Treasured possession

         She glanced at the clock automatically when locking the top of the pressure cooker with a firm turn of the handle. Eight fifty-two, her eyes registered, good, there's enough time.

         She wiped her sweaty hand upon her apron and shifted attention to her children. Mouths outlined in honey and strawberry preserve respectively, their waffles were almost consumed.

         Another shift and she registered that her husband had nearly finished his third waffle. She hurried out to serve the fourth, just removed from waffle iron, scooping up the melted butter in passing. The butter had been sitting just behind the stove to remain melted exactly so. She skillfully slid waffle, right side up, onto the center of the plate and dribbled a little butter evenly across the plate with quick even movements of the wrist. “Would you like strawberry preserve, honey or .......” Her cheerful recitation was cut by a growled “ Golden syrup, and for god’s sake stop chattering!”

         She served him the syrup in silence, cursing herself for forgetting that he liked syrup on the third or fourth waffle, and for not noticing that his third waffle had been with the preserve. She stifled a sigh as she turned away to the simmering coffeepot.

         She placed a mug of hot strong coffee at his side just as he ate his last mouthful.

         She gestured for the children to leave their places and sent them off with a whispered plea to quickly wash and change into the clothes she had laid out for them. They scampered away with relief, glad to be away from their father’s reach. His constant comments and snarls at them to chew with their mouths closed and not slather on so much preserve had quite inhibited their appetites. Nobi had nearly had his head smacked too, and only their mother quickly interposing her own body in between as she passed the preserves had averted the blow.

         “I’m just going to supervise the children’s changing”, said she over departing shoulder, “why don’t you have your bath and change too?”

         “I suppose you want to supervise me too?” he inquired in polite sarcasm, “I’m more than capable of getting ready on time without your scheduling!”

         She scurried into the bedroom and shook out the clothes she had kept ready. A bright red T-shirt for Nobi, and his favourite pair of jeans, faded to a nondescript khaki. His cousin had passed on his old Adidas shoes, the outfit was completed with red socks.

         Priya had a pastel blue paisley print dress but would have to make do with her school shoes, black Mary Janes, teamed with white socks. The way the children were growing she had to cut corners to keep them attractively outfitted without making the secondhand origin of their clothes apparent.

         She never stinted on their food however, indulging them with a wide variety of tasty, wholesome and attractive items. Their father was particular about food too, and she could manage by making almost everything at home. No take-out food in this house, even the tomato sauce and fruit squashes and jams so beloved to children were homemade. Thank God, she thought, that the children prefer my cooking to store bought products and are proud that heir mother makes pizzas and cakes and ice cream at home!

         Of course it was never quite as her husband liked it, being the wrong quantity, or taste, or not quite what he had eaten at his friend's house, and never as good as his mother made it! She’d followed recipes with clinical precision, measuring every gram and spoonful of ingredients, but it was sure to be pronounced an unworthy effort. Not that he did not eat it, he did, and heartily too; but that was because, as he said, he never wasted food!

         She plunged further into thought as she tried to define why she felt so tired. It was the constant having to be “aware”, to anticipate her husband's every want and need, to cater to every single thing before it was even expressed. Having to keep everything just so, because after ten years of marriage she should surely have learnt what he liked. That was all he asked of her, and it surely wasn’t much. He was otherwise pleasant, jovial too, although his joking was always at someone else’s expense and that someone was most often herself. He said she didn’t have a sense of humour.

         She had by now automatically pulled garments over protesting heads, pushed reluctant arms into sleeves, assisted in the putting on of socks and tying or buckling of shoes. Gently smoothing down her daughter’s ruffled curls, she realised with a start that a good fifteen to twenty minutes must have passed but she had not heard the pressure cooker's shrill whistle.

         She hastened to the kitchen cursing herself for having forgotten to light the stove, and yet half aware of turning the knob to “full” as she passed after breakfast. Bewildered she noted the knob was on “Sim” but still she was greeted by angrily and ominously rattling cooker, with a large stone weighing down the safety valve. She quickly turned off the stove, wincing in anticipation of the lid blowing off. She wondered how she could have not realised he wouldn’t take kindly to having his rules flouted, but she had been harried by time. The stove was never supposed to be on full flame, in case heat was “wasted”; and in sure corollary the cooker was never supposed to “whistle” because steam, and therefore heat, was wasted!

