The Rule Breakers

by Preeti Shenoy

  When she was in the auto-rickshaw heading home, the tears flowed freely and she sobbed, her breath coming in harsh sniffs and jerks. The auto-driver, an elderly man, looked at her in the rear-view mirror and asked, ‘Beti—bad result?’

  Veda was crying so hard she could not reply. The tightness in her chest threatened to explode. She nodded, sobbing even more.

  ‘Don’t worry. Try supplementary exams,’ said the auto-driver in English.

  Veda wanted to tell him that she was a topper. She had never ever failed an exam. Not in her twenty years. She had always excelled in academics. How was it possible for her to fail?

  What would she now do?

  When he dropped her off, she thanked him and apologised for crying.

  ‘You should never hold back the tears. Let it flow; you will feel better,’ he said, this time speaking in Hindi.

  Veda thanked him, wiped her tears and headed home.

  But when she reached the apartment, to her surprise, there was a lock on the door.

  Veda frowned. She didn’t know what to do. Her mother-in-law was always at home when Veda returned from college. She never went anywhere on her own. This was puzzling.

  She waited for around fifteen minutes outside the house, getting restless by the minute. She kept glancing at her watch. Where was her mother-in-law? Should she contact Bhuwan? Where would she call from? She kept peering down the stairwell, to see if she could spot her returning from wherever she had gone, but Padma Devi did not appear. Veda hoped her mother-in-law would return soon. It was almost 1 p.m., and she had not eaten anything since the previous night. She had been so nervous about the results that she had skipped breakfast.

  After twenty-five minutes of waiting, she felt faint. She sat down in front of the house for about ten more minutes. At this rate, she would pass out on the doorstep, she thought. Her throat felt terribly parched. Then it occurred to her that she could go to Shanta aunty’s house and call up Bhuwan.

  She went to the first floor of the next block and rang the bell.

  She waited for a few seconds and the door sprang open.

  She almost screamed in fright when she saw a masked face with only the eyes visible. The rest of the face was covered in a green, gooey mess.

  ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed, her hands flying to her chest.

  ‘Ha, ha! I am so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I must look a sight!’ said Kanika.

  Veda exhaled slowly.

  ‘No. I am sorry. But God, what a fright I got,’ she said.

  Kanika laughed. Veda barely managed a smile.

  ‘I am Veda. I live in the next block. Shanta aunty and my mother-in-law are friends.’

  ‘Bhuwan’s wife! Yes, of course. I met you when your father-in-law passed away. But there were so many people around, I’m sure you don’t remember me,’ said Kanika.

  ‘You’re right—I am so sorry, I can’t recall,’ she confessed.

  ‘No worries at all! We have never been properly introduced. My mother and I were supposed to come to Joshimath to attend your wedding. But she fell ill, and we cancelled the tickets. I kept meaning to come and meet you, but then there was always work, and also, uncle passed away. Oh—please do come in!’ said Kanika, as she gestured for Veda to come inside.

  Veda stepped into the house. Kanika’s home was very different from her mother-in-law’s. The interiors of the house made her forget her problems temporarily.

  This home was done up in clean modern lines. A tall bamboo plant stood in a corner. The seating was low, and in dark grey tones. It contrasted with the bright red and green cushions that looked comfortable enough to sink into. The effect was dramatic. A large abstract painting with vivid splashes of crimson dominated a wall. It was minimalistic, modern and, in short, everything that Veda would have liked her living space to be.

  ‘This is so beautiful,’ said Veda, as she looked around.

  ‘That’s sweet of you. Thank you!’ Kanika replied, pleased by the compliment. ‘I threw out all my parents’ furniture and redecorated the place.’

  ‘Didn’t they mind?’

  ‘Oh, I lost my father a few years back. Mum was devastated and so was I. I convinced her that this project would be a way of healing. It helped us both through a difficult time.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Veda.

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s been many years now. I am okay to talk about it. What will you have? Can I get you some tea or coffee or lime juice? Or do you want something stronger?’ grinned Kanika.

  ‘Oh no, thank you. No, I don’t drink.’

  ‘What? You don’t drink tea or coffee?’

  ‘No, that I do. I meant alcohol. Could I have some water please?’

