Sunday, August 25, 2002		Life Ties

TAARIKA was a playful and unselfconscious child till she attained puberty. Overnight, she became guarded. Her father had to push her outdoors. His colleagues cribbed about their teenaged children giving them nightmares and here was a child who was happier being at home.

Taarika never spoke out of turn, always respected elders and rarely made demands. Was this behaviour a way of seeking approval or was it a result of conditioning which expected conformity or was it to protect herself from rejection? These were questions she sought answers to many years down the line.

Her mother worried that her quiet little girl was much more mature than her age.

The manner in which she devoured books had curbed the lighthearted playfulness which most children her age had. Further, the twists and turns of her life compounded this seriousness.

Her husband was a senior bureaucrat and a man of few words. Her in-laws were academicians, who were more comfortable while pontificating on world events and drawing comparisons between Bach and Beethoven’s symphonies rather than talking of Bollywood heroes and popsingers.

The pressure of running an efficient household and raising a perfect child made Taarika more solemn. She could not indulge in frivolousness and had filled her life with responsibilities. Besides, she was convinced that she was happier this way. Almost robot-like, she took on each day energetically, putting herself through a punishing schedule.

Contrived attempts at covering up for her husband’s unreasonableness, made Taarika retreat into silence. It took a chance meeting with Inder, an old forgotten schoolmate to make her realise how boring she had become.

She was killing herself with the monotony of her unchanging role of mother, wife and daughter-in-law. Instead of giving her a reason to live, her punishing schedule was curbing her mental and spiritual growth.

He was convinced that there was a little schoolgirl in pony-tails hiding her mischievous glint, twinkling eyes and giggly outbursts behind the sensible Ms so and so. He wanted her to see her real self trapped inside.

While she was essentially a serious-minded person who sought meaning in all she undertook, he wanted her to see that occasional ‘silliness’ was nothing to be ashamed of. He forced her to examine her life without the justifications she had so cleverly weaved around every detail. Why did she not splurge on herself occasionally? Why did all her purchases stem from specific needs? Why had she not cultivated a circle of friends?

So what if most of the women she came in contact with were the card playing, kitty party type, something that her literature-loving family (including herself) looked disdainfully at? Why did she not learn classical dance, piano or squash— all things she had always wanted to, especially since she now had time and money? Perhaps because it would be perceived as a self-centred activity by her family. He agreed that some amount of conditioning had taken place in childhood and then marrying into a similar family at a young age had cast her in a certain mould.

With crossed arms, downcast eyes, measured words and rehearsed actions, was she not blocking herself from many novel experiences ? To prove his point, Inder told her to take a day off and spend it with him. He reminded her how she had expressed a desire way back in college, to go up to the hills on a motorbike on a day it was raining. It had seemed unattainable. Something snapped and Taarika found herself saying ‘yes.’ She decided to steal a day out of her life and see if she really had closed herself to countless blessings.

The sense of elation and freedom she felt was inexplicable. Inder bought her a track-suit and cap, insisting she wear it, lest her flowing kurta and dupatta got entangled in the bike he had borrowed from his younger brother’s friend. In her new attire, she looked at least ten years younger and stranger still, felt it too.

As they drove, he kept stopping en route. Magically, the landscape changed, beautiful sights emerged, fascinating people came in touch with them and she found herself laughing like she had never done before. They stopped to watch a bunch of sparrows swinging from one branch to another dancing in the rain. They shook a leg with street urchins who were splashing in a village pond. She made small talk with their mothers, laughing at their unaffectedness and open curiosity. She enjoyed the cup of masala chai from a roadside dhaba, agreeing that the best Five-star hotel couldn’t match it. She saw the effortless ease with which Inder connected to people. He talked, smiled and joked so easily with strangers. Without holding himself back, he sensed another’s distress and offered immediate help. There was a raw but genuine civility about him, a far cry from the fake sophistication which her social crowd exuded. He had seen his share of heartbreaks but he had not allowed the child in him to die while the child in Taarika had never really blossomed.

She realised that every action, word or decision of hers did not have to have a deeper meaning and a larger goal which could define her existence. Happiness came from the least expected quarters in the briefest spurts. Combining the serious with the casual, the profound with the profane and the meaningful with the senseless added fresh perspective, took one towards acceptance and spirituality.