Better Version of Me

My younger sister’s marriage got fixed. My happiness knew no bounds but I was skeptical about attending it. A marriage in any household meant a lot of ceremonies, fun and frolic, music and dance where emotions run high. I adore all of that. But it also meant the gathering of all relatives and friends, which I love too, but not in my present situation. I dread facing my relatives and friends and answering their questions about my own failed marriage. 

I had even packed my bags and thought of moving to my friend’s place for those few days. My parents and sister had agreed too although I knew they would miss me terribly. They had agreed just to make sure I’m not uncomfortable. 

But then I decided to stay. One reason was that I didn’t want to let my past decide my present and future. There are some beliefs and faiths that don’t go away. Marriage is that one institution for which I hold a strong belief even though it didn’t work out for me. My parents had a wonderful married life and I wish the same for my sister. I didn’t want to miss this important occasion of her life at any cost. I prepared myself to face the world and take all the uncomfortable questions in my stride.

The second reason was my ten year old daughter Titli. She was so excited about her maasi’s marriage. I hadn’t seen such a spark in her eyes in a long time now. She had been through much hardship in her tender years due to my troubled relationship with her father. I didn’t want to torture her delicate mind further by posing restrictions to her happiness. So, here I am among the festivities trying to enjoy and savor it all. For my sister, my daughter, my family and for me.

Having said that, I had an inkling that it was not going to be that easy. I could control my thoughts but not of the others. Moreover, my Dadi (grandma) was coming. She had been an opinionated and judgmental lady all her life. Last I heard, she was not happy with my separation. She believed that I tarnished the image of our family. I might have to hear a thing or two but I was ready. 

It was the day of mehendi. The house was teeming with people. Dadi had arrived and was sitting on a charpoy in the lawn along with all the women of the house surrounding her. Ladies were playing dholak, singing and dancing. Peals of laughter arose now and then. My sister sat in a corner while the girls from the parlor were applying mehendi on her hands and feet. My mom had asked me to make tea for everyone. I poured the tea in small paper cups and placed them in a tray along with some savories. I took a deep breath and entered the lawn.

I greeted all with namaste, avoiding their eyes as much as possible to be on the safe side. As soon as I was going to place the tray on the table, Titli came running like a lightning bolt and bounced at me with such force that the paper cups danced on the tray spilling the tea and a few cups flew from the tray and landed on the lawn.

“Sorry mumma!” She apologized. I picked up the cups and noticed that all were staring at Titli, few with a suppressed laugh. I was confused. Then I looked at my daughter and I understood.

Titli didn’t want to wear any traditional clothes for the ceremony. But upon my insistence she unwillingly wore a light pink salwar kameez I had bought for her. The pink salwar was pink no more. It was streaked with patches of brown mud and water all over it. She had tied the georgette dupatta on her head like a turban with the edge of it hanging on one side.

I glared at her. But people around her had their own personal opinions.

“Aww so cute”

“Maya, change her dress! She’s a mess”

“She will catch cold”

“Oh the kids isn’t used to it”

“Why make her wear that?”

“Naughty!”

Titli flashed a big smile to all as if they had showered compliments on her present status. Then she ran with the same thundering speed with which she had come doing a few extra somersaults on the way. People laughed. I was upset but tried to smile.

“Just like her mother…rowdy…” Dadi sniggered, making a ‘hun’ sound which I knew so well. It indicated plain disgust.

“Fix her or she will end up like her mother” she commented, blowing the fumes of the hot tea from her cup.

My cheeks burned. I had mentally steeled myself to turn deaf ears to all criticism about me but I never expected my daughter to fall in the line of fire.

“Was Maya like this?” an inquisitive aunty asked.

“Yes of course! Unruly! Always jumping, running and fooling around with nobody to stop her” She flashed a look at my mother who was standing in the corner like a timid rabbit. The dominant mother-in-law that she had been all her life still had the same effect on my mother. 

I had been a feisty girl who was beyond any rules. Running instead of walking, climbing trees instead of dancing, playing football with my brothers instead of cooking was more my style. My grandma tried to pull my rein by forcing me towards more feminine activities like cooking and sewing. But to her dismay nothing worked on me. I was a tomboy throughout. I ignored all the norms set by society. I lived my life to the fullest. My mother never stopped me from being who I was. I had always remained the bone of contention between my grandma and my mother.

But in my defense, after I got married I learnt everything. I cooked, cleaned and took care of my new family. Not many believed me when I told them that the reason for my separation from my husband was not my incompetence in being a picture perfect wife and mother. It was his infidelity. To my dismay his affair with another woman was also justified by putting all the blame on my inefficiency. 

