Shueli's Star

Novel
Anna Sujatha Mathai

Previous Chapters

Chapter Twenty Two
 
The Second Sex: Smoke and Dust                   
 
 
She thought of how, when disembarking from the P&O Liner at Bombay, after six long years away, she had said, choked with emotion “I’ll never leave my country again!” But now she could see, where she had been blind and deaf before. This had made
home-coming far more painful than she had ever imagined it could be. She was so happy to see       Ammy, Papa, Gaya and Sheel (Gaya’s fiancée), and Paul’s parents, who whisked them off to their home in Akbar Road. Paul’s mother had written telling them of a job waiting for him, but they were upset to find it had just been wishful thinking. And a desire to get her son back. “How about that job?” they asked Ma.
“Which job? Oh, that one? … No, actually that job… no, it’s not there. What I meant was you could get something like that! There’ll be plenty of jobs for Paul – with all his degrees, don’t you worry.”  A little re-arrangement of the facts, a few small, white lies, a little manipulation of the men in your life, this was how Ma managed her life so well, Shueli realized.  “Paul, don’t you see? We’ve made a terrible mistake, coming back without even a job fixed for you?”
Paul, like most men in the same situation, had reverted to traditional attitudes. The greatest virtue claimed within that attitude was to be “not changed at all. Loves our old ways. Turned down all the good jobs he was offered there. Wants to work for our own people here.” Who could deny the nobility of that? Paul loved the noble image of himself! Why was it beginning to sound hollow to Shueli? For six months they stayed jobless, dependent on Paul’s parents, and the Scientist’s Pool set up by Nehru to encourage and help returning scientists with a minimal pay and some kind of interim work. Shueli, who had become accustomed to some measure of freedom, who had grown and developed  immeasurably as a person, found herself of no account at all, circumscribed in every way. She had worked hard, earned, and even paid the rent whe n Paul was studying, but she seemed to have no rights now. She found restrictions placed even on her going home, or spending much time with her parents.
“You’re OUR girl now!” Pa said proudly and rather aggressively. “THIS is your home now.”
When Ammy brought over a newspaper cutting with an advertisement for a job possibility in Delhi, Pa said furiously “He’s OUR son. Why are you worrying yourself about it? Do you think I can’t take care of  MY son?” There was not a thought or a reference to what Shueli might feel about this job, though she had worked all through the time in England while Paul was studying and taking courses. When a cheque came from England, returning some superannuation on her jobs, a sizeable amount, Paul told her he would need it to buy a car. There was nothing in her name.
 
