Empty Spaces
"Thirty spokes make a wheel, but it is the empty centre that makes it work.” Lao-Tzu
Anasuya cuddled up in the fluffy armchair, snuggling deeper and deeper into the fibres. To her family it was a piece of furniture and entreated on exchanging it for something new and modern. She insisted and it followed her to her present Home. The chair was an emotional support in a room and not a room….just walls with faded photographs, flower printed heavy drapes, a decade old clay pot placed in a corner, a showpiece fireplace.
The emptiness is static except for her ticking thoughts. Thoughts that roil in her head stalking her every movement. She hated being confined to the Home, to depend on others for sustenance, for movement.
It was not always like this. Growing up in a Mumbai suburb she was the ‘Belle of the Ball’, the chosen one for any occasion, work or fun. An avid reader of Victorian novels, especially Georgette Heyer, Anasuya fashioned herself on Heyer heroines..’intelligent, witty, a strong sense of self, often challenging societal expectations and finding their own paths to happiness’. She and her sister were encouraged to take advantage of their beauty, the ‘English rose’ complexion as her mother termed it. Her father was the controlling one, restricting their movements, their clothes and their friends. It was only when he was away in office or on tours that the girls, accompanied by mother, would watch movies, call friends over or went shopping. College and studies were never a priority as the sisters expected to enter into favourable matrimonial alliances with eligible sons of business families of the city and even beyond. In her community fair and beautiful girls were a boon and combined with convent education were considered a ‘catch’ by mothers bride-hunting for sons, nephews, grandsons. Her mother cashed on this and enjoyed being invited and feted by the rich of the town.
Anasuya did not feel the tear drop on her palm. Within minutes it was a deluge for the life wasted, the hollow existence, the feelings of loneliness, the dissolution of a dream.
The shrill telephone ring snaps her maudlin mood and she lets it ring. Lately there had been many missed calls, unknown numbers and known. Sometimes she would miss the calls of her children and someone from the staff would come running to check on her. Her husband rarely called. She did not care as the conversations were not cheerful diversion but tasks for her, to connect and remember.
She is in the past.. a bride, shopping for her trousseau, trying out various outfits and how she had fought with her mother to let her wear pink on one of the seven days of festivities. It was going to be a wedding of the decade in her family. Relatives commented on her ‘snag,’ the only son of an industrialist. She had wanted to go to Paris for the honeymoon and had to settle for Lonavla as the family had a cottage there and it was a busy work period. It turned into a family-moon when five days later his mother and sisters surprised them. Their excuse that it was summer time and they missed the cool fresh valley breeze.
Adjustment was bitter sweet as mother-in-law had expected a ‘nodding doll’. Initially she acquiesced to every whim and demand but as days rolled into months and a year her rebellious spirit asserted. Sometimes the husband rebuked Anasuya of being stringless, removed from reality, the outside being more important than family responsibilities.
A sudden remark from a friend regarding moving to Canada drew her interest. Initially she brushed aside the thought as another Pavlovian pitch, an experimentation, and refused to fall in the trap. But slowly the idea took hold, anything to get away from the joint family prison. The more she thought and the more she exchanged information, shortlisted countries, the friendly ones, with sizeable Indian diaspora and specifically from her part of India she was hooked. Canada was the enticing entry on the list and she touched base with friends, relatives already settled there, corresponding with the Canadian High Commission, reading about Canada life in general. She did the necessary paperwork, careful to keep it under wraps. She felt blessed as the paperwork moved at a steady pace and found themselves at the Canada High Commission premises for bio metrics, the health checks. There was a major row in the family, the in-laws disowning them but she stuck to her plans, daring the husband to follow her or stay put. Within days they were on flight to Calgary, Alberta. She had preferred Toronto but the plus+plus was that they had family, cousins, uncles and aunts, settled in Calgary.
Canada was no utopia as a lifestyle change awaited her… without maids, cooks, chauffeurs, no one to say ‘Jee Memsahib’. The most important cog, her family, was missing from this frame….a blunder she would rue in days to come.
There was no wasting time in sightseeing or exploring. Her husband was lucky as his cousin had already found him an entry in his office, an IT company. It was a middle rung position but as he would vehemently point out that ‘it was temporary’. He wanted to own an export/import business, to help his father as he had promised before leaving.
With no professional qualification she was not so lucky. A proposal to join a vocational college, to learn a skill, but her sister’s smirk, “We Pahariya sisters are meant to rule,” diced, minced, chopped the idea.
The cousin’s wife was working in Walmart, in sales, and, ‘If Anasuya would like to apply she could help out’. Anasuya balked at the thought of working over the counter, to cater to whims of strangers. She was in no hurry and decided to search around. A few months in a bakery, a fashion boutique, a florist.. gave her some sales experience. Not finding anything suitable or interesting and tired of her husband’s taunts, she reported for the early morning shift in the mammoth premises of Walmart. At least she had dollars to buy her cosmetics and food items at reasonable rates.
