Madhura went about her daily task like an automaton. A mother and a homemaker, her days and nights were a kaleidoscope of tasks and the only changes happening around here was the increase in the height of her children and the growing anger that seemed to dissipate from Sameer. Over the years, as the slim-waisted, long-haired Madhura transitioned into her current matronly form, Sameer’s anger seemed to burst forth from each pore of his being.

Yet, Sameer and Madhura had been in love once upon a time. In Madhura’s mind, the love continued, albeit in a different mode but it was there. It was as if it had sunk deep into her being, it took time to bring it out, dust it and realize it but it was there, it had to be. On her wedding anniversaries, as she cooked his favourite kheer, snatches of their old times together passed by her eyes like an old VCR film which had vanished into oblivion but had left some traces behind.

Currently, Madhura’s days had become somewhat haphazard since the entire family was home and their demands on her had increased. As she rushed from one room to the next, trying to cater to her family, she would steal a glance at the tanpura lying near her bedside, untouched for months. Madhura had been named after her voice. For years she had trained under the noted Guru Keshavchandra who loved her like his own daughter. It is he who had named her after the quality of her melodious voice. Yet, when Guruji passed away, Madhura had not been able to be by his side. She had pleaded endlessly with Sameer but he had been inflexible. Kapil was barely two years old then and Sameer believed the travel would be hard on him. When the news of Guruji passing away reached her, she cried herself to sleep for several nights and then had made a solemn promise to herself that she would keep Guruji’s legacy alive somehow, in her small way. Every morning after a bath, she would pull out her tanpura and sing her heart out. She did this in the quiet of her house after the children had left for their school and Sameer for his office. She did it before the maid came in though sometimes when Rubina came in early, she would sit by Madhura’s side and listen to her completely mesmerized by her mistress’s voice. “Didi, you are meant for bigger things than this. You should be on TV,” she would say. Madhura would blush at this praise and say in mock retort, “Yes of course. And you are the biggest connoisseur of music, aren’t you?”

The lockdown had robbed Madhura of her little pleasures – drinking a solitary cup of coffee while it rained outside, chatting up with the effervescent Rubina, and most importantly, her music. Now, as the pandemic raged on outside, her mind reeled with the possibility of things never going back to how they were before. She felt strangely alone and the chasm with Sameer was becoming deeper by the day.

When she carried his tea to the bed early in the morning, she saw him sitting ramrod straight, hungrily scanning the laptop as if willing it to behave differently. “Is something wrong Sameer?” She asked despite herself. Sameer hated it if his morning tea was accompanied by any kind of noise. Of late, he seemed angry all the time so much so that even the children tiptoed around him. “I…I…they have removed me from my job. They will send the severance check shortly.”

“I’m sure there’s been some mistake,” Madhura spoke as if to a child. She sat on the bed and clasped his hands. Sameer wept like a child.

“We will come out of it. I… we need to think this through.”

“Oh Yes! your father left us billions, didn’t he?” Sameer hurled the cup of tea at her. Madhura ducked and the cup fell with clutter and broke into a million pieces.

The children rushed inside frightened as they took in the happenings in the room.

“It’s all right kids.” Madhura tried to calm her children as she picked up the pieces of the broken china and threw them in the bin. 

Strangely, it seemed symptomatic of their marriage. The day went by with her trying to think of ways in which she could carry forward. She couldn’t allow her failed marriage to wreck the lives of her children. Her deep reverie was broken as her mobile buzzed bringing with it a sense of urgency.

“How are you doing didi?” It was Rubina asking after her. Hearing the warm familiar voice, Madhura’s eyes brimmed with tears. Here was this girl living in the crawl all by herself, currently forced out of her job because of the pandemic, and yet she seemed spirited and concerned for her mistress. Despite herself, Madhura found herself telling Rubina what had befallen her. She heard her out quietly and only spoke once Madhura had stopped speaking.

“Why don’t you sing Didi? You sing like those people on TV.”

Long after the call, Madhura sat silently. Rubina’s innocuous comment had got her thinking. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? How could she have missed the obvious? She pulled out her diary and started making phone calls. After dinner, she sat in the children’s room and talked to them. They were worried when they heard about their father but were thoroughly excited about what their mother was telling them.

The next morning as she carried the tea to his bed, she sat at a little distance and talked to Sameer. She told him about the phone calls she had made and her plans for the future. Sameer sat still as his face reflected anger. “Just because of this setback, you think you can dictate to me? How dare you think I’m going to eat off my wife’s earning? And you! You will do anything to go back to your lumpen buddies. Remember you are my wife and I won’t tolerate any of this.”

“Sameer,” Madhura spoke quietly taking care to pronounce every word carefully. “I am a student of PadmashreeKeshavchandraji. I gave up singing because you didn’t like it but it remained connected to my soul. I have done riyaaz every single day barring the last two months of the lockdown. I have been approached several times by my guru brothers and sisters to join them at the ashram which I have declined. I would have probably continued to say “no” had this fate not befallen you but now my mind is made up. I will start with online classes now and move to the ashram once the pandemic lets up. There are excellent schools there and they will be happy to admit our children. And I’m sure, they will find something for you too, should you care to come with us.”

There was a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye as she sat on the divan stringing her tanpura Soon, the house reverberated with Madhura’s soulful singing as the turbulence in her heart started to ebb…

Nandini C Sen

 

 

The author is an Associate Professor in the Department of English, Bharati College, University of Delhi.