 She found that Paul would discuss everything with his mother now, and they would stop talking when she came into the room.
Paul and his family didn’t seem to see any need to discuss Paul’s job with Shueli or her family! As if her future didn’t matter a whit. Paul came in one day and told her, “I’ve accepted a job in Kavipuram.I’ll be in charge of the Unit. It’ll give me excellent experience.” Shueli was apprehensive.. She knew nothing about this small town or village on the West coast of India. “I wish you’d told me at least, before deciding, and sending off your acceptance.”
Paul’s ma came in, at that moment, saying, “What’s there to tell? He has to have a job. Wives have to accept their husband’s lives!”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” Shueli thought tearfully. “Every time I put down roots, love something, make something for myself, I have to tear it all up, and just move on.”
There were other things too that left her feeling alienated and cut off from the opinions of those around her. Having worked for a fairly humane Welfare State had made Shueli acutely sensitive to things around her. She was shocked to find there was still so much poverty in her country. Had she never seen it before? Driving home, after an evening out, on a really cold winter evening, they saw poor people, dressed in ragged clothes, trying desperately to keep warm. They were singing a tribal folksong, laughing and singing, before a makeshift fire made of twigs or small branches. Some of them were smoking beedis or chewing paan or tobacco.
Shueli said “How terrible. Isn’t there anyone to help them? What is the Government doing? Can’t we get some warm clothes together? Do something?”
Paul’s Ma laughed it off. “You mustn’t make yourself miserable over everything like this. Can’t you see – they’re enjoying themselves. They light a fire, and have a good time. They’re perfectly happy.” She said the same thing when a shivering, ragged woman, holding a small, naked
 child, came to the car window to beg.  “Don’t look. Or give them a coin or something. They’re alright really. They manage. What can we do in any case? Just roll up the window.” The . chaos and indifference of India overwhelmed Shueli. Gandhi, who had envisioned an India in which no child would weep for hunger and sorrow, was dead. In his place there were a lot of people wearing handspun khadi, which had now become almost a cloak to cover self-interest and hypocrisy. These people were often to be seen in large American cars. They and their families were always going off on trips abroad,  or this or that meeting.  If they were ill, they always went abroad for treatment. All at the expense of the people. They were the ones who made the loudest speeches about self-sacrifice, and how ‘young people must serve in the villages, and follow in the footsteps of the Mahatma.’
Paul left for Kavipuram saying he would look for a house and make some arrangements before sending for Shueli. As it happened, circumstances kept Shueli from joining Paul for some time.
Gaya had married Sheel, despite Shueli’s reservations about her breaking her education midway. ”I really miss having Gaya here. I’m so glad she writes such happy letters. A pity, though, that her education was broken up, just as it was getting to be so promising.”
“Oh, what does that matter? Sheel really cares for her. It’s much more important for a woman to have a happy family, than have a string of degrees.” Ammy always stuck to that line. No use arguing and trying to get her to change her mind.
“Ammy, actually, -- I wanted to ask you something. I’ve been worried about not starting a baby ever since we came back. People keep bringing up the subject, especially Ma. Do you think I should see a doctor, get some medical advice?”
  Ammy had an old friend, who was in charge of a large Mission hospital.
Shueli had known Sosa Kochamma since she was a child. Ammy and Paul’s Ma accompanied her for the visit to the Hospital. Which was in a crowded part of Old Delhi. It was run by the Mission mainly to help poor people from outlying villages and urban slums, and often, people who travelled miles by road, in bullock carts, or tongas, or broken down old buses. They were desperate for help. They carried their sick babies, their infirm old people, their pregnant people, and anxiously hoped that Doctor Memsahib and her colleagues would work a miracle for them. The woman who had come in just before them, had her face hidden by an odhani. She said she had sold all her silver jewellery to get the medical help she needed. “Doctor Memsahib, make me well again. Why cant I bear a son? I have girls – only girls. My husband and mother-in-law will drive me out if I don’t produce a son. They say I have brought bad luck to their family. My mother-in-law has asked my husband to take another wife. What shall I do, Doctor Sahiba?” Sosa Kochamma, who was always smiling, said in her down to earth way “Rubbish. It’s not a woman’s fault that girls are born. That’s from the husband. You just tell them Doctor Madam said so. Now, lie down, and let me examine you.” Which she did, without much fuss. After the woman had left, Sosa Kochamma turned to Shueli. “Come on. Hop up onto this bed. You don’t want to go into that Clinic inside, do you? It’s very grand. This is where most of my poor patients come.”
“No, no, Kocham. This is fine, What’s good for  that poor woman is fine for me too.”
“Perfectly healthy.” Smiled Sosa Kochamma. “Everything fine. By the way, use this cream tonight. You should have a baby soon. Let me know. And oh – by the way – use this cream tonight.”ague
Shueli was glad everything was normal. Perhaps having a baby would make her feel happier, take away that vague sense of emptiness. The next day she realized she had forgotten to use the disinfectant cream the doctor had given her so casually. Shouldn’t she have been much clearer about the danger of not using the cream? By evening she had an agonizing pain in her stomach, and soon, a high fever. When the doctor was called in, he diagnosed
