The Scent of Mogra and Other Stories

by Aparna Kaji Shah

  Don’t read any of this to Ma and Pa.

  Surekha

  ***

  My Dear Brother,

  Our exhibition was a great success. Suresh Kakkar sahib commended the work we had done. So many people from the buildings close by came, and of the twenty-five quilts that we had displayed, nineteen were sold. I’ll send the photographs soon. There’s even one of me receiving flowers from my students! There was small mention of the exhibition in the community newspaper. As more women have enrolled in the class, Kakkar sahib said that they would give me three hundred rupees per hour instead of the two hundred that they have been paying me. I will save the money and send some of it to you. With the rest, I will buy myself a new sari, or jeans, as that’s what everyone in Mumbai wears.

  Kamala’s wedding will take place in May, you write. She is so lucky that she will live in the village even after her marriage. If I save enough money, I can come for her wedding. I’m excited just thinking about it.

  You say that you have not mentioned my problems at home, and that I should just do what Anand says. Brother, believe me, I’m trying to be a good wife, and will wait and hope that things change. Let’s just keep it between us for now. You sound worried, and I’m sorry, but I had to tell you. Sometimes, I just want to do something bad to him, like shout and scream, hit and punch, or even draw blood by scratching him hard with my nails. No, you know I’m not going to do that.

  Is it very cold in the village? Mumbai is always hot, especially in the afternoons. Sankranti will be here in two weeks, and I will miss all the fun of the kite festival at home. How big is the kite that you’re going to fly? Hope your kite is the king of the skies, and destroys all others.

  I will make tilpapdi and take it to my friends in the building, and some for my students. Even sesame seeds and jaggery are expensive here. It is my friends and students who keep me going.

  With good wishes for Sankranti.

  Love,

  Surekha

  ***

  My Dear Kamala,

  Only four months left for your wedding! Preparations must have already started. You should come to Mumbai for the shopping, but of course, it will cost much more. But it would give you an excuse to come and stay with me for a few days. Have you checked out the stores in Rangpur? I went to the new shop near the station for my shopping. It has so much more variety than our village.

  My quilt exhibition went well, and more women want to take my classes. I’ll be getting more money per hour from now on.

  You and Brother have been talking about Anand and me, I know. I have written to him about my suspicions, and he must have told you the details. I did something very naughty last week —I made a big tear in one of Anand’s favourite shirts. It must be his woman’s favourite, since he wears it every Saturday evening. But he didn’t notice it when he went out. He was fuming when he returned home late at night, but I pretended to be asleep, and couldn’t stop laughing under the covers. Next Saturday, I should put some sleeping tablets in his tea so that he falls asleep and doesn’t go out. What will his mistress say then? I wouldn’t dare to do that. What if I put too many tablets by mistake and something happens to him? I would go to jail. I was always full of pranks in school. Do you remember how we poured water on the teacher’s seat, just before Mr. Singh’s class?

  I have mentioned Suresh to you, haven’t I? I meet him every time I go to class. I think he looks out for me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and makes it a point to come out of his office to greet me. He even offered me tea and biscuits once after class. Kamala, I think he likes me, and I like him too. I wish he wouldn’t come out of his office to see me, because I feel shy and uncomfortable, and I’m sure he notices that I get red in the face. But I do love to see him. I don’t know what to do about my feelings, or about the way he looks at me. Kamala, do you feel that way when you see Raju? You and your parents must be meeting him and his family often to discuss the wedding details. Does he look at you in a special way?

  Write to me and tell me everything, absolutely everything, about the wedding preparations. It would be such fun if we were together. Nagda is so far away. It would take at least a day and a half for me to get there.

  Love,

  Surekha

  ***

  My Dear Brother,

  What can I say? Anand has asked me to stop teaching at the centre. Let me tell you what happened. He came home at five pm last evening, and I was not yet home from my class. When I opened the door about an hour later, I was surprised and started to say, “Why are you…?”

  Before I could complete the question, he said, “Why? Why? This is my home, that’s why! And why were you not at home?”

  I said, “I just finished the quilting class. I’m asking only because you never come home until midnight. What happened? She doesn’t want to meet you anymore?”

  He was so angry. He said, “Shut your mouth! I’m the one who asks questions, not you. I have a high fever and my throat is hurting. Make me ginger tea.”

  I brought him the tea and sat down. Sipping the tea, he said, “I want you to stop teaching. I don’t need the few thousand rupees you make each month … a pittance. You think you are great, having exhibitions, getting your name in the local paper. But you can’t look after your husband. You are not here to serve me when I come home sick.”

  With that, he drained his cup and went to bed.

  I continued to sit, trembling all over. He is not going to stop me from doing what I love, I said to myself. My eyes were stinging with unshed tears, but after a few moments I calmed down. I resolved to have it out with him after he has recovered.

  He says that he earns enough, and that he doesn’t need the measly sum I get at the end of every month. I think he is just plain jealous of the little enjoyment I have, of my friendships, and of the recognition I get in the community around here.

