HEARTPRINT
She was sitting in the family room, somewhat relaxed after the night long wedding ceremony and the following farewell to the young bride. The cavalcade of cars carrying the newly married couple and the groom’s relatives and friends had left the Sharma household. The family had bid the final farewell to the daughter from the parapet bedecked with bright yellow marigold blossoms and mango leaves as this was considered auspicious for the bride’s onward journey.
The maid brought Surbhi a cup of tea and sat down by her side, massaging her arms and legs that ached after the frenzied activities – meeting relatives and greeting friends who had come especially for her daughter’s wedding, all the way from down south. The last few days had been terribly hectic. Pre-wedding celebrations and ceremonies had sapped her energy. The coordinator of the event management company had come along three days prior to the Big Day, to give and get last-minute tips. The entire responsibility lay on Surbhi and her son, Triaksh. Being the elder brother of the bride, he had run most of the errands. Surbhi, Triaksh and the bride-to-be had held many a discussion to take the tough decision regarding the theme for the wedding. It had got finalised just two weeks before the actual day of the wedding. The bride and groom had settled for a Rajasthani-style extravaganza inspired by a famous actor’s wedding. Samaira was more inclined towards a white wedding. She had finally agreed but on one condition. She requested her fiancé that their honeymoon destination be decorated in all-white and so he had booked a beautiful resort in one of Europe’s charming cities.
“Didi, your tea is getting cold,” prodded Malti. Malti had played her role to perfection in the last week. Without her, it would not have been possible to keep all the relatives comfortable and their tummies full. Every couple of hours, someone would order, “Malti, get me tea.” “Malti, get me water.” “I want Nimbu Pani.”“Do you have Eno at home?” Mamaji would ask, burping loudly. And off Malti would go, trying to please everyone. She would give instructions to the cooks in the kitchen like the mistress. She knew the ingredients to be added to the elders’ tea.
Malti’s biggest responsibility was to take care of Surbhi’s mother who was not too well yet well enough to be singing wedding songs at her grand-daughter’s Sangeet with an occasional dance step to the tune of her favourite Punjabi Folk song. She did what she was best at – singing folk songs made famous by Prakash Kaur, the legendary singer. Her rendering of the Suhaags to the sombre beat of the Dholki, brought a tear to the eye of many a woman. It was as if it transported each one of them down memory lane to the day of her marriage.
“Malti, have you massaged Mummy’s swollen ankles?” Surbhi asked. Malti must be tired too but she got up obediently to heat the oil. Heaving a sigh of relief, Surbhi thanked the Almighty for sending her Malti all those years ago. She had been only twelve years of age when she had come to their household, orphaned by a disaster that had struck her village. Malti had grown up in their house and had won over everyone’s heart with her sweet nature and excellent culinary skills. She had never let Surbhi down in times of need. She was loved by every member of the family – the children’s Nani was her Nani, their Dadi was her Dadi but Surbhi remained her Didi, although she loved Malti like her own daughter.
As Surbhi picked up the steaming cup of tea served in her favourite ceramic mug, her gaze fell upon the vase lying beside it. She had bought it twenty-five years ago in Jaipur. The blue and white piece of pottery had been sitting on the table ever since. Every couple of days, Samaira would pluck fresh flowers from the garden and Surbhi would arrange them in the vase. It was almost like a ritual in their home. Samaira would see to it that the flowers were always fresh and that the vase was never without flowers. At times when there were no flowers in the garden, Samaira would bring a couple of stems from the florist on her way back from college. “Now that she has left, who will fill the vase,” Surbhi caught herself reminiscing.
Moments spent with Samaira held magic. Her vibrant, chirpy demeanour added sparkle to the household as did the tinkling of the anklets hugging her pretty feet that were always pedicured to perfection. She was now on her way to her new home, ready to start her marital journey with the love of her life. How those magical years had flown by! Surbhi remembered the day Samaira was born. The birth of a daughter is always special for any woman. Samaira, the tiny under-weight pink baby, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, lay in the crib beside her hospital bed. Five-year-old Triaksh had been awe-struck to see his little sister. Tears had filled her eyes then; tears welled up in her eyes now. The soft bundle of joy had grown up to be the envy of many young girls for her striking beauty and kind heart. Samaira had an uncanny resemblance to her father. He too had turned many heads in his youth.
