‘What use is it for us to work like this if you can’t even provide a proper meal, woman? Is this why we left our property in Ambegaon? To slog like servants in the city? Do you know I wash toilets? I clean the shit of those office-goers. All for what?’ he would shout, taking out all his frustrations on her. He was obscure at his workplace, just a cleaner. He disliked his job and was full of resentment towards all the people who worked there. He especially hated the foreigners. Since most of the companies in the office complexes were American and British, there were a large number of white people. He detested them even more than he detested the Indians who worked there. When he finished work and got back home, he was the king and he made it clear, over and over.
Shakubai often felt like reminding him of the times when they had starved in the village, when the crops had failed. She wanted to ask him whether he remembered how hard they had toiled in the fields, ploughing land, sowing, tilling, from dawn to dusk, labouring in the scorching sun, and yet, had never made enough money. Little Kajol would often go to bed hungry. It was then that they had decided to migrate to Pune. They were so much better off here than in the village. And, she cleaned toilets too, apart from doing the dirty dishes at the homes she worked in. One had to do whatever it took to survive.
But she never spoke up. It was futile even trying to bring all this up, as he was a bitter, angry man even when he was sober. He felt the world owed him more. When he was drunk, the monster that he managed to suppress during the day, got loose. He would hurl things, shout, curse and abuse till he passed out.
Over the years, Kajol had watched her mother trying her best to ignore his behaviour. But that would always enrage him further. He would often demand money from her. She would refuse. He would then yank her hair, twist her arm and bully her.
Last night, he had dragged her into the other room, and they had bolted the door. Kajol lay quietly in bed, listening to her mother’s cries. When she could not bear it any longer, she had covered her head with a pillow and had gone to sleep. She detested her father. She had got used to the filthy language he used and the things that he said when he was drunk. He had no control over his rage, his words or his actions. Kajol had accepted this a long time ago, and had learnt to work her way around it. She did feel bad for her Aayi, but she did not shake in fright anymore, like she had when she was younger.
When Kajol was eight, he had yelled at her mother saying, ‘No money? No money? Why don’t you whore out that girl of yours and then get some money?’
That was the only time Kajol had seen her mother shout back.
‘Bhadwa. You scum of the earth. You touch her and I will kill you!’ she had shouted, as Kajol had cowered in fright, hiding under the kitchen platform. Her mother had got a beating for that. She had watched as her father violently kicked her over and over, till she lost consciousness. Kajol had not moved the entire night, and had fallen asleep there.
The next morning, she had nursed her mother’s wounds. She had asked her, ‘Why don’t you leave Baba?’
At eight, Kajol was worldly-wise. She already knew how to make tea, boil rice, cook a curry and make rotis. She would also look after the neighbour’s baby, cradling him expertly on her hip while she did the household chores, as she had seen numerous others in her locality do.
‘It’s not so easy, Kajol. You will understand when you grow up. I want you to ignore all this and study, so you do not suffer the same fate as me,’ her mother had said.
If there was one thing that Shakubai had drilled into Kajol’s head, it was the importance of education.
‘Don’t let this affect you. You must study. Study hard. That’s your only escape from this hellhole.’
Over and over, her mother had said that to Kajol.
Kajol wanted to make her mother happy. Shakubai’s eyes shone with pride when Kajol came home with report cards with perfect scores, year after year. Her teachers at the local government school praised Kajol. Kajol knew she was the one bright spot in her mother’s dreary life. Her mother often told her so. She had given birth to two sons before Kajol, and they had died in infancy. Shakubai was grateful for Kajol. Rajaram, her husband, did not bother much about Kajol’s grades. He still mourned the sons he had lost, and in his eyes, a girl child was inferior to a boy. Shakubai did not pay any attention to Rajaram’s opinion and she vowed to do everything she could to ensure that Kajol succeeded in life.
‘Kajol is a smart girl. Why don’t you think of transferring her to an English-medium school?’ her teachers at the local government school had asked Shakubai. Rajaram never bothered to come and meet the teachers.
Shakubai had pleaded with the women she worked for, till one of them had taken pity on her and had presented Kajol’s case to the local Rotary Club where she was a member. The ladies met every fortnight for high tea and local gossip. They also chose ‘deserving cases’ to work on, and Kajol’s education, it was agreed, fell under the ‘deserving case’ category.
‘These bright children from the slums should be given a chance, and we can make it happen,’ said Mrs Parikh, as she had a spoonful of the Belgian chocolate mousse.
That was how Kajol found herself suddenly transferred to an English-medium school in Class 7. She had initially struggled to cope. But being diligent and hardworking, she had devoured all the books in the library, pestered her teachers, and had easily caught up, soon becoming one of the popular students at school.
Seeing Kajol’s success, the Rotary Club had adopted the girl’s locality, and now, around fifteen children from there went to the same school. The club had tied up with the school, and improved the infrastructure and the facilities. Though it was not on par with the schools that the children of the club members attended, it was still better than the local government schools.
Kajol handed her mother the tea and helped her sit up. Shakubai leaned back against the wall, gratefully sipping the tea.