  If I don’t have my quilt-making class, I have nothing to do, nothing to look forward to. I will die of boredom and loneliness, Brother.

  I know that once you advised me to do everything that my husband asked me to do, but I cannot do that anymore. I will not give up so easily. Mumbai has made me tough.

  I will take care of myself. Try not to worry too much.

  Surekha.

  ***

  Dearest Brother,

  I was glad to receive your letter, with Ma and Pa’s words as well. I miss all of you so much.

  Ma is asking about a grandchild, since I’ve been married for over a year now. After another year, perhaps. After we’re more comfortable with one another. Anand comes home late, and on Sundays he sleeps most of the day. I don’t even know if he wants a child with me.

  Anyway, about the classes —I won! I fought and screamed and cried, and asked him to give me one good reason why I should stop. He finally walked out of the house yelling, “Do what you want!” and slammed the door shut. So, I went back to class. I had missed a couple of weeks, but Suresh sahib said that they would still pay me for the eight hours I missed, because on several occasions I have been there longer.

  Anand doesn’t take me anywhere. Most Saturday evenings he goes off on his own, all dressed up and smelling of cologne. I’m sure he goes to see the woman I’ve heard when I have called him. When I ask him about it, he doesn’t answer. At times, I feel like tearing my hair out and just walking out. Why am I here with him? He doesn’t care for me, doesn’t talk to me, and doesn’t want to go out with me. Why did he marry me?

  You may see me at our doorstep in the village soon. I will beg, borrow, or even steal the money for the train fare and come home.

  Surekha

  ***

  Brother,

  I’m sorry that you had to spend money on the do not leave telegram. I know, I know. Leaving will only create more problems. I wrote that in utter frustration. But I feel that way more and more with each passing day, sinc
e there is no change in Anand.

  Do Ma and Pa know now? Do you think they could talk to his parents in the next village? But what will that do? They will only say that something is wrong with me, and that I’m not able to adjust to Mumbai. And even if I did come home, they would know, and then I’d have to go and live with them. They would treat me even worse than Anand does.

  My thoughts turn towards Kamala, and her impending marriage often. Tell her that.

  Love,

  Surekha

  ***

  Respected Ma,

  How are you? I wish you were with me now.

  Ma, I long to eat the ladoo that you and Dadi make. Can you tell me how to make them? Brother can write the recipe down as you speak. I hope it is not too difficult, because you see, I do tire easily these days. In fact, I’m sitting in bed, resting against the pillows, as I write to you. Ma, you’re going to have a grandchild soon after Diwali. I hope this makes you happy. I’m happy because I’ll have someone to love and care for. And if there is enough money, I can come home to have the baby.

  Don’t worry Ma, and tell Pa not to worry as well. It’s not good for his heart. Asha, the lady who lives downstairs has two children — one ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl. And she is giving me a lot of advice. She also brings me some food when she can.

  Did you feel nauseous when you were carrying us? I feel sick every morning, but it gets better as the day progresses. I want to be with you, but Anand is taking good care of me, and sends his regards.

  Your loving daughter,

  Surekha.

  ***

  Dearest Brother,

  How do you feel about being an uncle? I’m sure you’re wondering how I feel, given the situation with Anand. To be honest, I feel numb most of the time. The rare twinge of excitement soon disappears with the nausea and vomiting, and then I’m left drained and depressed. When I told Anand that I was with child, his eyes lit up briefly, but that was it. His behaviour has not changed, and he continues to stay out late.

  I’m so lucky to be friends with Suresh sahib at the women’s centre. He is a little older than Anand, but he is soft-spoken and gentle. This is the second time that he has invited me for tea to his office, and I enjoy talking to him. He has another job, but helps a few times a week with administration and accounts, as a volunteer.

  On Tuesday, after I came out of the classroom, I saw him talking to the janitor. When he saw me, he said, “How are you, Surekhaji?” He said that I looked tired. “Come to my office. We can have a cup of tea, and you can rest before you walk home.” That was so considerate of him. He realizes that I’m expecting, as I’m showing now. He asked me about all of you in the village. He said, “It must be difficult for you to get used to a new life in the city. You must miss your family. Your husband must be taking good care of you in your situation.” I blushed and looked down. I could not answer. When I looked up at him, he saw my wet eyes. He looked concerned, and offered me another biscuit. I left soon after that. He walked me to the entrance of the centre, and patted me on the back. He said, “We will meet next week. Take good care of yourself.”

  Do you think you can come and see your nephew or niece soon after Diwali? I’m so sad that there will be no one from my family when my first child is born.

  P. S. I’m enclosing the pictures from my exhibition. Show them to Ma and Pa. Don’t read them the letter.

  Surekha

  ***

  Respected Ma and Pa,

  Greetings. I made the ladoo! And they are good, but not as good as Dadi’s. I’m trying to follow as many of the instructions you have given me about rest and diet as I can. Both you and Pa say I should listen to devotional music and have pure thoughts, as these will benefit the baby. Also, you say that the most important thing is to be happy and cheerful. I’m happy, except when I miss you.

