Oh, before you read, for those who don’t know, a manji is a bed-type cot thing. Google ‘manji bed,’ and it’ll come up.
Here's a pretty long one for you guys! :)
Chapter 4:
Mumbai was warm. Warmer than San Francisco had been. I shrugged out of my jacket as we exited the airport with all of our luggage. I looked around, taking in the environment surrounding me while my dad talked to an airport personnel in attempts to figure out where to go from here. I watched the taxis in their line, waiting for passengers to make use of them, the drivers talking and laughing amongst each other. I looked around at the huge airport building and all of the technology that surrounded me, amazed at the fact that cities good be so modern and industrial while the villages only a few hours away had practically nothing of the sort.
My dad returned, and without a word to any of us, made his way to the bench about ten paces away. My mom followed immediately, and Akash and I were right behind her. We remained on the bench for ten minutes, not daring to ask a question, before my brother, always the impatient one, broke the silence.
“Papa, why are we just sitting here?” he asked.
“Waiting for the bus,” Dad answered.
Twenty minutes later, Akash questioned him again, “When will the bus get here?!”
“Soon,” was the reply, “Play on your Nintendo and keep quiet please.”
Akash did as he was told, and another half an hour passed in this manner before the bus finally pulled up a few feet away from us. By this time a line had formed near the bunch, and everyone rushed towards the bus, forming a mob of sorts at the entrance. I watched, shocked at their behavior, as people pushed one another to get onto the bus. We stood up and patiently waited at the back of the line for the scrambling people to get on. Ten people ahead of us, the bus driver closed the doors.
“The next bus will be here in an hour!” he yelled out his window before driving off.
A few of the people left behind cursed before and slowly made their way back towards the benches. My dad sat back down as well, and we all followed suit. I had never seen anything like that before. The busses back home never had this problem; there were always enough running to where one could take another bus five minutes later if the prior one was too full. I guess this was the first difference between this country and America of the many that I knew I would experience soon. I leaned back on the bench, intending to spend the next hour within my thoughts.
Forty-five minutes later my dad stood up and went to stand near the road. Guessing that he wanted to ensure that we were ahead of the line this time, I followed him, my mom and brother right next to me. And we stood there, the three of us slightly behind my dad, just waiting for the next fifteen minutes. Which turned into twenty minutes. Which turned into twenty-five. The bus was late. Finally, thirty-five minutes after we stood up, I heard the rumble of the bus. Feeling the push of the rush of people behind me, I struggled to keep my balance, knowing how awkward it would be if I crashed into my dad’s back. I firmly planted myself, waiting for the bus to pull up in front of us. It got closer. And closer. And it completely passed us by, stopping fifteen feet past us.
Not to be beaten, my dad rushed towards the bus, bypassing the crowd that had the same sentiment as him. A bit late to the task, the three of us got lost amongst the crowd, the feeling of being surrounded by so many people increasing the heat that was already largely prevalent in the atmosphere. I looked up to see my dad climb aboard the bus and turn around to look for us, leaning to the side a little so people could still get past him. He held out his hand, and I saw my mom grasp it, allowing him to pull her up onto the bus through the crowd. Her other hand had held tightly onto Akash’s hand this entire time, and he got pulled up with her. All of their luggage was thrown atop the roof of the bus, and I struggled to get past the crowd with the baggage I still held. Taking the risk, I lifted the carry-ons and threw them into the air towards the bus, hoping they’d land where I needed them to. I held my breath, watching as the two bags flew until finally landing safely within the racks, one of them barely making it in.
Bag-free, I was able to squeeze my way through the crowd, my height giving me the ability to keep my eyes on the hand my mom held out to me, my dad and brother already gone to find seats. Breathing hard, I adopted the tactics of those around me, pushing and squeezing my way through, until I was able to grab my mom’s extended hand. She pulled me through the doors, my sweater getting stuck as it closed right behind me. I pulled it free and wiped the sweat off my brow, breathing hard from the previously simple act of boarding a bus. As I sank into one of the four seats my dad had saved for us, I closed my eyes, hoping that life here wouldn’t be too much more difficult than the one I had had for the last fifteen years. But in reality, I knew it was futile; I had always known that it would be much harder. I guess I could just hope that I grew used to it quickly.
