WALK INTO MY HEART
Ritu Siddharth
She barged into the room, screeching, “Hey got you, now the cat’ll be out!” . “HEY,WHO’RE YOU,GET OUT THIS MINUTE”, came a shout in a gruff voice. The blinds were down; she didn’t expect anyone to be in. Anjali walked out humiliated, handed over the bag to Rajeshwari, without opening it, almost in tears.
“Hm, there ,give it”, said Rajeshwari with a sense of triumph.Sitara was Anjali’s only close friend whom she could trust in all conditions. Sitara’s parents were employed;they did not return home before 11.45 in the night.
After other girls had left ,Anjali asked Sitara, “Who’s in your house?” “Oh, he! He’s my cousin,my maternal aunty’s son”.
“What’s he doing here?”.
“He’s come to study M.Sc..Their family was well off once..later I don’t know what happened ..they sold a major portion of their property, and moved to a village ,to a simple living”.
Anjali and Sitara were doing record work. At 12, Sitara went to make tea. Om prakash stuck his head in , “Can I also have a cup?”he asked Sitara.
“Yes ofcourse”, she said and handed him a cup. Anjali could see him through the half open door ..he was in faded pants and a vest with big and small holes.
“Didn’t he go to college ?”Anjali asked holding her cup of tea.
“No,he’s not well today”.
“Why’s he in tatters?”
“Actually, he manages with three shirts for out door use…Want to know about him? His father is an asthmatic, his mum is monoplegic; he does part time job is three places”..
“What does he do with his earning and why must he overwork?”Anjali intervened.
“Oh, he is saving for his sister’s marriage. They have to give heavy dowry you know!...He has to pay his fees ,send some to his parents in the village”.
“Wont your mom help?”
“No, auntie’ll not accept that; she’s very prestige-conscious you know!”
“Serves him right …he’s so rude…such a bully”, she recalled the way he yelled at her.
“No Anju, he’s actually a nice guy…I feel sorry for him”.
Anjali looked at her friend for a while with pursed lips,then said, “Ok ,give his vests with big holes ,I’ll mend them ,you know I’m very good at it ..no one can make it out “, she said with pride.
Anjali rested her arms on the gate, feeling the light breeze on her face resting on her arms; her garment flapping against her sides…a bright afternoon, after three consecutive days of persistent down-pour. She watched flood water gush down the culvert with a noisy gargle; Birds were happily feasting on the wet ground after three days of semistarvation.. calling out to their friends and mates in between; cows moving sluggishly , not too happy to stretch their weary limbs after sleepless nights and days under leaky roof above and soggy ground below.
Her thoughts went back fifteen years ago…She was 3, sitting on her father’s lap; he was singing a tuneless song; he rubbed his unshaven face on her cheek… “Aye papa! it’s poking like needles”, she winced. He rubbed harder…she laughed, he hugged her….
Her mom woke her up for dinner..she dozed off in between morsels. ‘Just one more,dear,one more, love’,geared her mom and finished the plate. Anjali wiped her mouth in her mom’s saree and lay down; her father lifted and carried her to her bed…..she used to sleep with her leg resting on her mom …
Her father held her finger and led her through the lanes to buy her birthday frock and shoes while her brother watched enviously .
She was brilliant. Her father was very fond of her; her teachers liked her. Beautiful, happy days, those…..long gone now….Her gaze fixed on the moving branch while her thoughts twirled in the past….
She went through what all girls had to, at the age of fourteen. Then as if all hell broke loose..her life changed grey with hate and disappointments. Her parents suddenly became cold..they treated her as an unwanted burden, a pest who was going to fetch multitude expenditures…..her self-confidence dwindled steadily with each rebuke she got.
Two days later Anjali returned the vests. Sitara held them ,one after another,
against the light ,she could not spot any rent. “Great!!”, she remarked.
Ten days later Anjali gave a package to Sitara with, “Give give it to your cousin”.
“Here OP….from Anjali”,Sitara handed Om Prakash the package.
“Why…why…why”, he looked at the package,then at Sitara, then again at the parcel.
Anjali went to her friend’s house to do combined study.
“Hey, come here”! Om Prakash commanded. He thrust the package into her hands . “What’s this? Who’re you to give me anything? Are you earning? Did I tell you I need something?”A volley of questions. “Now go!”, he chased as if shooing a dog.
A hard slap would have hurt much less.
“Forget it Anju,he’s good by nature,…I think he’s tense about his exams and his jobs crammed together”, Sitara tried to console her friend.
Anju could not be pacified. “I’ll not come here any more”.
“Listen ,Anju… ANJUU…come back”, Sitara’s calls were futile.
Om prakash had a habit of walking for 5 minutes after dinner.That night Sitara joined him.
“You know Anju?”
“Who? The girl who gave shirt? Hm ,what about her, the stupid looking clown!”
“Yes”.
“What now”?
“She was damn upset. You scolded her. She said she’ll not come here any more ..now I have to go her house”, she said her face drawn.“You know what! Her condition is very pitiable. She is unwanted in her own home..”
“Why”, he wanted to know.
“Her parents have to give dowry and jewelry in her marriage ..they don’t want to do it; they treat her so badly”.
Unexpectedly Anjali and Om Prakash came face to face in the library; she had come to return her book ,he to refer some books. Om Prakash noticed a wave of terror and hate pass across her face. He did not like it .He spent a few minutes ruminating over the incident. He did not like anyone hating him.He wanted to apologize but male chauvinism prevented him.
Late in the evening Anjali and Sitara sat chatting. Om Prakash crossed them, returned shortly with what seemed like a banian; he tore it in mock frenzy and threw it at Anju.. “Ah!”, gasped Sitara. He winked at her and whispred, “It was far beyond repair, don’t worry!”