  There is a water shortage in Mumbai, and it is getting hotter every day. We get water for two hours in the morning and one hour in the evening. There will be mangoes on our trees in about a month’s time. I have started a new quilt with three of my students, and on my patch, I’m making our mango grove. The trees will be laden with the golden fruit. Mangoes are very expensive here. I don’t think I can even afford to have one mango a day, let alone the five or six I used to suck on at home.

  The nausea and vomiting are better, and I’m well. I only wish you could be with me, Ma, when the baby is born. I’m scared. But I don’t think I will be able to come home for the delivery. Anand says he doesn’t want to spend the money, since we are just managing to make ends meet.

  Pa, I hope you’re well and not exerting yourself too much in the fields. Who is massaging your feet every evening now? I used to grumble when you asked me to do that, but now I miss our conversations. They were so special, with just you and me.

  Your loving daughter,

  Surekha.

  ***

  Dearest Brother,

  You’re right. There is no need to get Ma and Pa anxious, and to tell my in-laws. If Anand knows that I’ve told you, things will only become worse. He used to drink whisky once or twice a week when we were first married, but now he drinks regularly, and much more. His speech is not normal when he comes home, and he sometimes staggers through the door. But for the child’s sake, I should keep quiet.

  Soon, I will start preparing for the baby. I will get a cot from Asha, but I will need to buy other things. I will do it in the last two months. Right now, I just want to keep well, and be as happy as possible. I try not to think of what the child will come to know about his or her father. He or she will sense my sadness very early on, but I will try to cover it up as much as possible. I will wait to hear it say “Ma,” for it to take its first step. I imagine running around with my child, playing hide and seek, laughing and singing with it. The joy of watching my baby grow up will wash away all unhappiness; it is his or her future that I will look forward to.

  The only people I can talk to are Asha and Suresh. Suresh makes me smile. But tongues will wag if I go to his office often. He is single. I hope he finds a good wife. He will make a wonderful husband and father.

  I worry that if Anand gets drunk often, he will not be able to work, and he will be ill. Who will pay the rent? What will happen to the child then? For now, I live only for the birth of the baby.

  Love,

  Surekha

  ***

  Dear Kamala,

  You will be a married woman in less than a month. Is everything ready? You must be excited, and a little nervous. How is Raju? I’m sure he knows he’s very lucky to get someone as sweet and beautiful as you.

  By now you must know about the worsening situation between me and Anand. Also, about Anand’s drinking. Anyway, I don’t want to burden you with this just before your wedding. You also know the happy news that I’m going to be a mother. You must come and see your best friend’s baby. Kamala, it is wonderful to have a life growing inside you, a life you’re solely responsible for, a life to protect, love, and cherish forever.

  I wish I could be there for your big day, just as you were there for mine. Enjoy the celebration. Don’t think that all men are like my husband — unfaithful, uncaring, and completely self-absorbed. Your Raju, I’m sure, is a decent man. Have faith. Your goodness will enable you to overcome the initial difficulties all marriages go through. You will have a lot of help and support, as you will be amongst family and friends. Not like me, far away from anything familiar, tucked away in an apartment in Mumbai, where no one knows or cares about what’s going on behind closed doors.

  When is the pre-wedding music party? Have you decided on the henna design for your hands? How many sweets did all the aunties make for the guests? Oh, my mouth is watering. Here no one uses ghee; they use something called Dalda, which not real ghee.

  How many brothers and sisters does Raju have? How old are they? I’m sure you wi
ll have lots of company. It’s so lonely here with no one in the house. Everyone’s doors are locked. You can’t just go in and out of your neighbour’s house. You must call them up first, and ask if they have time to see you and talk to you. Just imagine. I’m getting used to it. That’s just the way it is here.

  Do write to me after the wedding, when you have time. Good luck. Be happy, and above all, trust in God.

  Lots of love and a big hug,

  Surekha

  ***

  Dearest Brother,

  I got your letter this evening. You say Pa is coughing a lot, and has become very thin. How is he now? Have you taken him to our traditional doctor? If that doesn’t work, take him to the English doctor in the town. I’m enclosing all the money I have saved from my teaching.

  You said that Ma was anxious because I had not written for a long time. Break the news gently to her. Brother, I have lost my baby. It happened last month, and I was too weak to write. Read what I write next carefully, and only tell Ma what you think she should know, leaving out the bits about Anand and Suresh. I’m too tired to write two letters.

  It was Saturday evening, and Anand was getting ready to go out. I started feeling dizzy, and I told him that it would be better if he stayed home with me. He said I would feel better if I rested quietly, and that he would come back soon. So, I rested. The last thing I remember was getting up to go to the bathroom, and then I must have blacked out. When I woke up again, maybe about an hour later, I was on the bathroom floor. There was blood on the floor and my clothes were wet. I somehow managed to get up and called Anand, but he did not pick up. At that moment, I thought I was going to die. But I said to myself, no, I can’t die like this. I almost blacked out again, but I forced myself to be alert and dial my friend Asha’s number. She came running, but her husband was travelling, and we needed a man, so I told her to call Suresh. They took me to the hospital by taxi.