  ‘Sure! I will get it,’ said Kanika, as she headed towards the kitchen.

  When she came back with the glass of water, Veda accepted it gratefully and drank it all in one gulp.

  ‘More?’ asked Kanika. Veda shook her head as she placed the glass back on a side table.

  ‘How old are you Veda, if you don’t mind me asking? You look so terribly young,’ said Kanika.

  ‘No, I don’t mind at all. I am twenty. I will be twenty-one soon.’

  ‘What?! No way!’

  Veda smiled in response. Kanika could see sadness behind that smile. She had seen far too many smiles like this on the faces of the children at Sankalp, the unique ‘bridge school’ where she now worked. She was all too familiar with people who made peace with their circumstances, people who swallowed and bore bravely whatever life threw at them.

  ‘You go to college, right?’ Kanika asked.

  Veda nodded. ‘Just finished my final year—and I failed my exams,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

  ‘What?’ asked Kanika, taken aback by the sudden confession. Then she laughed, thinking that Veda was joking.

  ‘I wasn’t joking. I just got my results. I . . . I failed,’ said Veda, staring at the carpet, her eyes brimming with tears.

  It was only then that Kanika realised how upset Veda was.

  ‘Oh! Listen, failing in exams isn’t the end of the world! Exams aren’t everything,’ Kanika consoled her.

  Veda nodded dully. Exams were everything for her. Her entire life, she had excelled only in one thing—that was her academics.

  ‘I am sorry that I have just turned up here and am blurting out all my problems,’ said Veda, blinking back her tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of a person she was meeting for the first time.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You are most welcome here. Let me get you some tea. Tea always makes you feel better, like the Brits say. Now don’t say no,’ said Kanika, before Veda could protest.

  Kanika hummed a little tune as she brewed the tea. Veda found herself thinking about how cheerful Kanika was, and how she had an air of calmness about her. Kanika lowered the flame on the stove and said, ‘Let me go and wash this gooey stuff off my face. I have had it on long enough.’

  When she emerged from the bathroom, her complexion was glowing, radiant and almost flawless. Veda noticed that she had a very pleasant face with large eyes. Her expression was almost angelic. She was slightly plump and she carried herself very well. Her hair was piled up loosely on top of her head, and she now shook it free. Her shiny hair now framed her oval face, softening it further.

  ‘What? Do I still look a mess?’ asked Kanika, as she noticed Veda looking at her.

  ‘Oh, no. No. Sorry if I was staring. You are so pretty,’ said Veda.

  ‘Ah, thanks,’ Kanika rewarded Veda with a dazzling smile.

  She strained the tea into two cups and placed them on a tray. She took out a plate and set out some dry kachoris and samosas on it. She emerged from the kitchen carrying the tray and placed it in front of Veda.

  By now Veda’s hunger was raging, burning up her tummy.

  ‘Thanks for this. I haven’t had my lunch and I am starving,’ said Veda, as she gratefully dug in.

  ‘Shall I make you some sandwiches then?�
�� offered Kanika.

  ‘No, no, this is fine,’ answered Veda, in between bites. Then it occurred to her that she was yet to explain to Kanika why she had suddenly turned up like this, at her doorstep.

  ‘I came back from college and found the door locked. I have no idea where my mother-in-law is. That’s why I came here, to ask if I could make a phone call to Bhuwan. I don’t have the key you see, and I am stuck outside.’

  ‘Oh! It’s strange that your mother-in-law didn’t tell you. They have all gone together for that Carnatic music concert at Aundh. They will be back only late at night. My mother had some donor passes and she invited Padma aunty and Kanti behen,’ said Kanika.

  ‘I see,’ said Veda, trying to hide her bewilderment.

  Veda wondered why her mother-in-law had not told her. Was this her way of ‘punishing her’, for staying back late in college to get her results? Was she sending a subtle message to her to be on time or had she genuinely forgotten? Veda wasn’t sure.

  But now it looked like she had no choice but to stay with Kanika till her mother-in-law or Bhuwan got home.

  ‘You can stay here till they get back or till Bhuwan gets back. I don’t mind at all,’ said Kanika, as though reading Veda’s mind.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said Veda, as she leaned back on the giant cushions.

  The cushions were incredibly soft and very large. She could feel herself sinking into them.