‘Beta, can you go to Padma madam’s house just for today and do the vessels?’
‘Aayi, if I do that, you know they won’t let me go. They will make me do the rest of the work too. They won’t let me go after doing just the vessels.’
Shakubai sighed. Kajol was right, and it was unfair to burden her.
She was in Class 10—a crucial year. If Kajol obliged, Shakubai knew she would miss her class at Sankalp.
Sankalp was a happy place and Shakubai knew how much Kajol loved going there. But, on the other hand, if she did not send word to Padma madam and the other two, she was in danger of losing her jobs. She had been warned not to take leave. She would have to go.
She struggled and stood up with great difficulty.
‘Alright, I will go,’ she said.
Kajol looked at her mother. She was hobbling in pain.
‘Aayi—how will you go alone? You can barely walk. I will go with you.’
‘Won’t you miss your class? Go there, beta—that is more important.’
Kajol was torn. She wanted to speed off to Sankalp. To escape all this.
The classes at Sankalp were run in the basement of an office building. It had been originally intended as a parking lot, but the plans had changed, and the company had donated it to Sankalp. There were no chairs there. Instead, the children sat on colourful mats laid out on the floor. The space was decorated with drawings and little crafts that the children had made, which were suspended from ropes that were tied across the pillars, creating a hanging border, demarcating the area where the activities happened. The basement was open on all four sides, and bright sunlight flooded in. It was surrounded by greenery, as there was a landscaped garden all around the office building. At Sankalp, Kajol forgot her dreary home and its harsh realities for a few hours. She loved her didi at Sankalp; she taught her many things and made learning fun. Kajol remembered that the one thing her didi had always emphasised was that duty to family came first. Didi had spoken many times about having respect for and being polite to one’s parents.
Kajol noticed that her moth
er was in acute pain. She made up her mind that instant.
‘No, Aayi. I will go with you,’ she said, determined to help her mother.
Shakubai reluctantly agreed.
‘Let me just go tell Sanju to inform the didi at Sankalp,’ she said.
Shakubai nodded.
Kajol stepped outside and went to the door of the next house.
‘Sanju, Sanju,’ she shouted.
‘He is taking a bath,’ said his stepmother, from inside.
Kajol walked towards the bathrooms. Sharan was waiting outside for his turn.
‘Oye, Kajol. Homework kiya?’ asked Sharan.
‘English Sharan, English,’ said Kajol, imitating Kanika didi.
Sharan pulled a face at Kajol.
At that instant, Sanju emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Kajol shyly looked away. They had grown up together, and now, at sixteen, Sanju was beginning to sprout a moustache. His limbs were long and he had suddenly shot up in height. He was now copying the mannerisms of the men around him. He flicked back his wet hair and struck a pose like a Bollywood actor.
‘Kajol, meri jaaaan,’ he drawled. His voice was gravelly, not yet a man’s voice, but not a child’s voice either.
‘Oye mere hero,’ said Sharan, and whistled.
Kajol blushed. She hated it when that happened. This was Sanju, her childhood buddy, her friend. There was no need to blush just because he was acting cocky now, she told herself. She recovered quickly and said, ‘Shut up, shameless! Go and wear your clothes. And tell didi I won’t be coming to Sankalp today.’
Before he could say anything, Kajol turned and hurried towards her house.
‘Wait. Why? Why aren’t you coming?’ Sanju called after her.
‘I have to help my mother. Baba beat her up again,’ she said, as she walked away, leaving the two boys staring.
A few minutes later, Shakubai, assisted by Kajol, emerged from the house and started walking slowly towards Kailash Mandir Colony.
Chapter 15
July 1996
Kailash Mandir Colony, Pune
‘Veda . . . Veda. Did you hear me? Looks like Shakubai isn’t coming,’ Padma Devi’s voice rose as she walked into Veda and Bhuwan’s bedroom.
Veda had woken up early in the morning, finished her bath, and had performed the pooja, so that Padma Devi would have no cause for complaint. She had also made tea for herself as well as Bhuwan. She had served him his tea, and had just sat down to have hers. That was when Padma Devi had walked in.
‘Ma, yes, we heard you. And I think the whole building would have heard you as well,’ said Bhuwan, as he sipped his tea.
‘Tell your wife to get up and get going. Look at her—sitting there like a queen sipping her tea. The sun has risen long back.’
‘Ma, leave her alone. She even wakes up early these days, does that pooja and does everything you—’
‘Shut up, Bhuwan,’ Padma Devi cut him short. ‘What do you know about how much work there is? It’s not as though you do anything!’ Padma Devi’s rant continued as she walked in and opened the curtains. Bright sunlight streamed in.
Veda listened to all this, quickly taking large gulps of her tea, almost scalding her tongue in the process. If she didn’t get up from the bed and head towards the kitchen immediately, she knew her mother-in-law would continue her tirade. Veda had discovered over the past few weeks that, in her mother-in-law’s books, sitting still even for a few minutes was a crime. The old lady herself was rarely idle, busying herself with many activities till it was time for her to watch television in the evening. That was the only time she allowed herself a break.
