The Lampshade

The lampshade was an anachronism. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the gray pall of the household. It was beautiful and that was a problem. Its dazzling brilliance was a dogged reminder of the seamless gloom around.

Of all the members of the household, Shona seemed to despise it the most, unfailingly bestowing upon it a baleful look every time he passed it. And he passed it often. He had to; such was the design of the house and of fate.

The lampshade belonged to Ella. More specifically, it hung in a part of the house that had years ago been allocated to her. The head mason had not been concerned that her “room” had only three walls. To put in a fourth wall would have meant creating an airless, suffocating dungeon of a room, and more importantly, too narrow a passage outside for comfortable circulation for a family of four. So three-walled her room remained, with scope for confusion as to the extent of her territory on the fourth side. And the lampshade hung in this disputed zone!

How could anyone be stupid enough to hang a lampshade in a passageway where it would get in everybody’s way, was Shona’s constant refrain. It was common ground, as far as he was concerned and Ella did not own an inch of the space meant for the passage of the others.

Ella remembered the years of growing up – of needing to cry and resorting to the bathroom as her room did not have a door she could lock. Of being embarrassed beyond all reasonable degree when her feminine requirements had to wait as there was company in the house and her closet was out of bounds. Of needing to cram for next day’s exam and the necessity to wait till the dead of night to study for no one could be reminded to keep his or her voice down.

She looked at the lampshade. It certainly did not belong. It was the kind of lampshade that would never belong anywhere. She remembered the hot May afternoon when she had been walking aimlessly on the Colaba causeway. She was new to Mumbai and to her job. Saturdays still more or less belonged to her, barring the odd visit to the office to check her mail or send off some courier. These were more an excuse for her to come chugging all the way from Andheri on local trains, which were strangely calm and stately on weekends, and wander around the stretch called The Causeway. The makeshift stalls lining the narrow footpath sold kitsch, mainly to foreigners, at exorbitant prices. She liked to look around and enjoy the variety of faces as well as of wares. The white-skinned phirangs, the black-skinned maamus, the eccentric Arabs were all there haggling, spitting, purchasing…

The jade green handi lampshade, resplendent with its matching cover and gold electroplated metal clasps caught her eye immediately, as she stopped to admire a scarf at an adjacent stall. It was the kind of lampshade that could only belong in a free-hanging balcony in the clouds. But it pulled her back even as she had moved on. Feeling a little funny, she retraced her steps.

“How much?” she asked the young shopkeeper, pointing to the object of her desire.

“Four hundred and fifty, but four hundred for you, didi. Now, that’s a bargain!”

“Pack it up. I’ll take it with me on my way home” she said proffering four hundred rupee notes, even as she wondered just what exactly she would do with it and what her colleagues’ faces would’ve looked like, had she taken the package to the office.

The lampshade had remained quietly at the bottom of her closet, still draped in layers of protective tissue that the shopkeeper had lovingly supplied. And it gave her immense trouble, both at security check at the airport and generally as a piece of luggage, when she moved back to Calcutta. The fragile package, meant to be handled with care, finally made it to its destination unscathed. But its owner had not.

Lessening bone density had made her bones brittle till it was no longer considered safe for her to move around too much, let alone live and work in a strange city by herself. Her company was sympathetic. But there was only so much an organization could do for an employee rendered incapable of service. Her dues were swiftly cleared, a generous settlement made and a flight ticket arranged to take her back home.

No one said as much, but Ella quietly prepared for a life very different from what a young woman would envisage.

Much had changed at home since she had been away. Her father, retired and somewhat insecure, did not know how to look this disaster in the eye. Her mother, who had never been great friends with her anyway, shrank away farther. And Shona, her brother, received the twin rude shocks of having an unemployed sister back home who was an invalid unemployed sister.

There had never been much love lost between brother and sister. But now, with even the tenuous hope gone of ever having Ella out of the way for work or study or whatever, Shona’s helpless rage took mammoth proportions and frequently managed to erupt.

The house had been irresponsibly planned, even as the family had been. No one had thought to allocate space for all the possible members of the household that might someday be. And even if they HAD thought, such generous allocation was not possible. So things pretty much followed the pattern of a game of musical chair, where one member of the family was obliged to leave to create enough space for another newly formed adult.

Ella had unconsciously played the game by dutifully getting a job out of the city while Shona was growing up. But her return and her reclamation of her former room put matters into a state of serious disruption.

And then she hobbled over one day to her luggage, which had remained unpacked since her return, and proceeded to unpack the lampshade. She unraveled layers of soft thin tissue and marveled anew at the jade green glass.

And then she proceeded to put it up!

“It’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?” Was all her father offered by way of comment.

Her mother had none to offer. But Shona was livid.

“What does she think of herself, putting up fancy lampshades wherever she chooses? Wasting money as if she were sitting on a fat inheritance! Well, she can keep her airs to herself! I certainly can’t mind my head every time I pass it and if the damn thing gets broken because of that, well, too bad! Too bloody bad!”

Shona being a tall person, could make good his threat, Ella knew. But she looked at the light shining through the jade green glass, and the lampshade remained where it was.

Then her mother came to speak to her one day with something akin to liveliness in her face and her voice. Her father had corresponded with someone who had placed a matrimonial advertisement in the Sunday newspaper. The potential groom’s family had reverted, on being supplied with the necessary details, and very favorably so.

“The boy works in Pune, but might go abroad soon”, her mother gushed, and Ella thought for a split second that she had never seen her mother so animated as now, at the prospect of marrying her daughter off.

“But haven’t you told them about my disability? Are they still interested?” Ella was aghast, once she had recovered from her mother’s sudden outburst.

“Come now, you are talking as if you are an invalid. Why tell them things that they need never know? Surely you can adjust a little bit. And then he can take care of your treatment too. Don’t be so obstinate. Your father’s retired. We’re not getting any younger and neither are you. We’ll be so much more at ease, knowing your future is secure. We’ve given them our phone number. The boy will call sometime and you can get to know each other. He’s coming to Calcutta in November……….”

Ella wanted to scream. She wanted to tell her mother that she WAS an invalid, that her mother should have the sense to understand that Ella’s condition was not curable, even if she didn’t have the sensitivity to avoid asking her to “adjust a little bit”. She wanted to tell her it was wrong to withhold information about her health, that it was demeaning to Ella, that it was unfair…

She silently bit back her words.

When Shona returned home late that night from his adda, the uneasy silence was deafening.

His father had taken some hypertension pills and escaped reality till the next morning. His mother felt obliged to communicate to him in hushed tones that his sister had received that call from the “boy”, the potential groom, and had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was a cripple and was likely to stay that way for the remainder of her life. The potential groom had said he was sorry to hear this, that he would get back to her and had hung up in quite a hurry.

Shona was a tall person, and strong as well. He didn’t have trouble reaching the lampshade, and bringing it down, bracket and all, with one swift motion, crashing to the floor.

Ella stared at the shards of jade green glass. She heard her father wake up in a fright and ask what was going on, she heard her mother exclaim that it was such a terrible mess, and she heard Shona rant, on and on. There was no green light filtering through the lampshade now. There were only the ugly, sharp spikes of broken glass.