Wakilayn Aunty is Amma's closest friend. She has watched me growing up, has witnessed my father lullabying me to sleep, my mother searching for her reflection in me, and those tiny eyes weaving several unintended dreams, everyday. Life ambitions quickly change with the frequency of "What do you wish to be when you grow up, beti?" Had I known the meaning of my name, I'd have never overestimated the solitude of vague ambitions.
My fondness for Mangoes can never wither. Monsoons are typically awaited for this very reason. Wakilayn Aunty's fruit yard was never a miss by the neighborhood children. Yet, she preserved some good fresh seasonal fruits for me. It was more like a tradition back then. And to me, it always felt like home to be around her. Everyone in the neighborhood addressed her so- Wakilayn, because her husband was a Wakil Sahib, a Lawyer. He was a rudimentary man, yet an introvert. His drowning career was not a secret to anyone but the title never really let his personality rot. However, his ruefulness could never find an escape. There was not a day when he did not survive by medicines. His poor health was consuming him day by day, bit by bit, and that all was clearly engraved on his face. The way he smiled, the way he communicated, the drooping shimmer in his eyes-Everything whispered about how time was gradually causing a decay. As a child, fear drummed my heart every time I encountered him. Today, sympathy has replaced that fear. That sympathy has taken over also because there were days when I heard his wife crying before my mother for being beaten up by him. His frustrations and disappointments, rather than finding a solution to fix things up, attacked the readily available prey to get off his nerves. There is no denying about the family's wealth, of course. But, there is no abstinence from the blunt truth, either. Wakilayn Aunty longed for a daughter, Amma says, and that she was torn between the sorrow of having A LOT and not having at all. In our society, men are overrated. A male child is worth a brag. Aunty had a son. He inherited a lot from his father. The sub-ordinance part, as well.
"Oh just shut up, Maa. Do you think I am going to sit here and wait until you die? I and Sherry are moving out of this city. You don't need to worry about us", I heard him yelling at his mother once while making my way towards the squirrel nest at the top of one of the trees in the yard.
"No, beta. Why would you? I, in fact, liberate you from all the bondages that a son should oblige by. I do not confine you to my life any more. All I want is you to be happy", a feeble, cracking voice of his mother said more than the words could ever do.
Wakilayn Aunty's son was embarrassed to talk about his parents among his friends. He disliked introducing an old hunchbacked mother and a scraggy sick father to his friends. That regret of not having a glamorous lavish life also disconnected him from the society. His wife, Sherry, followed him.
"A woman always yearns for a man's love. Always. A true love of that one man. To be wrapped up around his comforting arms is more promising than being caged in a handsome bungalow, polished with wealth. Do you see my misfortune, behen?"
Amma has known everything about Wakilayn Aunty. But knowing is not the same as helping, and helping is not the same as healing. Amma was helpless. She could listen to her friend, compose her, lend shoulder to weep upon, but never could provide the love of a man. The love that Wakilayn Aunty always counted on her husband for, and the only son.
I remember once she tailored a gorgeous yellow coloured frock for me, with a contrasting pink bow at the back. "This one is for you, beti. This color suits you very well" Her smile was contending, or perhaps, I just contemplated so
Amma once had been to Wakilayn Aunty's house to get a sapling of it. When she got back, there was no good sign on her face. She looked at me, "Don't ask me anything today"
After a couple of days, while she caught me trying out her favourite Saree on myself, she said
"Beti, never be like her. A hyped beauty she is. Just a hyped beauty and all hollow inside. What sort of a woman would break a family? She said it outright to Wakilayn that her old age would remain solitary. What a shame! I feel with Wakilayn. Beauty is mortal, character is not. Always remember that. You are my flower, beti. May you get whatsoever you wish for. No matter how rich you become, how pretty you get, or how content you are with your life, always remember one thing, Beti, Old people are no less than toddlers. They need more attention, more love. But unlike children, they won't show it, they won't tell you. They won't cry when you hurt them with words or walk away in silence. You gotta understand. A mother's love and a father's pride for their children should account to more than an ounce of happiness everyday as long as their children live. While every drop of their tear is death crawling towards. A wonderful young girl, that's what you are. The day you find your partner poised with immense love and gratitude, get married. Get married to the man, and shower your love upon his family, his old parents, for they would be wishing for and foreseeing a better life even before your advent in their family. Manifest the love, the love of a woman. With that, you complete yourself, and everybody connected to you. You carry that pride. Always"
Amma was in tears. I was imagining of my life to be- when my odd gray hair and wrinkled face would define my appearance. Would life be as good as it is today, with Amma and Baba? Would I covet love, too, or someone like Wakilayn Aunty would teach me one more important lesson of life?