  ‘Ummm, this is so comfortable,’ she said.

  ‘I know, right? It took a lot to convince my mother. She didn’t want low seating. She said it would be hard to get up, at her age. I told her we could use it as an overnight bed, and then I got that special rocking chair for her,’ said Kanika, pointing to a compact rosewood rocking chair with slatted bars that stood in one corner of the room. It was placed on a multi-coloured, soft, furry rug with a large chequered pattern. Next to it, stood a square side table. A large potted plant was placed beside the table. The effect was cosy, warm and delectable. It made Veda want to immediately jump into the chair with her steaming mug of tea.

  ‘I love this house! You have done it up so well. I know I am repeating myself, but I can’t help it. I feel like I have walked into the pages of a magazine,’ said Veda.

  ‘Thank you. I can help you do up your house, if you like. I love doing up spaces,’ said Kanika.

  ‘I wish,’ sighed Veda. ‘But my mother-in-law has her own ideas of what the place should look like.’

  ‘But it’s your house too. Just tell her you are making some changes and go ahead,’ Kanika asserted.

  ‘Maybe sometime,’ Veda said sadly.

  Kanika could sense that Veda was deeply unhappy. She was so young, too. She wondered how Veda felt about the age difference between her and her husband.

  ‘Doesn’t the age difference between you and Bhuwan bother you? Bhuwan is the same age as me! We grew up together,’ Kanika said, as she sipped her tea. ‘I hope you don’t think I am being nosy. Just feel free to ask me to shut up,’ she added.

  ‘He is twenty-eight,’ said Veda. ‘You know, initially it did bother me. But my parents said that it was more important that we get along well, and not to focus on the age difference. And now, it doesn’t bother me anymore.’ Veda looked away as she set her cup of tea down on the tray.

  ‘That’s good, then. And yes, if wavelengths match, I guess the age difference does not matter,’ Kanika said.

  ‘What about you? Are you married?’ asked Veda.

  Kanika was easy to talk to. Her easy-going manner and the way she was so sincere and honest about everything made Veda want to talk to her.

  Kanika chuckled as she helped herself to a kachori. ‘Oh, my mother brings it up all the time. I haven’t found the right person yet. I have had three relationships—nothing worked out,’ she said, shrugging.

  Veda nodded. At least Kanika had got a chance to explore what she wanted. She was free to choose her own partner. But she didn’t say this to Kanika. She kept her thoughts to herself.

  Veda couldn’t help admiring how sophisticated Kanika was. She found herself thinking that, in comparison to Kanika, she herself was awfully naive. Kanika had an air of tranquillity about her and it came naturally. Veda could see that there was absolutely no pretence in Kanika, and she liked that.

  ‘So, are you going to give the exams again? What do you plan to do next?’ asked Kanika.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ said Veda. She felt utterly lost. But she did not want to discuss this with Kanika. She had just met her.

  So she changed the topic.

  ‘Tell me, what do you do?’ she asked Kanika.

  Kanika told her all about Sankalp. She talked about how she had quit her previous job, and how she found her work meaningful now. She talked about the difference that their work was making in the lives of so many underprivileged children at the ‘bridge school’, where she was a teacher.

  ‘The children attend classes for two hours with us, after which they go to their regular schools. You know, we badly need volunteers and resources. These children are first-generation learners and don’t have access to teachers like us,’ Kanika explained. ‘Would you like to volunteer at Sankalp? We could do with some good, dedicated volunteers,’ she said.

  ‘What does a volunteer have to do?’ Veda asked.

  ‘The volunteer works as a teacher’s assistant first, and then they can teach. We focus on teaching the kids English and maths, which is what will help them get ahead. We do a lot. You should meet these children, Veda. You will see how silly and small all our problems seem then,’ Kanika said.

  ‘I would like to see this place,’ Veda said.

  It was the first time she was hearing of something like this. At Joshimath, she had never been exposed to the underprivileged or to children from a slum. She had never seen stark contrasts in lifestyles.

  ‘You can come with me on the weekend, if you like. I am taking a colleague of mine on a tour of where the kids live. It is less than a kilometre from here, but it is a different world. Come along, Veda. And then, if you like, you can perhaps volunteer with us, if you believe in the cause,’ Kanika said.

