Dairy daily

 Friday word-Diary

 


Wow! The jasmine scent is still fresh. The flowers are dry yet they continue to give, and give till the last drop of nectar has been consumed. How beautiful she looked last night with the flowers adorning her long locks. It was one of the rarest occasion when she was allowed to let her black mane wander recklessly in the air. One occasion when she never inscribed on me. Marriages are such an extravaganza, poor soul couldn't find time. And when its your own, the conventionalities are exaggerated!! So be it. Whatever was the celebration yesterday, today for me is special. The kanjeevarams embrace me tight. Blue above and red below, the colours of life enclose me. Its better to be lying here than grumble on the hard teak table. Maybe as the youngest bride, she has been given this almirah all to herself. No wait. This is I guess, came as a dowry along with the golden dust and few copper utensils. But where is Kalpana today? Her day begins with my touch and ends by my side. Yesterday, I didn't get the pillow under which she tucks me. Right right right. Now she has a man in her life. Once you are tied to that alien invasion called Husband, life with a diary like me is an uncalled for option. Not her company, but at least she has been considerate enough to leave her jasminy fragnance in me. Ahaaa... 


*  *  *   *   *  *

Its a limit. She is testing my patience. A week long absence is what you do to your soulmate! Who was there with her when her father removed her from the school? Who listened to her unspoken pleas of not getting married at the age of 14yrs? Who celebrated with her when she anticipated that the marriage was with the zamindar? Me. Only Me. Soley me. Now the comforts of the haveli have made her the thakurain. Servants calling upon "choti bahurani", 20yr olds addressing to her "Ma Saheb", the villagers bowing to their "Rani Ma", all has ensared her delicate, humble, Kalpu image. 

Now even if she tries to cajole me, I'm not going to turn a page. The silvery moths have written their birth certificates on me. The cushions of kanjeevarams replaced by stinky newspaper folds. I'm not important anymore.... Can't even cry or wail. Whom do I share with, for I have no diary! 


*   *    *   *   *

" 25/12/1810

Dear Paheli, I know you are outrageously angry."


Now you have found the time. I'm not listening. Just go away. 


"I understand your aloofness and distancing. It's me who has to be blamed. But believe me, I never enjoyed this length away from you. I missed you terribly as I longed for Ma and Bapuji."


Oh my baby, now now don't you let those drops wet me. Stop darling, stop. I'm all yours pour out the written emotion. Let the ink tell your saga. 


"Paheli, life is not at all glossy here as it seems to be. The zamindar a sixty year old uses me as she object of gratification. I'm the married keep. A societal gem to glorify his crown. Remember what masterji at school used to say?"


Oh how can I forget him? That oldie with betel leaf stained hands used to twist your ears 180 degrees. Educated devil! 


"The reprimand though necessary and education mandatory which he advocated could change our lives, is futile. It only makes you door mats of elite households. But a door mat is a door mat. Poor can't afford it while the rich can't value it. I'm the haveli's most decked up door mat. The servants wipe their laborious feet, the children their deceptive while the zamindar polishes his lascivious ones. An all purpose, durable, door mat, I am!"


Is that what they do to you? Scondrels!!! Kill them at one go! 


"Listen, I think the staff needs me. But to you I will rest as time permits and occassion grants."


Hey wait...wait listen... Get me out of this bhangar khana... Let me be with those silky sirens! 


*  *  *  *  *   *


01/01/1811

Dear Paheli, its a new year but the same life. Only change is the zamindar crushes me a little less now. The vaid says he has tuberculosis of the lungs. I have no liking for that living mortal but as a duty of my dowry day, I tend to him. The will has been written. His biological brats have not left anything in my name. Somehow, I managed to read it as my English knowledge is a dark secret to them. What will happen to me?"


Silly girl. You get freedom. Freedom from this sole scrubbing ritual. Freedom from nuptial slavery. Pray. Pray hard for the departure of his soul. Voila... We will have our old days back. Just you and me. 


*  *  *  *  *  *

05/01/1811

Paheli, I'm devasted. I'm destroyed. The zamindar is no more. What everyone is saying that I too will be pushed in the funeral pyre. No Paheli.. No... I want to live... I want to grow. Grow in full capacity. Grow to educate many like me. I hear some good soul Rajaram Mohan Roy is working for abolishing the Sati. God send my angel in full strength. Paheli do something. Pls I don't want to die yet."


What are you writing? How this possible? Run away

Run away

Let the darkness dissolve you in its bay

Run away 

To see the bright day

Where the daffodils dance gay

Run away 

My heart says

Push aside come what may

Run away 

Run away 

Its the only chance you got to pay! 


Remember this, you girl. Go back to those yellow pages and read it. Get inspired by what you have written on your marriage eve. Today, I beg you Run Away. 


*  *   *   *   *

Why am I out her in broad daylight? And why is this sulken servant holding me? Hey stop where are you taking me? Where is Kalpana? Oh look... oh my...no they can't do this.... Heavens pls wait.... Where is that Mohan Roy?.   Or whoever...... Don't push her in the pyre!!!! Her delicate  skin will burn, her bones charred.... Her flesh roasted.... Don't! 

Alas... She is gone. She was gone long back when the school was stopped, when the marriage fixed, when the monster thrust himself on her every night. She was dead long back. 

Now what are they doing? The kanjeevarams follow. Her jewellery box goes in. Why is this moron carrying me, marching ahead?

Hey not me! No I don't belong to her. I'm all lone. Not me. See brother let's strike a deal, I will be your faithful. There yet 100 pages remaining. Wait you good for nothing. Wait. Oh sorry my saviour wait. 


Ahaaaaa...... Its hot. Its terrible. Water. Mercy. Get me out. 


*  *  *   *   *   *


Diaries are born

Diaries die

Diaries live till you write. 


Diaries are forgiving 

Diaries are encompassing 

Diaries listen till you talk. 


Diaries are faithful 

Diaries are careful

Diaries hold till you pour. 


Diaries document 

But never comment

Diaries console when you lament. 


I too had a diary

But maintaining it was  risky

So I took to writing stories

And made you a part of eventful diaries!

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