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I woke up to my shoulder being shaken. Mumbling a bit, I rubbed my eyes and looked outside the window to see nothing but farmland. Glancing at my watch, my mouth fell open when I realized I had been asleep for over three hours. I had only meant to close my eyes for a couple of seconds to allow myself a bit of rest after fighting my way through that crowd…I guess I got a lot more rest than I originally planned. Looking around, I realized the bus was almost completely empty. There was only the four of us and another older couple.
“The next stop is the one that will get us the closest to Kondivade,” my mom said to me, “I figured it was time I woke you up.”
I nodded and looked back out the window, intrigued by the peaceful feeling the endless rows of fields brought to me. The mountains in the distance looked like small hills from here, when in reality, I knew they would be of significant height.
My mom tapped my arm again, discretely trying to gain my attention.
“Umm…” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Umm…” she said again, “You may want to…you know…fix yourself up a bit? You know, in case your future in-laws catch a glimpse of you as we enter the village?”
She handed me an opened compact mirror, and my eyes widened at my reflection. From the friction of sleeping against the bus window for the last three hours, my hair was standing up on one side; my eyes were still red; my cheek was imprinted with the pattern of the seat I was sitting on, and to top it all off, there was dried drool on the left side of my mouth. In short, I looked absolutely amazing. No sarcasm intended. At all.
Sighing, I fixed myself up the best I could without any of my luggage with me. Speaking of the luggage, I wonder if the luggage was still up there. Couldn’t it have fallen off during the bus ride? Why did people trust it enough to throw all of their belongings up there anyways? I did on the spur of the moment, but had I thought it through, I never would have done it. Literally everything I would own from now on was in those two bags. All I could do now was pray that it all was still there.
The speed of the bus decreased, and the ride became bumpier. I looked out my window to see that the previously relatively smooth dirt road had now turned to gravel. We continued along the gravelly path for another ten minutes before coming to a stop in front of a wooden arrow with the word “Kondivade” scratched onto it pointing to a small pathway to the left.
“Last stop!” yelled the bus driver, turning off the engine.
He got out of the bus and climbed to the roof, throwing down the remaining pieces of luggage. I winced as the bags hit the floor with a thud, sending up a dust storm. I leaned out of the window, waiting for the dust to clear before checking to see if all the baggage was still intact. I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that the number of bags we had brought with us were all there. I got up, stretching out my cramped limbs, and followed my parents out of the bus. Jumping out, I took in my surroundings, feeling comfortable amongst all the fields that surrounded us. I could get used to this. I turned to pick up my luggage and watched the other couple on the bus walk into the fields in the opposite direction of Kondivade. Waiting for my dad to finish speaking with the bus driver, I basked in the feeling of the warm sun on my face, the wind caressing the strands of hair that had come loose of my ponytail. About five minutes later, he started walking in the direction that the arrow had pointed to, pulling his suitcase behind him, with us not too far behind.
We pushed through grassy fields and crops for about five minutes before coming to a large clearing, the first house, of about sixty houses that made up the village, not too far from where we stood. The houses had an old-fashioned Maharashtra look about them, and the smell that permeated around me was one that was foreign to me. It was made up of the musky smell of mud and wet grass, of farm animals and fertilizer, and of the unmistakable wafts of Indian food being cooked that made my stomach grumble and groan, reminding me that the last time I had eaten was the slice of pizza almost fourteen hours ago. The whir of the tractor to one side caught my attention as one of the only technological aspects of this village. The sounds of boys playing outside came from the other side, and I saw one of them swinging from a rope tied to a tree, another rolling another boy in an old tire, and a couple of others chasing each other around in a form of tag. I smiled at their makeshift playground, their squeals of innocent happiness warming my heart. They didn’t need actual swing sets or fancy playgrounds to have fun.