Surbhi pulled the footstool closer, made herself comfortable and took a sip of the hot beverage. Her back was stiff from running about in high heels. The bride’s mother had to be immaculately dressed from top to toe because she was the cynosure of all eyes, second only to the bride. Her trance was broken by the shrill ring of the cell phone. “Must be someone wishing to bid me goodbye before leaving for the airport”, thought Surbhi. Her tea was getting cold and she wanted to drink it in peace while it was still hot. She considered not taking the call but the persistent ringing made her reconsider. She had been the perfect host all through the week. A phone call wouldn’t hurt her. In fact, it might make the caller feel good. She took the phone out of her handbag that was bulging with Shagun envelopes. Without glancing at the screen, she connected the call. It was Samaira. She sounded nervous. “Mom, I’m having jitters. How could you send me here alone?” Surbhi felt shock and then disbelief. The self-assured twenty-four year old was talking like a schoolgirl. “Alone?” Surbhi snapped, “You are married now, that too to Aryan, your friend since childhood. And you are quite familiar with Aryan’s family. What’s really bothering you?” She softened her voice and tried to soothe her daughter. “Just be yourself and everything will go smoothly,” she reassured Samaira and hung up the phone before Samaira could say anything else.
Raising two children as a single mother had been an arduous task. Her husband had been away most of the time. His job left no option. Though the shipping company he worked for, compensated him handsomely for the extra weeks spent on the ship, no amount of money could ever compensate for his absence during Samaira and Triaksh’s childhood and the birthdays celebrated in his absence. He longed to be home but the trips away from home got longer as he rose in the company. Surbhi had missed him the most at times during the children’s teenage years when their emotional upheavals became difficult for her to handle alone. Her parents-in-law had been very supportive but even they could not fill the fill the void created by Rohan’s absence. The wedding was another such time. Samaira’s call reminded her of his absence yet again.
Surbhi’s reverie was broken by Malti. “The guests are waiting for the farewell gifts and Mithai”, she announced. Surbhi dragged herself out of her comfort zone and asked Malti to bring the gift packs from the store. Samaira had got them wrapped while getting her trousseau ready and had put name tags on them, making things easier for Surbhi. She was quickly done with it. There was not much left that needed immediate attention. The workers were finishing their chores in haste. They too wanted to get their payment and leave. The day flew by. By late afternoon, Surbhi was exhausted. Before the family sat down for dinner, Surbhi decided to take a nap for a couple of hours. She peeked into her mother-in-law’s bedroom to see if she needed anything but Biji was snoring away. Biji had been her guide in performing the wedding ceremonies properly down to the minutest detail and had not let her skip any ritual. The next stop on the way up to her bedroom was Surbhi’s parents’ room. Both of them were wide awake, Her mother was up because of the pain in her ankles; her father, the dutiful husband, sat by her side. She stopped short of entering the room lest her mother start chatting.
Once inside the confines of her room and space, she stretched out, yawned loudly, and heaved a sigh. All this while she had had a headache and a pain in her neck from the elaborate retro hairstyle that complemented her traditional saree. Quickly she pulled out pins of various shapes and sizes, changed into comfortable track pants and a T-shirt, and slipped under the quilt. It took her under a minute to fall asleep. A dim tea light with her favourite lemon tree fragrance lulled her into deep sleep.
The insistent knocking on her bedroom door woke her up. She switched on the bedside lamp to see the time. It was late evening, almost dinner time. She had slept for a good three hours. It was Surbhi’s mother. “Samaira called on the landline. She wanted to talk to you. “What now?” Surbhi thought. Catching hold of the cell phone, she saw Samaira’s missed calls. With her heart pounding, she called back Samaira. An excited voice greeted her this time. “Mom, don’t worry about me. I called you on a silly impulse earlier. I know it must have upset you and you must be worried about me. I’m comfortable now and am having a good time at my new home.” Samaira hung up the phone.
Still in a daze from the long siesta, she couldn’t completely comprehend what Samaira said. Surbhi’s mother seated herself on the couch, anxiety writ large on her face. “Is all well, beta?” she asked Surbhi. “How are your feet, Ma?” countered Surbhi. “I’m fine. Why was Samaira calling again?” the grey-haired woman asked. “It’s nothing,” Surbhi quipped. “She’s going through the same muddle that I went through when I set foot in this house.”
Surbhi got up from the bed and crossed over to the couch. She sat down beside her mother and snuggled close to her, wriggling her toes under her mother’s shawl. She wanted to go back in time and recall her own wedding day but she had loads of things to take care of. Her mother caressed her forehead, “Don’t worry about Samaira. She will be fine,” assured the older lady, reading Surbhi’s mind.
“Ma, I hope we have not hurried her into matrimony. We could have waited for another couple of years,” said Surbhi. Her mother nodded but reminded her that Aryan’s parents had come to ask for Samaira’s hand in marriage for their son and how perfectly Samaira and Aryan’s horoscopes had matched. Moreover, Rohan would not have let go of such a good match.
