Poltu’s Mother

Aarti looked down from the balcony of her room. The fallen petals covered the walkway, branches bowing to the wind and birds chirping to cheer. They all seemed to put up a show to welcome her to her new abode. She noticed Ashish’s firm footsteps crumple the petal and go straight into the car. Like the petals, she wished he had time to look at her. The car faded in its own smoke, red siren blowing away looking much like the red dot on her forehead. Suddenly she realized she didn’t have a home. Just a house.

She looked inside the house. The room ran from one end of her eye to the other. The empty walls, lifeless furniture and unpacked bags didn’t feel inviting. Tube light dimmed the room, the sun shined through the crack, reflecting dust on the bed. She decided she would allow some light into the house before it swallowed her in its darkness. She started opening the windows. Every grill on the window reminded her that houses and prisons have a lot in common.

Packing and unpacking furniture had become part and parcel of Aarti’s life. Ashish, Aarti’s husband was in the civil service. They would come to a place, make it home for few years and then uproot themselves, like gypsies do, to another new location. Moving to a new location was easy for Ashish. He would find new colleagues at work and new friends at the officer’s club but Aarti wouldn’t. For her, it was about finding solace in newer isolation. On the working days, Aarti would be in these glorified jail houses with helps.

Aarti procrastinated setting up the house. She started opening all the windows in every room to see if there was any sign of company, a potential friend anywhere. The master bedroom, guest room and living room windows faced the garden. Beyond the garden, there were stretches of field with no human being or dwelling in site. The puja room had a partial view of the garden and view to the back of the house. There were small huts lined there but no sign of people. Probably belonged to the help or farmers, thought Aarti.

Aarti realized this would be four years of solitude. It would be her and the house.She looked at the temple of God she had set up the day before, her eyes welled with tears.

“Poltu! Poltu!” screamed a voice. Aarti wondered where this voice was coming from. She looked out of the window with the partial garden view but couldn’t see anything.

“Poltu! Where are you?”

The voice seemed to be coming from the back of the house. She went to see if there was more than just sunshine. There she stood lean and tall, her frame neatly draped in 9 yards, her open hair played with the wind.

“Poltu!! How many times do I have to call out for you? Come and eat, else the food will get cold”.

“Ma, what have you made?” replied Poltu, who looked like a 4-year-old, covered in soiled garments.

“Rice and potatoes” replied his mom

“Again, rice and potatoes?” Asked another voice. “Why can’t we get any fish? I don’t know what you do with Poltu’s father’s money. Give it to your father?” Aarti could now see another woman sitting in a charpoy near Poltu’s mother. She stood up and walked with a gait. She looked like Poltu’s grandmother.

“Then skip lunch. This is my house and I will cook whatever suits me. If you don’t like it, ask your son to come over and cook for you,” retorted Poltu’s mother to the old lady.

“Is this how you talk to your mother-in-law? I told Poltu’s father so many times not to marry you. If he had married a girl of my choice, he wouldn’t have to go to the city and work so hard.”

“Why? Because you would have got dowry? Do you know police will arrest you if they know you want dowry? Do you want me to tell them?”

“Dowry! I never said dowry!” the old woman looked visibly scared even from that distance to Aarti

Aarti almost burst out laughing but controlled herself to prevent them from hearing her. Aarti could never imagine retorting back to her mother-in-law in the same tone. She remembered how once she had cooked payasam[GA1] which her mother-in-law did not approve of and she had to make it all over again. She resented it, but kept it to herself.

The next day, Aarti again looked out of the window to see what her neighbor was up to. She saw Poltu’s mother drying mangoes in the sun. Poltu’s mother had company this time.

“Why are you drying so many mangoes?” asked a lady to Poltu’s mother.

“What to do, Sunita? Poltu’s father does not earn enough. Earlier the pottery business was flourishing but now he stays away in the city longer and earns only half the money. This tree gives us abundant mangoes, so why not make some money by making mango pickle?”

“Of course! Things have become so expensive. But how come Poltu’s father’s business is not doing well? I hear these authentic potteries are in huge demand in the cities. Foreigners who come to India buy them at exorbitant prices!”

“I don’t know. This is what he says. He never had good business sense anyway,” said Poltu’s mother.

“Wow! How easily these people talk about their shortcomings with each other? There is no pretension at all!” thought Aarti.