As we continued into the village, trusting my father to find the house to which we were headed, the boys turned to stare at us, obviously not used to unfamiliar faces in their village. I made eye contact with a small boy who looked to be about four years of age and smiled at him; he turned and ran behind an older boy of seven or eight who must have been his brother. I quickly turned my head, walking with my eyes firmly planted on my dad’s back now, not wanting to unintentionally scare anymore children. My father stopped in front of one of the older but larger brick houses, the roof made of tiles and cracks encased with mud.
He went up to knock on the door, but before his fist could meet the wood, the door flew open, and he was engulfed in a hug by a woman that was obviously older than him but could not be too old, as I only spotted a few gray hairs peeking out from below the sari that covered half of her head. I stared in shock as she kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his head, before hugging him again. I guess this was my paternal grandmother, my father’s mom who had not seen her son for the past many years that he had been away. Her displays of affection towards him were understandable. It just felt weird to me, as I had never seen anyone treat my father in such a manner, without a regard for propriety. And I had never seen him this carefree either, laughter escaping him as he hugged his mom back and asked after her well-being and that of his siblings. It showed me a different side of my usually stoic father, and I was glad to have seen this part of him, no matter how briefly.
My grandmother looked past my dad’s shoulder at the rest of us, smiling.
“Come in, all of you!” she said, excitedly, “I have food ready!”
Of course she did. One would expect nothing less of an ideal housewife, I thought, taking care to take mental notes of everything this village woman did, as I would soon have to replicate her every action within my own household.
She turned around and headed inside. My dad turned around, grabbed the bag he had dropped in his interactions with his mom, and followed her in. Akash let go of Mom’s hand, running in after Dad, the excitement of being in new surroundings clear on his innocent ten-year old face. I remained in place, not intending to make a move until my mom did. She remained frozen in place, staring at the spot from which her mother-in-law vanished, her eyes blank. I nudged her, not knowing what was wrong with her. She flinched at my touch, coming out of her trance. She turned her head to look at me.
“Don’t trust that woman, Anjali. With anything. Be careful of anything she says to you or asks you, and respond with caution. Weigh each of your words with care; she’ll find a way to twist them. And try not to stay in a room alone with her if possible,” my mom said, before turning back to the front and walking towards the house normally, like she hadn’t just baffled me completely.
Shaking my head, I followed behind her, deciding to ask her more about it later. The feeling beneath my feet as I walked in shocked me, and I looked down to see mud floors. A broom made of straw and a piece of rope stood near the door, ready to sweep out any unnecessary dust. The rest of the inside of the house seemed similar to the outside. Old.
A faded couch. A cot on the floor, a manji next to it covered by a blanket for guests to sit on. The paint peeling. Old black-and-white photographs placed sporadically on the walls, a few in color randomly dispersed in between. Rickety stairs on my left led up to where I assumed the rooms would be. Walking further in, I could see the door to the kitchen to my right, where the rest of my family had disappeared into. I left my luggage in the living room with the rest of their bags and went to join them in the kitchen.
The first thing that caught my eye was the open hole in the middle of the kitchen with smoke emerging from it. The tandoor that I would cook chapatis on from now on. No more frying pans on stoves. Looking around I noticed a pile of firewood in the corner, a piece of which was currently being used to keep the food that had been cooked warm. Candles and unused matches lay a few feet away from the firewood on a wooden table, reminding me once again of the lack of electricity. In that moment, I desperately wished for a microwave, before chastising myself the very next second. No. This was my life now, and I couldn’t act like a spoiled brat simply because of the lack of electricity here. I already knew it would be this way when I left technology-filled San Francisco. Understandably, there was not a fridge to be seen either. It was unnecessary. You don’t eat leftovers, only cooking enough for one meal at a time, as the job of a housewife was to cook three fresh meals a day. Nothing like school or a job outside of the house here to distract one from their duties. Milk didn’t need to be refrigerated, as it was obtained fresh from the cows daily. Water was drawn from the communal village well. There was simply no use for the refrigerator and no way to maintain one without electricity.
A large hand-woven rug was draped across the floor of the kitchen, atop which my family sat, waiting for their meal to be served. I went to join them, but right before I sat down, a thought came to mind.
“Is there anywhere I can rinse my hands before eating?” I asked, looking from my travel-dirtied hands to my grandmother.
