Two women

It was a girl.

Mridula had been tired for quite long now, waiting patiently for this day since conception, through family politics, the good and bad days of it, the high and low points of checkups, assurances, reports and bills. She had genuinely hoped for a girl, and here she cometh! Mridula smiled.

Lata had stroked her older sister appreciatively. She recalled how insistent Mridula had been to go into labour the natural way. And now, after a night-long ordeal, she got her prize. What a pretty baby! Lata shifted her gaze to the tiny bundle.

“For all your stubbornness, didi, it’s a beautiful girl!”

Mridula grinned: “Runs in the family, Lata mausi! Look at you, you are hardly 18, and you are in the room delivering my baby. One hell of a family we are!!”

Lata laughed feeling all grown-up suddenly.

It was one of the new neighborhoods in Yelahanka in the 1990s with a hospital around. An occasional tolling of bells at a distance and a passing vehicle filled the air. Mridula’s parents wanted her to come to the south of the city for delivery; they knew many doctors in Chamrajpet, Basavanagudi and beyond. But Mridula didn’t budge. She wanted her quiet mornings and pleasant evenings for herself in the newer ‘layout’ of Yelahanka.

Lata stepped out for a coffee. She felt goofy about her knowledge of childbirth, a thrill ran through her body. What a miracle!

A Golden Bell tree gently swayed and strewn yellow flowers her way.

***

The girl was named Vasundhara.

“Vasu!” cried Lata, when the toddler ran into a pile of clothes, laughing. She had caught her in time. Vasundhara squealed in joy at the sound of the main gate opening. Mridula pushed her two wheeler carefully along the narrow entrance and shut the hissing vehicle. Her long day at work was counterpointed by the squeal and smile of Vasu, who clung to her mother in no time.

Lata excitedly updated her sister about all the novel deeds of Vasu.

***

Vasu brought the pleats of a saree clumsily into her tiny hands. Her four-year-old frame neither supported the saree nor made any alternatives easy. Vasu hummed a song as she searched for a suitable bindi. Lata was on phone in a serious conversation observing Vasundhara from a distance. She did not smile much these days. Vasu adjusted her pallu, turned around to check how she looked in the mirror, paraded before her aunt happily singing her Bollywood song. Lata nodded, tried to smile as she finished her call.

The long moment of silence through the black cord of the phone still in her hands.

She changed Vasu’s clothes, clutched her hand and walked to the nearby Darshini for a coffee. There were more street lights now, bigger billboards. And a more frequent hooting of the train. Vasu kept asking questions about trains and railway stations.

***

An 8-year-old Vasu braved through clusters of students as she held on to the hand of the school-akka on her way home. As she walked on the side way, she wondered whether the small crowd at the nearby shopping complex belonged to the internet cafe or the beauty parlor. For Vasu, one group waited for ‘emails’ another for ‘clean legs.’ The school akka opened the gate and let Vasu in.

Vasundhara walked in but Lata mausi’s tear-filled face did not promise a fun evening. She eased the school bag painfully from her tiny frame. Lata’s face was buried in Mridula’s shoulder, her eyes were swollen. She studied the sisters, timidly waved to them, threw her school bag in a corner.

She noticed Lata mausi stifling a sob and Mridula quietly holding her.

Vasu ran out to meet her two friends; she knew that she had to be careful with the two-wheelers: some didn’t have lights, some riders didn’t honk.

***

For the 15-year-old Vasu, it was the end of high school. Half a dozen friends gathered in the front room, clapping, singing and laughing. Mridula talked animatedly to another parent. Lata finished making a coconut cake and brought it to the group. She landed a kiss on Vasu’s cheek. Vasu pulled her aunt’s cheeks and turned to her friends. Lata surveyed the room and sat in a corner.

***

The flight from Chicago landed on time. Lata was surprised to see many neighbourhood kids travelling to the US these days. When she sighted Vasu, a young and charming woman now,  she felt the pangs of a mother. She hugged Vasu as a tender nerve pulled under her tongue.

Their neighbor, a kindly man in his 40s drove them to the airport and chauffeured them all back home. His new car glided like a bird when there was not much traffic. He tried to catch Lata’s eye but she was engrossed in counting the buildings in construction on either side of the road. Yelahanka was a big hub now for schools and colleges, independent houses and apartments, small factories and their offices.

Later that night, Vasu sat between Mridula and Lata and watched television. Lata found it easier to rest her head on young Vasundhara’s shoulder.

***

From her window, Lata observed Vasu and Mridula taking a walk in the community park. The mother and daughter had been discussing something seriously. Lata stared at the path they had taken.

Three months later, Vasu had exchanged garlands with Prabhu and signed on a piece of paper. Lata gifted her a silk saree as Vasu hugged her mausi dearly. Her eyes welled up.

***

Mridula had parked her car outside a multi-speciality hospital. It was 5 in the evening and the traffic grated against the nerves. Lata was admitted there by a neighbor who had a shop that sold plastic bags, brooms and phenyl. The woman patiently waited until Mridula reached her and handed over all the reports. Lata was taken inside for an ultrasound test.

Mridula instructed her team at work to lock up the building carefully. The water pipe should be turned off and the rat trap should be kept outside with sweetmeats in it.

Vasu reached her mother anxiously with Prabhu towing the line. Mridula explained the condition to Prabhu softly and they both moved to the farther end of the corridor.

Vasu sat next to Lata on the hospital bed. Lata studied her niece. “You know? I was the first person to see you when you were born.”

Vasundhara smiled. “You were strong, that age!” She paused: “You will be alright soon, mausi.”

Lata winced in pain. Two doctors approached Mridula and Prabhu.

“One of us will have to stay at the hospital tonight.” Mridula instructed the group matter-of-factly. “I will,” affirmed Vasu. “I will call you in case of any emergency.”

***

It was a quiet hospital past midnight. The honking of vehicles, the buzz and hum of electronics and the wailing of ambulances had subsided at the wee hours.

It was a small room in the hospital and nurses came in every hour to check Lata’s temperature and the drip. There was a bench-like bed for Vasu to rest her back. She was restless. Somewhere along the years, Lata had stopped laughing. Can she make her aunt smile again, now? She touched Lata’s forehead affectionately. It was burning.

In less than an hour, the burning body had lost its pulse. The frantic movements of nurses and doctors came to an embarrassingly abrupt halt. “I’m sorry,” the doctor said.

Vasundhara went closer to see her aunt’s calm face.

In the many mirrors of the city, suddenly, an older image flashed: that of Lata’s joyful face looking at the tiny bundle of Vasundhara through a veil of tears.

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