Resting her head on her mother’s shoulder had somehow dissipated her worries about Samaira. Surbhi was transported to the time she had set foot in the well-educated yet conservative Sharma family’s household.
As a newlywed bride, she had been welcomed into the exquisitely decorated house and requested to dip her feet in the bright, red Alta. The marigold blooms strung around the railing of the staircase, leading to her room, had radiated warmth. She could still recall the aroma of the food being cooked in the kitchen. There were giggles and laughter all around as she had walked through the house leaving red footprints all over. The elders had blessed her as she bent to touch their feet. Adorned in her bridal finery, her heavy orange lehnga had weighed her down but Rohan’s young cousins had gladly helped her, picking up her dress delicately lest her foot get caught in the hemline. The bright colour of her outfit complemented her fair complexion. The bangles, anklets the beautiful kamarbandh around her tiny waist had made a sweet tinkling sound and mesmerised all those present. Once or twice, her Kaleeras had got entangled in the heavy embroidery but the young cousins had been there to lend a helping hand.
Folk songs reverberated through the air as the womenfolk started singing and the young boys and girls danced to the beat of the Dhol. The young bride had sat coyly on the sofa, trying her best to feel comfortable in the alien environment. Thoughts had come unbidden to her mind. Stories heard from her mother, aunts, and elder cousins had suddenly filled her head. How was she to conduct herself in this large joint family? The din of the folk songs had faded and she was aware of only the voices in her ‘not so mature’ mind. “Oh, my God… what if…” and it had gone on and on. Amidst all the hullabaloo, her Nani’s serene face, glowing with love, had floated in front of her eyes. She could hear her soothing voice and all her doubts and misgivings had disappeared. Time had stood still for Surbhi. Her Nani‘s words had sounded like nectar to her in that moment of uncertainty, “Don’t bother about leaving a footprint, child. It can be washed away. Heart-prints stay forever. Leave a ‘Heartprint’ wherever you go.”
The sound advice given by her Nani had stood the test of time. Twenty-six years of marriage were testimony to this fact. Surbhi had followed Nani’s advice in true letter and spirit even in moments of distress caused by bickering in her big joint family. Some things transcend the boundaries of age and generations; they run across cultures and continents.
“Dinner is ready, Didi,” called Malti. Surbhi’s trance was broken and she realised that her mother had not moved an inch lest her tired daughter get disturbed. Surbhi’s head had slipped from her mother’s shoulder to her bosom. It was the most comfortable place in the world. She had not noticed that her father had come to sit in the chair facing her. He coughed. Winter was setting in and the change of weather was always a difficult time for him, his allergies worsening with the dipping temperature.
Abruptly, Surbhi got up from her safe haven and hugged her father. His drooping shoulders were not of much support to Surbhi physically but his strong heart lifted her spirits. Samaira was his favourite grandchild. Surbhi held back her tears, her fifty years fortifying her but her daughter’s wedding had made her emotionally fragile just then. She beckoned her parents to dinner lest someone’s dam of emotions open up.
Dinner at the dining table was followed by small talk over a cup of tea in her parents’ bedroom. Once back in her room, Surbhi once again got lost in her thoughts. Would Samaira be able to adapt to the lifestyle of her affluent in-laws even though Aryan was her childhood friend? Surbhi wrapped a Cashmere shawl around her shoulders and stepped out of her room. Her parents were getting ready to slip under the quilt. She grabbed a cushion from the chair, got onto their bed and made herself comfortable. Her parents knew something important was coming up. They sat one on either side of her. “Mummy, it’s about Samaira,” blurted Surbhi, “During the month-long preparation for the wedding, I could not talk to Samaira about the way she should sail through life’s journey”.
“Samaira will sail through any difficulty with much more ease than you, Surbhi,” was her mother’s verdict. And who could argue with her, thought Surbhi feeling a little offended at her mother’s bluntness. At times, her mother was so curt that it would hurt. Only her father had the privilege of opposing her. “Let go, Surbhi. I know it is easier said than done but I also stepped back once you got married to Rohan. It’s time for you to step back. Let Samaira find her way, it’s her journey,” her mother explained with softness. “How can you be so sure? I had granny’s wisdom to guide me!” Surbhi exclaimed. “And Samaira has double that wisdom. She has the legacy of your grandmother and her grandmother. She has watched you struggle and has learnt. She knows that leaving footprints is easy but creating ‘Heartprints’ is an art. Samaira will master that art, Surbhi.” Hearing these reassuring words from her mother gave her hope. Surbhi found it easy to slip into a deep, sweet slumber that night.