I protested, I fought, I rebelled, I screamed. When nothing worked out I cried my heart out and left with my daughter to live with my parents. But as is the way of the world, the woman always has to bear the brunt in the end. Many in my family had their preconceived opinions about me. One of them was my Dadi. She held to her previous prejudices against me.

I regretted my decision to attend the wedding. I should have thought it through. But now there was no going back except moving away from that place. I took the empty tray and was about to leave when something happened.

Bittu, my cousin’s son, was a spoiled little brat. He was the same age as Titli but too much love and affection had made him arrogant and stubborn. All the kids were playing in the lawn. He was chasing Titli all around when suddenly Titli tripped over a rock and fell down. Bittu snatched the dupatta from Titli’s head, wrapped his tennis ball in it and threw it towards the ladies.

Ahh!

The ball went straight and hit Dadi’s head. She screamed with pain. The tea cup fell from her hand. Her cream silk saree got stained with tea. Only hope was that the hot tea didn’t cross the saree barriers. Dadi rolled on the charpoy with her right palm plastered to her forehead and cried in agony. Few ladies rushed to her. The sobs gained frequency. I ran to the fridge and brought some ice cubes. I threw away the tennis ball, wrapped ice in the same dupatta and placed it on her forehead. A lemon shaped blob had emerged.

“Arey Bittu!”

Dadi stopped after these two syllables. Her special attachment for Bittu might have held her tongue. Bittu was Dadi’s favorite. The ladies tried to scold Bittu but to no avail. Bittu was least perturbed with his doing. He jumped and picked up the tennis ball which I had tossed away and was gearing up to throw it towards the ladies once again. What happened next will be etched in my memory forever. 

Bittu threw the ball.

Titli leaped and caught the ball midway with one swift move.

“Give me!” he screamed at the top of his voice.

Titli put the ball in her small purse.

Bittu attacked her but she held both of his wrists in a firm grip.

Bittu tried to pull his hand away but couldn’t.

“Listen Bittu” She said in a calm but authoritative tone.

Bittu kept struggling like a mouse caught in a trap.    

“What you did just now is unpardonable. You hurt an old citizen very hard intentionally and didn’t have the decency to even say sorry. That’s an offence. Next you tried to hurt her once again making it an even bigger crime!”

Bittu smirked while trying all his might to pull his hand back but he was listening.

“You had snatched my dupatta without my permission. That’s also an offence. I can borrow my mother’s phone and call the police. They might take time to come but I assure you that they will come for sure and catch you. Kids also have a special jail where life can be tough… very tough. Do you know that?”

Titli was so serious, calm yet convincing that not only Bittu but the whole ladies gang were listening to her without even batting their eyelids. Even Dadi’s sobs had paused.

Bittu’s eyes had turned watery with a shade of light pink at the corners. His lips were trembling. He was about to break into tears when Titli commanded.

“Say sorry to Badi Dadi, Bittu!”

“Sooorrryyy Badi Dadi….” Bittu’s bawls pierced my ears. He threw the ball aside and ran away wailing.

“Bittu, come we will play together!” Titli did a cartwheel and ran after him.

“Maya, your daughter is so smart,” A lady said.

“Yes.. she handled the situation so well,” Another lady added.

All agreed in unison. 

The ice cubes had almost melted. I wiped Dadi’s forehead with my saree. The injured area had turned a blackish blue shade. My mom brought an ointment. I squeezed some in my fingers and applied it to the area. She winced with pain. After comforting Dadi and ensuring that she was okay the music began again and the ladies resumed from the point they had left off. 

“Dadi are you feeling better now?” I sat next to her.

“My head is throbbing…” she cried.

I gave her some water to drink. 

I noticed Dadi was watching Titli and Bittu play together.

“It’s ok Dadi… Bittu is still a kid”

“Dadi, you were partly right. Titli is a mirror image of me. But today the way she protested and defended herself and you was superb. If I had handled the wrongs people did to me in my life in that manner, then I would be in a much better place today in life. She is definitely better than me. What do you say?”

Dadi made a face and looked away from me. 

I smiled. 

I smiled wide because she did not protest what I said. 

I smiled because my daughter taught me that crying, fighting and screaming don’t always help. More often than not, they backfire. Calmness and tactics are needed to solve a problem.

I smiled and felt proud that my daughter is a Better Version of Me!

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Photo by Fausto García-Menéndez on Unsplash