  Veda said that she would. For the first time since she had got married, she found that she was looking forward to something.

  She and Kanika spent the rest of the time talking. The more Veda chatted with Kanika, the lighter she felt. Kanika made everything sound so simple and easy.

  Kanika had shown Veda that there was a big world out there to explore. Veda was taking baby steps towards it. While speaking to Kanika, Veda forgot all about her problems.

  At last, her mother-in-law returned and Veda went back home. She had enjoyed her time with Kanika and she felt that she had made a friend in her. She looked forward to the tour on the weekend.

  There was only one problem though—she would have to first take permission from her mother-in-law.

  Chapter 14

  July 1996

  Sitawadi, Pune

  Shakubai tried to turn on her side, lying on the straw mat spread on the floor of the tiny 10’ x 10’ inner room. She grimaced in pain. One of her eyes was so swollen that it was only a slit, and she could barely open it. She could feel a vein throbbing in the other one. Her head ached. Her throat was dry and every muscle in her lean body hurt. She gazed at the tiny alarm clock which stood on the cuddapah stone platform in the corner of the room, which functioned as the kitchen. It was already 6.45 a.m. She was late. She cursed. Padma madam would be furious. This was the third time this month that she would be late. Padma Devi’s sharp tongue and quick temper and the threats she constantly made that she would dismiss her if she was late, worried her. Her mind quickly conjured up the images of Komal madam and Indira madam, her two other employers whose houses she cleaned, and she could picture their angry frowns of disapproval. She sighed.

  Ignoring her swollen eye, she examined her arms. The fresh bruises were an angry, purplish red. She winced as she tried to sit up, supporting herself on her arm. Pain sh
ot up through her like a bolt of electricity. Struggling, she gave up and collapsed.

  ‘Kajol . . . Kajol. . .’ she called out feebly to her daughter, who was asleep in the outer room. Kajol’s room was even tinier than the room that she and her husband occupied. Kajol slept on a single bed which had been discarded by one of the homes where Shakubai worked as a maid. She had brought it home, had it repaired and managed to buy a mattress for it. Once the bed was placed, there was hardly any room for anything else. There was a window right next to the bed. Kajol would sit on the bed and use the window sill as a table whenever she had to do her homework. Their home was a two-room structure and it was one of the better homes in Sitawadi, as it had a proper cement roof, unlike the other houses that had only asbestos sheets for roofs. None of the homes had running water or attached toilets. A cluster of four or five homes shared a bathroom and a toilet. The families that used it took turns cleaning it.

  ‘Kajol, Kajol.’ The cries were a little louder this time.

  Kajol jumped out of bed and rushed to her mother’s side.

  ‘Aayi, are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Kajol. I am fine. Can you—?’

  ‘Yes, Aayi. I will make tea,’ said Kajol, as she took out an aluminium vessel and filled it with some water, which she poured out from a plastic container beneath the platform. Then she lit the stove and placed the vessel on it.

  Last night had been particularly bad, much worse than the countless other such nights that she and her mother had endured over the years. Kajol knew better than to argue with her father Rajaram when he came home drunk. It happened every few days, mostly on Fridays. The pattern was the same. Her father worked as a cleaner in one of the new offices in the mammoth, glittering glass and concrete structures that housed several multinational companies. They had sprung up a few years ago, very close to Kailash Mandir Colony, instantly creating a lot of blue-collared job opportunities—security guards, drivers, cleaners, peons—for all those who lived in the vicinity. Rajaram wasn’t directly employed by the company, though. He was bound to the contractor who had got the maintenance contract. His work started at 6 a.m., as he had to be there before the employees came in for the first shift at 7.30. He had got the job as he lived just a stone’s throw away from the offices. He got paid every Friday, and his behaviour was predictable. He would blow up all his earnings on alcohol at the neighbourhood ‘wine shop’, which was a dingy, dark store that sold all kinds of daaru, and where the men of the neighbourhood congregated daily. After he could drink no more, or after his money was exhausted, whichever came first, he would stagger home and demand his meal. If the vegetable cooked was not to his liking—and he had a complaint every time: not enough spice, not enough salt, not fresh enough—or if there was no chicken or fish cooked, then he would hurl the plate and yell at Shakubai.