acute infection of the left tube. She was rushed into the Emergency Ward of the hospital. There, Shueli’s fever raged, until it was finally brought under control. After a week of hell, she sat up, weak and exhausted. The whole family came to visit her, and tried to reassure her that all would be well. Ammy blamed herself bitterly for having taken her to Sosa Kochamma. “She must have been careless about the previous examinations, and passed on some infection. “She’s said to be an excellent doctor. Just don’t know how it happened.”
After they left, the lady doctor in charge came to see Shueli. Dr. Pinto, a Catholic, had a punitive attitude to her patients. Shueli said later to Paul  “Maybe she thought I needed a bit of punishment! Just when I was feeling so low. She made me sit up on the examining table, and went for me! ‘Well, your left tube is bunged up. You have the right tube, which is fine, luckily.
 I suppose pretty young things like you are always going to parties, and having fun, not bothere d about starting families. Well, you have to pay the price for it!” She looked malicious, and quite pleased with herself for her frank and generous estimate of the situation!” Tears flowed down Shueli’s face. She felt weak and bewildered. She remembered the years of working and studying in England, along with all the housework. Carrying coals from the cellar below, to make the fire. All the cleaning. Walking with a heavy load of clothese to the launderette and back. Hanging out clothes to dry in such bitter cold, that the clothes froze on the line! She would leave the house at 7 a.m. as she had to change buses to get to work in nearby Sheffield. She’d worked so hard. And now she was being castigated for being a mere society butterfly. She felt wounded, both physically and spiritually. Because she was too weak, the doctors forbade Shueli from travelling to Kavipuram to join Paul.  And Paul wrote to her that she should wait until he could find a house, which he hadn’t managed yet. “I’m still living in this Guest House. The work is fine. I’m getting a lot of responsibility given to me. Just what I was hoping for.”
Shueli sat on the lawn in the winter sunshine, feeling a painful sense of withering within. And no one to share it with. Just then, Shueli got a call from an old friend, who was Director of one of the leading Drama Groups in the Capital. She offered Shueli a chance to act in a play. “There are three plays, Shueli, by French playwrights. I want you to be in the play by Ionesco. These playwrights belonged to the Theatre of the Absurd, or to the Surrealist movement. I know you’ve been ill, dear. But it’ll do you good. Take your mind off all that.”
Shueli thought so too, and accepted. Her mother-in-law was indulgent about the offer at first, but it soon became clear that she was not at all pleased by what she considered unnecessary diversion for Shueli. Perhaps she was critical of Shueli not leaving everything and rushing off to take care of her darling son! “Poor Paul. Staying in a Guest House! Don’t know what sort of food the poor boy is getting!” she said, pointedly. The excellent reviews that followed did not please Mrs. K. either. She did not even come to the play. “I don’t like to see Shueli dressed as an elderly woman! Besides, I had a lot of things to see to at home” Nor did she ever refer to the reviews, and seemed to be deaf when people talked about it. Shueli wrote to Gaya: “Nothing I do, or care about, seems to be of any value here. A wife, I suppose, is only meant to serve her husband, and be his shadow.” But Ammy had never been like that, a servile manipulator, and even poor Graany, uneducated as she was, had struggled through to some kind of self-hood.
This was when Ammy sent a message from Tiruvella, where she had gone, on hearing that her father was very ill. Shueli had been longing to see Graany and Graandpaa again. She hadn’t seen them in all these last six years she’d been away, though they wrote regularly to each other. Graandpaa had become blind in the last year or two. But he still dictated his articles, and a student came every day to read out from books and papers. Ammy wrote: “Grandpaa is not at all well, and is longing to see you again. Tell Omana, and come down soon.” Mrs. K. was not too happy about it, but had to agree, especially as Shueli said she would go to Bombay from Tiruvella, to collect some of their luggage that was coming by boat. She would then take a boat from Bombay to Kavipuram.
                              **********
The train journey seemed endless. She was sustained by the thought of the joy she would feel, to see Tiruvella again, and be with her beloved grandparents after such a long separation. She had picked up a few books to read on the long journey, almost three days. One was Smoke by Turgenev. The other was The Second Sex by someone she had never read, Simone de Beauvoir. Smoke made her unutterably sad. The Second Sex disturbed her in a way she did not fully understand. Perhaps because it voiced, quite clearly, some of the things that had been agitating her mind for quite a while now, of which she was only dimly aware. She knew she was unhappy, but did not know why or what was  disturbing her so profoundly. She had always had a full, happy laugh. She rarely laughed now. In Edinburgh she could share her ideas and laughter with Alistair and JoAnne. She felt they would have understood her, that they spoke the same language.
Maybe Simone de Beauvoir would have understood.
Women deal with the ephemeral. They deal with food, that is eaten and disappears. Women deal with dust. Always dusting and cleaning. Women’s lives are dust. Years later, that was all Shueli could remember of that great book. The lives of women – disappearing in dust. Nothing remains of her efforts.
She knew little or nothing about the feminist movement that was going to bring profound changes in  its wake. All she knew was what she knew in her own blood. She was uneasy about the way the book brought to the surface many of the hidden, half-emerging thoughts that had been haunting her.
Would Simone de Beauvoir have turned away from someone who understood her so perfectly and instinctively as Alistair had? No never. Shueli lacked the strength to abandon a loveless situation imposed on her by family and society. Simone de Beauvoir had escaped being stuck with a French provincial, like Madame Bovary! She found her Sartre!
 
