Did you finish your milk, child? Did you oil your hair and brush your teeth before you went to sleep? Did you chant gayatri mantra five times before bed and five times in the morning, and then did you remember that God helps those who help themselves, so did you rise early to commit to memory the rules of the English grammar, present perfect passive predicate? Did you have seven almonds, soaked overnight and peeled, to sharpen your brain to crack exams to find a job to get out of the kitchen and live the life your mother could not? But before that, did you knead the atta for one hour, pressing with your full body weight? Punch and fold, punch and fold. Have you mastered the art of making the perfect roti, can you roll it into a smooth sphere and have you figured out how to flatten it with the belan, rotating it without touching, pressing not too hard, not too soft, gently, down and nudge, down and nudge, till you have a perfect circle, which you then slap on to the tawa, turn it once before it bubbles, turn again after bubbles appear, and press with cloth, not too hard, not too soft, gently move the trapped steam from this side to that side, until it is golden brown, a balloon ready to pop. Now go give it to your brother, quickly, the same one who pulled your hair so hard, some of it came off, be kind, blow into your heart, make it bigger, press it hard, this side then that, till you find forgiveness and serve it to him, hot. Can you hear any of this in the rain? Come inside you’re soaking, no the puppy cannot come in, it’s a stray, no one wants it, no one loves it, no it’s not going to die, that’s not shivering, that’s just breathing, don’t waste a perfectly nice sweater on it, it’s not cold, these things know how to survive. Stop wasting your tears, it was never going to make it, it was shivering so much it couldn’t breathe, save your tears for better things. I knitted that sweater with my own two hands.
Psst! Why didn’t you come when we bunked school to watch the first-day-first-show of Hum? The whole class broke out in claps and whistles and cheers when Amitabh Bachchan took off his glasses and shook his grey hair free, in slo-mo, the quiet-old-man morphing back into the angry-young-man we loved and missed. You loved and missed. Your room a shrine to him, plastered with posters of him, the autographed postcard that you use as a bookmark in Applied Electronics. He didn’t sign it personally, that’s not his handwriting, it’s a print, you know that, don’t you? You just like to pretend he sat down with a fountain pen and wrote, in perfect cursive, ‘My dear fan, Thank you for your letter…’
You think you’re special, little sister, don’t you, not showing up for our grandmother’s shanti path because you had to write your engineering exam? As if the rest of us have nothing better to do. Did you miss my engagement because you needed to prepare or is it those dark circles you’re embarrassed by? Did you forget to add one teaspoon of haldi and two dollops of fresh cream of buffalo’s milk to the besan and apply it on your face before you sit to study? Just when it begins to cake, rub it gently to peel away the tan, the dead skin, the dry loneliness, some of the hair and the sticky awkwardness of being around people. What’s all the fuss for anyway? With your fancy 94% you still missed the cut-off. By 0.5%. If only you had tried a tiny bit harder. But you are always easily distracted. Don’t forget to put bleach.
Psst! Can you believe they gave Miss Universe to Sushmita? She’s all legs and attitude, Aishwarya is the pretty one, just look at those dreamy eyes, long lashes, lush lips, but they only gave her Miss World while Sushmita got sixty-eight lakh rupees and a sports car and a mink coat and an apartment in LA for a year, wherever that is.
We are pleased to offer you the position of Assistant Marketing Manager. We’ve put together a generous package that comes with benefits and insurance, travel, by air and specially negotiated stays in five star hotels only, we women need to look out for each other, a brand new laptop so you can work from anywhere, read everywhere, anytime, read all the time, all in exchange for just your waking hours. All of them. And some of your sleeping hours too, you’re welcome.
You think you’re the first woman to work, sister? Did you negotiate overtime for all the night outs you pull, health cover for dependent parents you are never around for and can the air miles be used for personal travel? There you go, ingratiating yourself to authority by selling yourself short. Money is all well and good, but your Hindi-sounding-English cannot buy respect, you need to speak it like it’s yours. What about a gym membership? All that wining and dining is beginning to show on your waist. Yoga is passé, here’s a video cassette of Jane Fonda. Fasting for sixteen Mondays gets you a good husband. And don’t forget to read the maternity leave policy. Can you stagger it over a year? Sixteen Mondays in a row, don’t miss. Are those white roots already?
Psst! Did they make you Assistant Vice President because of your work or because they needed to show diversity? Will they fly you business class? What does Sushmita think she’s doing, adopting a girl while she’s still single? Look at Aish, sensibly marrying Bachchan Jr. What do you mean, what about love? Here, put L’Oreal, listen to Aish, she says you’re worth it. Did you notice how she rolls her r’s!
