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Homecoming

The sky was streaked with gold. Looked as if a child had scribbled with red crayons on an ice-blue sheet of paper. Meera was looking at the sky from her bed. She stared, her mind still  like a silent ocean. Ripples only on the surface. But inside calm, very calm.

Her doctor had seen her earlier in the day. He had cautioned that her mind was slipping into a silent abyss from which she would have to pull herself out. No one could help her. Her husband felt helpless and desperate. He wanted to bring her back to routine.  But how?

He was talking to someone on the telephone. "Mano's on the line, talk to her". He gave the cordless. She didn't take it but smiled (a streak of light on a cloudy afternoon) when he said "they will be here the day after". He went out of the room, relieved  that soon he could share his anxiety, hopes and fears with his daughter. Hoped she'd be able to manage Krishna in the long flight from New York.

They had been married for about thirty years. Everything looked fine. A good flat in a quiet suburb, a country house in the middle of paddy fields in Thanjavur, a lovely daughter married off five years ago, and a mischievous imp of a grandson, a two year  blubber of joy. She had retired as a teacher some years back. Visvesh was still working as a senior executive in a foreign bank.

When had life become like this? Was it after Manonmani's marriage? Had she let loneliness suck her into its cruel vortex? How much he wanted to pull her out. Thank God! His daughter was coming. He logged on to the computer in the study.

She was walking up and down in her room. Her mind rode back flip flop to the time she had ridden horseback at Juhu. The horse would canter like a dancer learning her first steps and would then gallop thud thud and again back to trot trot like a fox-trot.  Once it almost flung her into the sea. The horse ride would be a weekly ritual she looked forward to.

Those days at college when days galloped or trotted like horses, the lecturer's voice trying to get to the last benches inspite of the din of the rain, debates, symposia, library hours, the funny smell from the chemistry lab and the nightmare of exams  when logic, languages, economics and political science jostled for space in memory.

Then came marriage and a shift to Chennai. She had to face unfriendly in-laws, but an understanding husband. "Amma, shall I get you your dinner?" "Has Ayya taken his?" she asked after a while, breaking several hours of silence. "Not yet". I'll join him".  He was surprised to see her at the table.

How scared she had been that the web of her marriage would break off by persistent attacks. Each hit left its mark. And then Mano was born and they moved to company quarters. Her father-in-law died and her husband's mother came to live with them. She  would blackmail for sympathy and what bonded all together was the love for the little girl.

She left the table and went back to her room. How hard she had tried to be happy. But there was more sound and fury than music those years. "Meera you are not done yet." She did not hear him.

Visvesh had to go the airport to pick up Mano. He stopped at his wife's room. It was shut, a ray of light slipped through the door. What was she doing then? Staring at the ceiling or just examining her old sarees-their weave, texture, colours, the zari-pulled  out from the cupboard. He sighed. May be she was looking at the sarees to escape from some painful memories? Had she become schizoprenic? Was she aware her daughter was coming down from New York just to be with her, to pull her out from the abyss she  was falling into?

He was about to tap at the door. But the light shut. He got into his car and drove away.

"Hi Appa" Mano greeted coming out from customs. "Krish that's Granpa. You saw him and Granma when you were a baby." "Ma how can I know?" "Doesn't matter. I'll introduce this little gentleman to that old man now. "Visvesh laughed and lifted his grandson.

"You drove? What happened to the driver? Have you sacked him?" she questioned interminably. So typical of her. He just shrugged his shoulders, put the luggage in the hold and had them comfortably seated behind. "Ma….m at your service" and nodded  ceremoniously. Mano smiled and the little fellow took it seriously. "Hey can you drive me to the beach?" The heaviness seem to have lifted.

"Pa let's go home" she said firmly. "How's Amma?" she asked as they drove out of the parking lot. He just looked at her and said nothing. She should find out for herself.

The apartment complex wore a sleepy look. It was well past midnight. He was about to insert the key when the door opened. Meera.. She looked into Krish's eyes, bent down and scooped him up in her arms. "Krish it is Granma" Mano whispered awestruck . "Amma  you go back to sleep. We will talk later." She shoved the luggage in the spare bedroom. "Appa the same rule for you too." Mano shut her room. She had not expected her mother to receive them so naturally, so effortlessly.

The next day Meera played with Krish as she had never done before. She fed him, told him stories and saw to it he took a nap in the afternoon. Mano and Vishvesh noticed a subtle change in her. She was like a wild river ready to break its banks any moment.

The great miracle seemed to have happened. Meera seemed to have come out of the void. She even asked Mano what she would like to do the next day. "Granma finish the story. What happened to Minty when his mom left him?" "He learned to climb", she replied  looking fondly at the little boy. The happiness in her eyes twinkled like stars on a full moon night.

Mano looked out into the night. Gosh! It was full moon and she shuddered. Amma looked so normal. But would it last? She saw her mother putting Krish to sleep.

A week passed by. Her mother looked happy and contented. Even the doctor was happy at the progress. Her father felt relieved. "Why don't you take Amma with you to New York. Or at least extend your stay?" he asked her one day sipping tea. "I'll take her  with me. You can also come." "I can't take leave now, later." He said he would talk to the travel agent the next day. But where was Meera? All the time with Krishna. She never seemed to join them for small talks.

Mano went to look for her in her room. She was rocking gently in her chair. The little boy was playing with blocks. Suddenly the rocking stopped. The singing stopped. He did not know why his mom was pounding at his grandma's chest, tears flowing streaming  down her eyes. Granma did not look at him with boundless joy.

Mano ran up to her father and clung to him in speechless grief. He understood. His wife had left him.

The ship had sunk to the still waters of the deep. She had risen only to fall. But he was glad that she was happy at last. "Mano light a lamp near your mother. Bring Krishna to me." He became the master of the house once again.