My fondness for Mangoes can never wither. Monsoons are typically awaited for this very reason. Wakilayn Aunty's fruit yard was never a miss by the neighborhood children. Yet, she preserved some good fresh seasonal fruits for me. It was more like a tradition back then. And to me, it always felt like home to be around her. Everyone in the neighborhood addressed her so- Wakilayn, because her husband was a Wakil Sahib, a Lawyer. He was a rudimentary man, yet an introvert. His drowning career was not a secret to anyone but the title never really let his personality rot. However, his ruefulness could never find an escape. There was not a day when he did not survive by medicines. His poor health was consuming him day by day, bit by bit, and that all was clearly engraved on his face. The way he smiled, the way he communicated, the drooping shimmer in his eyes-Everything whispered about how time was gradually causing a decay. As a child, fear drummed my heart every time I encountered him. Today, sympathy has replaced that fear. That sympathy has taken over also because there were days when I heard his wife crying before my mother for being beaten up by him. His frustrations and disappointments, rather than finding a solution to fix things up, attacked the readily available prey to get off his nerves. There is no denying about the family's wealth, of course. But, there is no abstinence from the blunt truth, either. Wakilayn Aunty longed for a daughter, Amma says, and that she was torn between the sorrow of having A LOT and not having at all. In our society, men are overrated. A male child is worth a brag. Aunty had a son. He inherited a lot from his father. The sub-ordinance part, as well.
"Oh just shut up, Maa. Do you think I am going to sit here and wait until you die? I and Sherry are moving out of this city. You don't need to worry about us", I heard him yelling at his mother once while making my way towards the squirrel nest at the top of one of the trees in the yard.
"No, beta. Why would you? I, in fact, liberate you from all the bondages that a son should oblige by. I do not confine you to my life any more. All I want is you to be happy", a feeble, cracking voice of his mother said more than the words could ever do.
Wakilayn Aunty's son was embarrassed to talk about his parents among his friends. He disliked introducing an old hunchbacked mother and a scraggy sick father to his friends. That regret of not having a glamorous lavish life also disconnected him from the society. His wife, Sherry, followed him.
"A woman always yearns for a man's love. Always. A true love of that one man. To be wrapped up around his comforting arms is more promising than being caged in a handsome bungalow, polished with wealth. Do you see my misfortune, behen?"
Amma has known everything about Wakilayn Aunty. But knowing is not the same as helping, and helping is not the same as healing. Amma was helpless. She could listen to her friend, compose her, lend shoulder to weep upon, but never could provide the love of a man. The love that Wakilayn Aunty always counted on her husband for, and the only son.
I remember once she tailored a gorgeous yellow coloured frock for me, with a contrasting pink bow at the back. "This one is for you, beti. This color suits you very well" Her smile was contending, or perhaps, I just contemplated so
Amma once had been to Wakilayn Aunty's house to get a sapling of it. When she got back, there was no good sign on her face. She looked at me, "Don't ask me anything today"
After a couple of days, while she caught me trying out her favourite Saree on myself, she said
"Beti, never be like her. A hyped beauty she is. Just a hyped beauty and all hollow inside. What sort of a woman would break a family? She said it outright to Wakilayn that her old age would remain solitary. What a shame! I feel with Wakilayn. Beauty is mortal, character is not. Always remember that. You are my flower, beti. May you get whatsoever you wish for. No matter how rich you become, how pretty you get, or how content you are with your life, always remember one thing, Beti, Old people are no less than toddlers. They need more attention, more love. But unlike children, they won't show it, they won't tell you. They won't cry when you hurt them with words or walk away in silence. You gotta understand. A mother's love and a father's pride for their children should account to more than an ounce of happiness everyday as long as their children live. While every drop of their tear is death crawling towards. A wonderful young girl, that's what you are. The day you find your partner poised with immense love and gratitude, get married. Get married to the man, and shower your love upon his family, his old parents, for they would be wishing for and foreseeing a better life even before your advent in their family. Manifest the love, the love of a woman. With that, you complete yourself, and everybody connected to you. You carry that pride. Always"
Amma was in tears. I was imagining of my life to be- when my odd gray hair and wrinkled face would define my appearance. Would life be as good as it is today, with Amma and Baba? Would I covet love, too, or someone like Wakilayn Aunty would teach me one more important lesson of life?