Welcome to married life, sister, does he smoke, does he drink, cheat, beat, eat meat? Will you clean, can you cook, don’t rush into kids, it’s a trap, your life will be over, look at me. Hold on to your job and whatever you do, do not open a joint account. Can you hear any of this over the loud ticking of your body clock?
May God shower you in milk, child, may you sprout sons. Don’t loosen reins of the kitchen, remember a warm kitchen warms the bed, dal is easy, practically cooks itself, all you have to do is soak it overnight, slow cook it all day while you’re at work and bring to a good boil after you come back. Garnish with fresh coriander.
Welcome to motherhood, sister, it’s always better if the first born is a male. It’s always better. But oh well. Of course you’re back at work already, trying to make the rest of us look lazy. Don’t say we didn’t tell you that frozen breast milk doesn’t taste quite the same as fresh. Of course your salary pays for the day care, so what if you missed her first word, her first tooth, the first step she took. Also, two are always better than one. No, dogs don’t count.
Psst! Did you see Sush has gone on record to say she doesn’t need a man to buy her diamonds? Aishwarya, on the other hand, hasn’t delivered a hit movie in four years, only one girl. And by the way, yoga is cool again, Demi Moore is teaching anulom vilom.
No, we didn’t pass you over for VP because you missed the dinner and dance with the team because you had to take the stray dog that was hit by a garbage van to the vet. Not even because you missed the team building retreat in Manali the following month because the dog died. Of course not because you are pregnant, again! We could sue you for even thinking that. Lol, just kidding, we women must stand together.
Psst, all that rage, that fight, is for the screen, the real Amitabh doesn’t stand up for causes, he just wants to lay low and be left alone. Like everyone else. You know this. Don’t you? Sure you can sue your company if you like. But, don’t. Sure, you can quit your job if you like too. But don’t.
There. Finally. Welcome to the real world, sister. Did you quit because they didn’t value your contribution or because your salary didn’t cover two day-care fees and the nanny? Did you squander away years of work experience just when you were at the cusp of bigger things because you finally accepted, like the rest of us, that you do not have it in you to have it all. Or is it because the husband earns enough for all four of you. He has a big heart, to top it all, already applied for a dependent credit card for you. Or is it the five of you, if you are going to keep the same nanny, continuity is great and she’s lovely, except she was on her phone the whole time, even as the puppy ate the baby’s food. And the baby ate the puppy’s. It's a good thing you won't need her now. Look at all those mothers in the playground, all those friendships waiting to happen. Better touch up your roots before you talk to them. Try Kerastase maybe, L’Oréal doesn’t last, clearly. And fill out a little bit, you look like you don’t get enough to eat, puts your generous husband to shame. What do you mean you want to start something on your own? Have you lost your mind, pouring all your time and your meagre savings into an animal shelter? If only you had opened a joint account you wouldn’t be broke, frittering away all those years of working, everything you have built, you never did know what to do with yourself, even with all the good counsel from your mothers, sisters, girlfriends, colleagues. Always distracted.
At least be sure to invoke Ganeshji, child, to remove the obstacles in your way. And grant you some sanity. You haven’t taught your children the gayatri mantra, they speak no Hindi, only rapid English we cannot understand. Add one tablespoon of honey to sugar, milk, yoghurt and a drop of ghee for fragrance.
The centre hasn’t even opened and you are surrounded by a maimed dog, a blind cat and two rabbits. Is it a new face pack, how is your skin glowing, sister? You won’t say anything? What, after all the life secrets we shared with you, you won’t even share your recipe?
For quick blessings, pluck the basil leaves fresh off the bush. You don’t think you’ll get away without the puja, do you child? Why don’t you say anything?
Psst … Sush has gone shush about rumours of finally giving into marriage and all is quiet on the Bachchan front.
You don’t say anything, neither in English nor in Hindi. You’re deep in a wordless conversation with your three-legged friend, the only sounds the squeals and barks and meows that surround you.
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Nidhi Arora was born and raised in India, spent a decade in Singapore, now calls London home, but far prefers to inhabit the world of fiction. Her work has been featured in journals including Out of Print, Muse India, Pluto, QLRS, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Gingerbread House and Popshot and has been anthologised in Best New Singaporean Short Stories and other collections. She has published two children’s books. More at www.nidhi-arora.com