of coffee herself.
Shruti’s younger one needs a lot of cuddling and cajoling to get her out of the bed. Shruti answers her many (often disconnected) questions patiently, gently motivating the sleepy-eyed toddler to get up and get going. In between, she checks on her older one if he has all his books in place, pushing him to go for his bath. Then she makes the little one drink her milk, takes her to the washroom, gives her a bath, puts on her uniform and combs her hair. By 7:15 am, Shruti ensures both of them are at the table, and the cook is almost done with the cooking. While they eat breakfast, she packs their snacks and lunch, admonishing the siblings to gobble up their food without arguing between themselves unnecessarily. And when they are done, she sees if they have worn their socks and shoes properly, does a quick check of their bags and hands over the lunch bags to their father, who would drop them at school. By the time the three step out, she is already waiting to just collapse into a heap and take a deep breath. After she has hugged the kids and waved cheerful goodbyes, in the calming early morning emptiness of the house, she puts on some gentle music, flops into the sofa, and begins reading the newspaper while drinking steaming hot tea. This peace she had waited to enjoy since getting up, she thinks, nothing in the world could come close to it. Nothing.
Read part 1 of this series here.
Anupama Krishnakumar is an engineer-turned-journalist. She co-edits Spark and is also the author of two books, ‘Fragments of the Whole’, a flash fiction collection and ‘Ways Around Grief & Other Stories’, a short-story collection. Her website is www.anupamakrishnakumar.com.