Life was a hustle, morning till evening, the personal forgotten till a vexing problem needed deliberation. Mothers from both sides were persistent, extorting/ threatening depending on mood, “Do we”, “Should we” continued day and night till finally a few weeks later “Let’s consider” slowly slid in with the clinking sugar cubes at breakfast, before getting embroiled in work-day.
Within three plus years they were parents to two kids, a boy and girl. The mothers came to help and though Anasuya was on maternity leave, both times, it was more of taking care of mothers-taking -care-of-kids and she waited for the day when she could put her feet up, literally for a massage from her massage therapist friend.
Her dreams bundled up in diapers, child feeds, meal preparations, she had to resign, stay at home to be there for the children. At first she rebelled, threw tantrums, gave him the silent treatment. “What about my ambitions, career goals, social commitments”. There was so much to do and achieve. She loved her children but there is a line, from playing pleasant, buying toys or candy, looking after their needs, the lines of lifestyle choices and career were constantly staring at her. Her duties surreptitiously ticked with the “intoxicating enchantment of a happy foursome” (his words). She would look at her friends and acquaintances, working women, twirling in their custom designed Ergonomic chairs, and console herself that she has family.
The one happening that cheered her up was acquiring Citizenship. The immigrant dream was panning out in their favour. Financial stability ensured visits to India and neighbouring countries, calling families over, moving upscale to a bigger residence. By this time the children had graduated in their streams and moved onto other cities and provinces in search of jobs. Her husband had taken early retirement to work on his business plans and to fulfil his dream of playing Golf and travelling.
Anasuya believed in silver-linings and waited for her break. It came…an offer of partnership in a flower shop owned by a relative. The same shop where she had spent a few months, learning and helping. The initial hiccups over she fully immersed herself in this venture. The joint handiwork payed dividends with orders for bouquets and decorations from the South Asian community. On busy days the respective spouses and children pitched in. It was the happiest and the busiest days of her life.
No regrets as the tables had turned and Anasuya was in her designated spot, holding the reins. At times she could feel the husband’s annoyance and there would be bitter words, blaming each other, scoring points. What mattered was that she was happy, contended for achieving what she craved for…financial independence.
But lighting strikes in varied ways. No one could predict that it would be her facing health challenges. An active person like her, the quintessential organiser of community functions, helping out with grand children and children, the life of ladies parties and get togethers. She was diagnosed with Dementia.
The signs were there but engrossed in her commitments had not taken the tiny lapses seriously, attributing them to approaching old age. In a few months time she was going to hit the 70’s button and there was still so much to achieve. It was at the insistence of her daughter that a Neurologist was consulted and the worst fears unravelled… the forgetfulness, confusion about day and night, the irritations and frustrations, the occasional uncontrollable anger. Her world came shattering down.
The family decided to get proper care and for a year they organised full time home care, to help her in the house chores, go for walks and continue with her work. But slowly the erratic behaviour increased. The family too started drifting, children had their own families to care for and the husband, even though he tried his best, was unable to cope with the demands of a caregiver. He had always been the receiver, child to adult, and what little he did would often end in disaster, of blame game and skirmishes. Her need of too much expectation, of 24 plus hours of deference to her demands, did not help.
They changed house, a newer area and new beginning, closer to son’s family, discarding the heavy baggage of past life. There were moments of peace, of fabricated harmony when she would try to help in house chores. Other times feelings of being neglected would overpower her leading to throwing things or whatever was in view. She overheard the son telling his father that she was a ‘child’ again…. ‘a kettle that boils over the minute you turn away’.
Frankly, Anasuya was tired with the constant bickering and battling and was looking for a way out. The silver linings had all vanished and it was time for being realistic. The children agreed and looked for suitable places, where she could be comfortable and looked after.
The Present. She smiles wistfully. There are days when there are no visitors. An old friend, the children and grand children are the only people she meets with. The gleeful expressions on receiving gifts, though most times she does not register the occasion. Once a week the husband spends the day with her. He looks frail, the skin taut, but at peace. They stay calm, echoes of the past circling each others feelings and emotions. Waiting for one mistake to squabble. The attendant is there, hawk-eyed, with a pleasant smile.
Anasuya is grateful that both are settled to their fate.“When it hurts,” wrote the Polish poet Czeslaw Miłosz, “we return to the banks of certain rivers”. Her river now is her minuscule world of immediate family, her morning and evening walks, the fellow inmates, the smiles and acknowledgments.
A flicker-- and she remembers the ‘golden repair of kintsugi or Kintsukuroi’, the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery wherein the unique history of each broken piece is not disguised but highlighted by making it more beautiful than original.
Anasuya stares at the snow clad mountains. The white glistens in the evening light, serenity.
She must get ready for the drive to Jasper, their weekly retreat, before college resumes.
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