‘Veda, hurry up and make poha for breakfast. I have kept all the ingredients on the kitchen counter,’ Padma Devi ordered.
Veda hated the fact that there was no privacy for them, even in their own bedroom. Her mother-in-law walked in whenever she liked.
‘Why can’t we lock the door?’ she had asked Bhuwan in the first week of their marriage, when her mother-in-law had stormed into their bedroom without even a knock.
‘Come on, Veda, it’s a small thing. Ma will get offended. Besides, my parents are old. If they need anything, how will we even hear them over the din of the fan?’ Bhuwan had asked.
‘What can they possibly need in the middle of the night? If they knock on the door, won’t we wake up?’
Bhuwan had then gone into a lengthy explanation of how one of his distant aunts had passed away in the middle of the night, and how her son and daughter-in-law had been completely unaware of the fact till 8 o’clock the next morning. All the relatives had gossiped about how callous and uncaring the son and daughter-in-law were. Even though there were chances that she had passed away peacefully in her sleep, the niggling doubts in people’s minds, that perhaps she had called out to her son in her final moments and her cries had gone unanswered, were what prevailed in family discussions. This incident had left a mark on Bhuwan, who was only fourteen at that time, and ever since, he would never lock his room door while he slept. Even as an adolescent, after he masturbated, the last thing he would do was crawl out of bed, unlock the door, leave it slightly ajar, and then creep back into bed. That was how it had always been, and his new bride wasn’t going to change that.
Veda had given up after trying a couple of times to get him to lock the door. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had a sex life anyway.
Veda quickly drained the last sips of the tea and followed her mother-in-law into the kitchen.
The doorbell rang, and Padma Devi answered it.
‘Ooooh—so now you have decided to come?’ Veda heard her exclaim.
‘Sorry, madam. I am slightly late,’ said Shakubai, as she walked in with Kajol.
Veda glanced at the young girl with Shakubai. The girl did not look at Veda. She marched to the sink and began doing the dishes. Veda noticed that the girl was dressed in a clean and neatly ironed school uniform. She washed the vessels expertly, barely glancing up, completely immersed in the task at hand.
‘What class is your daughter in, Shakubai?’ Veda asked.
‘She is in Class 10, didi,’ said Shakubai, as she took out the broom and entered the bedroom to start sweeping the house.
It was when she started sweeping the hall that Veda noticed her swollen eye, the bruises on her arms, and her face contorted in pain as she worked slowly, with laboured, deliberate movements.
Veda knew at once that she must have got a solid beating. Veda had seen Shakubai with such bruises earlier, as she hurriedly left for college, but had never got a chance to chat with her. These days, since she was always at home, she had all the time in the world to spare.
‘Does your husband beat you?’ Veda asked, a little taken aback by how severe the bruises looked this time.
Shakubai nodded and continued to sweep.
By Shakubai’s nonchalant attitude, it appeared that her husband beat her regularly. This was the first time Veda had seen someone this badly hurt, up close.
‘Shakubai, God—look at you. How can you even work? Please take an off today. I will do the sweeping,’ Veda found herself saying.
Shakubai just shook her head and put a finger to her lips, gesturing to Veda’s mother-in-law. Padma Devi was on the balcony, reading the paper. Veda nodded. Shakubai was terrified of losing her job, a threat that Padma Devi made every now and then.
‘Think carefully before you take another day off. We don’t pay you for your leave, and there are enough maids available who will take up your job if you don’t want to work,’ Padma Devi would remind her.
Shakubai pretended that the conversation between her and Veda had never occurred. She continued to sweep the floors. Veda looked at the young girl washing the dishes, as she herself began chopping the onions for the poha.
Kajol noticed Veda watching her.
‘Good morning, didi. My name is Kajol. I came to help my mother just for today,’ said the girl in perfect English.
Veda was surprised.
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‘Good morning, Kajol. You speak English so well!’ she remarked.
‘Yes, didi. I go to Sankalp before I attend school. We have to speak only in English there. Didis don’t know Marathi,’ said Kajol.
‘Sankalp? Oh, you go there?’ Veda asked. She was pleasantly surprised to meet a student from there.
Kajol mistook Veda’s surprise for ignorance.
‘It’s a centre, didi. We go before school. It is very nice. It is full of didis and bhaiyas like you,’ Kajol explained.
Veda was amused by Kajol’s explanation.
‘Like me?’ she smiled.
‘Yes, didi. Sankalp has many teachers. We call them didis and bhaiyas. They are not like our school teachers. These teachers don’t beat us. And they make class a lot of fun,’ said Kajol chattily.
Veda was curious.
‘Really? You like Sankalp that much?’
‘Yes, didi. We do so many things there. All nice things. Fun things,’ said Kajol, as she continued to scrub the vessels.
Veda finished making the poha and served her mother-in-law and Bhuwan. She wasn’t invited to eat with them. When she was attending college, she and Bhuwan always ate together. But these days, Padma Devi seemed to have changed the rules.
‘Listen, you serve us first, and you can eat later. Today, let me finish, as I have to leave with my son,’ she had said one day, and somehow that had become the practice every morning since then.
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