She nodded and handed me a pot filled halfway with water.
“Here you go. You can use a little of this to wash your hands, but be sure not to use too much of it because that is what we will use to drink and for whatever other purposes we may need it for the rest of the day. Water is rationed, and we can only fill three pots from the well every morning. For the rest of the day, that same water is used for cooking, drinking, washing the clothing, washing the dishes, and rinsing one’s hands after using the latrine.”
After hearing that from my grandma, I suddenly felt that it wasn’t very important for me to wash my hands right now. But I had already asked, and it felt awkward to not take the pot of water she was holding out to me right now.
“Thank you,” I said, and adding to my list of stupid acts here so far, I looked around for a sink.
“Just go outside the door, dear,” my mom said gently, but I could hear the slight warning in her tone.
Of course, there was no drainage here! How could I forget?...I couldn’t afford to mess up anymore. It would look as if I wasn’t prepared to perform my duties as an Indian woman, and it could affect my chances of marrying. Prospective families would not want a daughter-in-law who couldn’t perform the simplest of duties within their household. It would also place blame on my mom, who would be accused of not teaching me the ways correctly.
Feeling my cheeks beginning to flame, I scurried out the way I had come in, using as minimal amount of water as possible to rinse my hands. Returning to the kitchen, I gave the pot back to my grandma and sat down next to my mom. My grandma turned around to put the pot down and when she turned back around, she smiled at me, though I felt something was slightly menacing in her smile this time.
“Anjali,” she said, while pointing behind her, “For future instances, there is a door right here that I often use while in the kitchen. It makes washing dishes and washing the clothing a lot easier. It also doesn’t make the front of the home look messy with water splotches. Think of it as a back door of sorts, more private than the front, and therefore less condemning if anything looks dirty or messy about it. Also, this way there’s less of a chance for non-familial men to see you.”
I had messed up again. How could I not have seen that door right behind her?! Yes, it blended in relatively well with the walls and was currently closed, but still! I should’ve known better than to step back outside without a chaperone in a village, should’ve remembered the rule about not being able to interact with males that weren’t family at all, including being seen by them. I looked to the floor and nodded, slightly sending my apology towards her and hoping that nobody had seen me outside. It could very well be tomorrow’s scandal if I had been seen, which was more than possible, as there were still a couple hours of daylight left.
Our meal was silent on the part of my mother and I, my dad and grandma enthusiastically conversing as if to catch up on their lost years, my brother randomly throwing in questions at times. I ate, knowing my body needed sustenance after so many hours, but the hunger I had previously felt had vanished, giving way to the worry I now felt. I couldn’t taste the food I placed in my mouth, so when my grandma asked me how I liked it, I just smiled and nodded, remembering the actions I was supposed to adopt at that moment. Silent. Demure. Obedient. A perfect bride.
I finished eating and collected the dishes. I would do this part correctly. Knowing that there would be no sponges, I grabbed the rag I spotted hanging on a nail and dipped it the water. Opening the back door, I stepped outside, taking the bar of soap I saw near the door with me. Ignoring the queasy feeling I felt when grasping the bar of soap that had very clearly been made of animal fat recently, I scrubbed the dishes clean, wiping them with the wet rag afterwards. Seeing the sun begin to dip below the horizon, I was mesmerized by the loveliness of the colors of the sky against the swaying fields. Admiring the beauty for only a few seconds, I turned and went back inside, returning the dishes to the carved, wooden cabinet from which I had seen my grandmother retrieve them. I sat back down, joining my family that had not moved an inch from their positions, three of them still talking enthusiastically, and my mother still silent. I let my thoughts wander until a question from my brother caught my attention.
“Gramma, where’s the bathroom?” Akash asked, “Do I go through the room we came from? Is it upstairs?”
My eyes widened. He didn’t know. This was a blunder that I knew I would be in trouble for had I committed it, but thankfully my grandmother laughed at his innocent question.