         Quickly shepherding away the children who had followed her into the kitchen, she went to look for her husband. He was standing before the bathroom mirror, towel wrapped around his waist, as he scraped carefully at the underside of his chin. From the faint traces of lather, she knew it was his second “pass” in achieving the perfect clean-shaven look.

         “Why had you placed a weight on the cooker? “ she queried, and then espying the top of the toothpaste tube lying on the shelf, she looked for and found the tube open with paste oozing out. She forgot the rest of her remark about the averted disaster in the cooker nearly blowing its top; she automatically wiped off the shelf and replaced the top with a deft turn of her fingers.

         “If you screw the top back immediately next time, it won’t make such a mess,” she remarked, perhaps thinking of instructing the children who hovered behind her.

         The fist came out of nowhere, perhaps there was a shouted invective too, she only knew there was a loud ringing in her ears and she was on her back, on the floor of the bathroom.

         She saw frightened faces in the doorway, Nobi began to whimper as if he was the one to be hit.

         She felt something warm trickle down her neck and placed a hand to the stinging ear. She swayed dizzily back on her feet. The mirror showed a rapidly swelling and beet-red ear, the lobe had her earring scrunched into its substance and the blood trickled brightly between her fingers. Priya started blabbering “Blood! Blood!”

         She quickly gathered the children into her arms and rocked them intending to reassure them with some vague story about a fall. She heard, to her slowly building ire, her husband’s oily smooth voice saying just that! He was appealing to the children to say, “Mommy just slipped and fell on the slippery floor”

         Nobi’s indignant voice broke in ”You HIT her! I saw that!”

         She ignored the buzzing in her head as she quickly scooped Nobi out of reach of the now upraised hand.

         “I didn’t mean it! You know I wouldn’t hurt you or the children”

         Shyla turned to face him, lifted her steadfast gaze to his still smouldering one, “It’s ironic I should be thankful you raised your hand.”

         “Without this final straw I could never have shaken off your yoke! Violence in front of my children is what I can never allow. The daily taunts, the constant barrage of venom and criticism, that I did swallow. Even the odd carefully orchestrated blow, always to covered parts of the body, and when alone, that too I could endure. But my children shall not participate in this abusive farce of a relationship! They shall not be torn between loyalties, they shall not learn abuse themselves!”

         “Jeev, I’m leaving you,“ sounded in his stunned ears. He contemplated pleading for forgiveness, or taunting her as to how she expected to survive in this harsh world, conflicting emotions churned in his mind. He had never expected the worm to turn, having slowly molded her according to his demands.

         Shyla grasped a child by each hand, with battered head held high with new and fierce determination, stepped over the threshold into the welcoming outside world!


--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*----*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--

         Priya impatiently pushed aside layers of clothes; hunting for that scarf she’d seen sometime back in her mother’s cupboard. She was determined to prepare for this first assignment abroad. Her company had given her a six-month posting in Banglore for a new hotel they were developing. She’d hate to be away from home and she was sure Mom was hiding her pangs at parting too. But Nobi had joined a college nearby on scholarship, and would be home every evening, she reassured herself.

         Her hand came upon an unfamiliar square box, she withdrew a small jeweler’s case. Curious. she opened it to see it packed with crinkly white tissue. The tissue paper layers rustled off in eager hands. Priya looked down bewildered at the deformed and telescoped earring in the depths. She looked enquiringly to her mother for answer.

         Shyla sighed as past memories assaulted her, “Darling, this is a surprising “treasured” possession, I know. But it reminds me of the day I found myself, the day I became Shyla again, the day your Father became just Jeev to me, nothing more. When I stepped over the threshold that day I had only the two of you with me, no money in my account, no job, no house, and yet I felt strangely empowered and confident. I've had my struggles, but waded through with head held high. I keep it to remind myself to remain unafraid and unashamed.”

         Priya had only faint memories of her days with an abusive parent, but she knew her mother had decided to walk out of a loveless and restrictive relationship to give her children a more nurturing environment. Remembering her happy childhood thereafter, she exchanged tear-bright glance with Nobi’s thoughtful one.

         Nobi embraced his mother and pulled his sister into the comfort of his shoulder, glad that out of something that catastrophic, had come something as stable and warm as their little family today.


** Image ID #1283313 Unavailable **