“He always insults me,Sita”, Anju said rising.
“Wait, sit down..”, Sitara spoke. After a pause she added , “I think he likes you and wants you to respond”.
“I don’t like him ..never will..he’s so rude”, Anjali replied.
Just then Om Prakash reappeared, spoke to Sitara in low tone, glanced at Anju,
muttered something inaudible,brought a cane chair and sat at the doorstep blocking the way. Sweat broke out on Anjali’s forehead. Sitara was embarrassed at her position.
“Bring that shirt tomorrow Anju”, Sitara told her.
It was Anjali’s college day. Sitara had invited Om Prakash for dinner in her college; Anju invited her brother.Om Prakash wore the light pink shirt with floral pattern, he looked smart in it. They hardly spoke as the mike blared some cine-numbers.
Anjali wore a saree ,the best in her collection; Om Prakash watched her movements, how her eyes flitted avoiding him, how she handled her spoon and fork..he began to sense a deeper stir in him…he wanted to compliment her .. ‘You look nice in saree’.
“Don’t you like the food OP? You’re not eating well”, Sitara remarked.
“Oh,.. ah! Not that ,yes food is good alright…I just don’t feel totally alright at the moment”, he replied.
“He wants to talk to you”, Sitara told her. “No I’m not going to”, Anjali said determined.
Om Prakash kept looking forward to talking to her,sometimes was visibly annoyed at her dispassion.
“You’re no good Sita, I’ll find my way out”, he taunted her ,one day.
“Hi”, Om Prakash greeted Anjali on his way home. She quickly walked past him.
“Hey,don’t you have manners,to respond when addressed”, he reproached.She walked on.
“Hey,I’m trying to be good to you ,why’re you running away?”he asked.Suddenly he grabbed her hand.
“Leave me ,or else I’ll raise an alarm,you got it?”she talked rapidly raising her voice.
“See,there was some misunderstanding earlier;I want to be friends with you…Anju I want you to be my friend..”. He was still holding her hand. His hand felt coarse and hard; hers soft , smooth and small in his firm grip.
“Let me go”, she uttered in undertone through clenched teeth. He released her hand. She walked away and at the bend of the road turned back to look at him..he was standing in the same place looking into her direction.
She could not make up her mind if the way she treated him that night was right but strangely felt guilty for having hurt him. Next time he greets her she will reciprocate,she decided.
Om Prakash realized his palms were hard;he quit his job as mechanic in work shop; he had worked for two hours that fetched him a sizable income. Instead,he decided to take tuition for 2 students between 7-9 in the morning. After his college hours he took charge of account in a super market ,after the shop closed at 9.30 .From 5-8 pm he worked as cashier in a smaller shop in the next lane. He used bicycle as his transport; he earned roughly 25 thousand a month; sent 4 to his parents in the village and deposited the balance in the bank.Within a year he had earned enough to offer as dowry and jewelry for his sister.
Their exams would be over in three months. Om Prakash had already appeared and cleared the recruitment examination for assistant manager in a government firm.
Sitara and Anjali were employed as tutors in a private college.
One Sunday Om Prakash met Anjali’s parents in their house. He introduced himself and gave a box.
“For Anjali’s marriage auntie . My mother expects dowry , and jewelry,
auntie.Please give this in her marriage”, he said. Mrs.Prajapati opened the box to find items ,enough for a decent submission for a marriage.But Mr .Prajapati objected.His wife glared at him;took the box to lock in the chest.
“I wish to marry Anjali”, he disclosed the intention of his arrival .
Anjali had been to a movie,returned as a debate was going on among the three in the house ..two against one,the father.
“I can’t give so much for her”, the mother was complaining; “I have my dignity and prestige , I cant accept anything from an unknown person…he arrives suddenly ,hands over a box and asks for her hand…I can’t take it ..she will marry the boy we choose..we don’t even know what caste he is”..her husband went on. Her arrival silenced them. It pained her to feel she was considered as a useless expenditure and unwanted in her own home.
“God , I must leave soon, I must not be a burden here”, she prayed.The next morning she collected her tiffin box, addressed her mom, “Ma, I’ll return the jewelry to him”. “Leave the matter to us elders, you understand? and what did you give him that he comes with such expensive compliment ?”she asked sharply. Anjali was stung painfully.
Anjali’s parents accepted her 1st salary,gave her Rs 200 for her incidental charges.She managed tuition for 6 school and 2 college students ,an extra income!
Om prakash continued his part time job ,now for Anjali.In the nights after his weary work he would look at her snap that he had acquired on the pretext of showing it to his parents.
One night he phoned her ,”Hello Anju,how are you, hope your parents are not angry at my gesture”!
“No OP, but you shoudn’t ‘ve given gold”, she said. She was not mentally ready to accept him .She had not forgotten his rebukes and ill-manners towards her. ‘How can I spend a whole life with such a bully’, she thought.
The next day OmPrakash saved time for her.
“Hi, Anju”.
“Hi”.
“Leaving for college?”
“Yes”.
“OK”.
He put the tip of his index finger on his lips ,made a kissing sign.
“Huh!”,she gasped ,stroking her left cheek.
“Not there”, he said. He screwed his eyes and made a soft, light kissing gesture.
She rubbed her forehead in embarrassment.
“Not there, you stupid”, he said with a mischievous smile. He bit his upper lip and winked.
She turned to leave .
“Hey, don’t run! I wont touch you. But sure I’ll take whatever I want…after the marriage…I wont let you say no, you get it ?”,he said .
She looked up at him..
“Yes I mean it… you ‘ll see”, he, winked again.
Concluded.