“No, my dear, the ‘bathroom’ is actually outside. We get to be the same as all of the cool animals you saw outside. If you go out this back door here and walk for a few minutes, you’ll see an outhouse type of thing that everyone in the village uses. It’s kind of like a communal bathroom, but we call them ‘latrines’ here. There’s a deep hole in the ground for you to do your business in; make sure you don’t fall inside. There’s a long wooden box around the whole, making it like a really small shed for one’s privacy, mainly for the women. Oh, and don’t forget to latch the door when you go in! If someone opens the door when you’re in there, the door can push you to fall into the hole in the ground,” my grandmother finished casually, as if she had just been talking about how beautiful the weather outside was today.
My brother had gone slightly pale during parts of her explanation, but ended up saying, “Cool! I can’t wait to try it!”
He turned and asked, “Dad, can you come with me to help me find it the first time? Especially cuz it’s getting dark?”
My dad smiled back at him, causing the familiar feeling of longing to burst through my chest, and said, “Of course, son.”
To my grandmother, he asked, “Mom, can we take a candle?”
She nodded, lighting one and handing it to them. They left through the back door, and she lit another candle, holding it out in front of her.
“You two come with me,” she said, “I’ll show you your room.”
We left the kitchen, walking through the room in which we had left our luggage to the stairs I had seen earlier.
“You can just leave your luggage there,” Grandmother said, “You must be tired and should rest. Go through it tomorrow morning when you have time.”
My mom nodded, and my grandmother stared at her for a moment before turning back and leading the way up the stairs. About ten creaking steps later, my heart racing the entire time for fear that they would collapse underneath us, we were at the top.
Gesturing at the first door, Grandmother said, “This is my room, the room I used to share with your grandfather.”
Her voice had taken a slightly saddened tone at the end. Grandpa had passed away six years ago. After pausing for a couple of seconds, she continued to walk.
“This will be your father’s and Akash’s room,” she said, gesturing at the second door we passed, “Because it was your father’s room when he was young.”
I noticed that she had been speaking to me this entire time, referencing to the individuals about whom she was speaking as “your grandfather” and “your father.” She was purposefully ignoring my mom, and I couldn’t help but be curious about what had gone wrong between them. But I wouldn’t, couldn’t, voice the questions in mind. I had to remember my place. Quiet. Demure. Obedient. Perfect bride.
Reaching the third and last door of the hall, she threw it open and said, “This will be your room to share with your room. It used to be your aunt’s room years ago before she got married. Now, it kind of has just been storage for extra belongings. Sorry about the clutter.”
Glancing inside the small room, I noticed there wasn’t much space there at all amidst the extra belongings all over the room. However, it had been dusted, and there were two cots placed on the floor in the middle of the room with a blanket folded over them.
“I figured you wouldn’t need the space anyways,” my grandmother continued, “Seeing as how it’ll only be in use for a short period of time. You’ll be married soon and living with him, and the rest of your family will be gone within the next two weeks.”
My heart clenched with sorrow at how soon I’d be parting from my family, and I hated my grandmother at that moment for reminding me.
Turning around, I said, “Thank you, Grandma. I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
Not waiting for a response, I chose the cot on the right that was closest to me and lay down on top of it, leaving my mom the other by default. I pulled up the blanket and turned my body to the opposite side of the door, closing my eyes. I could feel the tenseness in the atmosphere as I was sure my mom and grandma locked eyes, before I heard the creaking of the door being pulled shut and the sigh of relief my mom let out. I felt her pull the blanket up a little as she lay atop the cot next to me, and I unconsciously smiled at the thought that I had my mom sleeping right next to me again, like I did when I was a little kid. So I turned around and snuggled in closer, the exhaustion of thinking about all that loomed ahead of me combined with the jet lag making sleep come quite easily. I felt my mom’s arms wrap around me in a hug, and my last thoughts before falling asleep safe in my mom’s arms were ones that I hadn’t cared enough to give thought to before: Who was I marrying? And when exactly was my wedding?
Next chapter will be very…eventful. Give me a couple days. I think I can get it up by Thursday…if not by Thursday, I’ll be super busy Thursday and Friday, as well as the weekend, so it may not be up till next week. I’ll try my best to get it up before though!
Hope you liked the chapter. Comment and vote! :)