Aarti recalled her conversation with her father when she wanted to leave Ashish after she learnt of his infidelity.

“No, you can’t leave Ashish for this. What will people say? My daughter could not hold on to a man! She was sent home!” Aarti’s dad was hysterical at the thought of it

“Baba, he cheated on me. Others don’t have to live in those huge mansions in deserted locations wondering the whole evening if Ashish is late because of work or because he found someone to sleep with. Why do we care of what people say?”

“You don’t realize how lucky you are. Ashish is willing to look past your weakness. Why can’t you do the same?”

Aarti packed her bags and returned. Not because her dad made any sense but because there was no winning. Everybody had accepted that her infertility was a bigger problem than her husband’s infidelity.

It was an open and shut case.

Honk! Honk! Ashish’s car brought Aarti back to the present.

For the next couple of months watching Poltu’s mother do her chores became Aarti’s favourite hobby. Somehow Poltu’s small hut filled the vacuum in Aarti’s life which her palatial house could not.

“You liar! You bastard! I am going to kill you today!” A lot of cuss words and screaming interrupted Aarti’s afternoon siesta. Aarti realized the noise was coming from the puja room window. Aarti went to the window and noticed a lot of people were in Poltu’s house. A lady was hitting a man in rage. Aarti could not see properly who the lady was.

“Where is Poltu’s mother?” she wondered.

“Here I am looking after you and your house. Cooking, cleaning and trying to make money and there you have got yourself a mistress!” yelled the enraged lady.

That’s when Aarti realized that it was Poltu’s mother.

“All this time you lied to me when you said your business was not doing well and you were not earning enough! Had it not been for Sunita’s husband, I would have lived in this lie forever”.

“Why blame him? Anybody who has such a headstrong wife like you will look elsewhere for love,” retorted Poltu’s grandmother.

Poltu’s mother walked up to her mother-in-law and yelled back, “Men don’t make mistakes because there is something wrong with their women. Men cheat because they can. I am done with this. I am tired of sitting in the porch and thinking will he come home to me or will he find someone younger to replace me.”

A familiar sensation ran through Aarti.

Aarti saw Poltu’s mother pick a small bag and take Poltu in her arms and go towards the door.

She stepped out, left feet first. The twilight sinking the sun and welcoming the moon. It all turned quiet. Poltu’s father stood up and dusted himself off. Gradually people began to disperse.

Aarti didn’t see Poltu’s mother for a month. Aarti was taken aback by her courage. Aarti thought she would come back but she didn’t. Then Aarti remembered — Poltu’s mother didn’t care about what people said.

“Do you know the lady who lives behind our house in one of those huts?” Aarti asked one of her helps.

“Which hut?” asked the help.

Aarti hesitated in mentioning Poltu’s mother’s name thinking that help will think Aarti has been prying on the villagers.

“I don’t know the name but whenever I am in the puja room I could hear a woman screaming Poltu”

“Oh! Poltu’s mother”, said the cook without casting any suspicious glances. “What about her madam?”

“Nothing. Haven’t heard her yell out to her son in a while, so was wondering…”.

“She won’t disturb you anymore. She is gone. Left her husband. He was a dog”.

“Can you bring her to me?” asked Aarti

The help looked up in surprise. “You don’t want to hire her madam. She has an evil temper. She hit her husband so much the other day. I mean husbands are bad, but you live with it. Don’t I? My husband…”

“I don’t want to hire her,” Aarti interrupted her monologue. “Just get her.” Aarti walked out to prevent extending any further discussion on the topic

The help got Poltu’s mother to Aarti’s house. She looked thinner than she did from the window. Circumstances had taken a toll on her.

“I believe you want to do something for yourself. You want a fresh start?” asked Aarti

Poltu’s mother nodded “yes”.

“Here, take these. Sell them and make a fresh start.”

Poltu’s mother looked at Aarti as though she had lost her mind.

“Isn’t this a sign of marriage in your community?” She asked Aarti pointing at the Mangalsutra.

“Yes, it is but I won’t need it anymore.”

That day Ashish came home to find a note from Aarti. She and her things were gone.

I hear people had a lot to say about Aarti leaving her husband. Luckily for her dad, his neighbor’s daughter eloped with the help. People are now talking about that.