                                ******
 
The car from Alwaye took them into Tiruvella. She felt great joy seeing the old, familiar lanes again; the pungent smell of the cashew plants; of the rich, red earth; of the smoky kitchens; of the castle-like ant-hills where snakes hid – assailed her. The taxi jolted and stopped. “It’s a  snake crossing our path. Look. There.”
She saw the sinuous creature move gracefully across the road. “Harmless. Just a rat snake or grass snake.”
But was it a bad omen? As they stopped before the gate of the Tiruvella house, she knew. The wind in the casuarina trees was low, as if they were weeping.
There were lots of people standing in the verandah,  and even in the porch. She went in, heart beating.
There stood Graany, looking aged and lost. Ammy was sitting by her father’s side. “He’s gone,” she said “just an hour ago…he was longing to see you. This morning when he awoke, he said: ‘Where are my glasses? The childen are coming.’ Of course he could only see very dimly.” And Ammy broke down, weeping. Shueli put her hand on her dear Graandpaa’s forehead.   For the first time in her life she knew how the icy hand of death makes the skin go hard and cold. Impossible to believe, no, she would never accept, - that someone you loved could just slip away like that. What Shueli noticed was the peaceful smile on graandpaa’s face. Years later, she would see that radiant smile on her father’s face when she kissed his forehead soon after his death.
People were singing now. Malayalam hymns about the power of love over death. Graany was the one who looked completely lost. She was searching for some stamps she needed,  opening various drawers and shelves. “Graanpaa was the one who always knew where the stamps were kept” – which was her way of saying how she missed the methodical man who had departed! All through the night mourners stayed awake by the body. Praying and singing:
“I am taking Time’s chariot. I am so eager to see my home. I am rushing towards it.” Shueli knew that Graandpaa who had lost his sight, could now see. In the little grave-yard, in the church across the road, as earth covered the body in the coffin, they chanted:  “If this be our end – why do the beautiful rejoice in their beauty? Why are the wealthy haughty? If this be our end – why do those in power, take pride in their authority? The learned of their scholarship? If this be our end how avails it the young to rejoice in their youth and vitality? So brief is man’s sojourn on earth…”
 

Anna Sujatha Mathai grew up in St. Stephen's College Delhi, where her father was Head of the English Department. It was an idyllic childhood, reading wonderful books, hearing poetry, seeing plays. She and her sister spent many sunny days exploring The Ridge, unimaginable now! Sujatha started writing Short Stories and Essays for The TREASURE CHEST, an All-India Children's Magazine edited by an American Editor, and translated into many Indian languages. At 14 she was chosen by Treasure Chest to be their youngest Special Correspondent! 
 What she loved most was the Theatre. She was selected, at age 14,  by the Shakespeare Society of St. Stephen's College, to be Viola in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Later, doing her B.A.{Honours} in English Literature at Miranda College, she won the College Drama Prize, and later, the Best Actress Award of the University of Delhi.
  Getting married at age 20, to a young surgeon, changed her life completely. In Edinburgh, she joined the University for a Post Graduate Course in Social Studies. She worked in that field for several years, in York, Sheffield, London. Leaving it all behind, coming back to small-town India, was traumatic for her. She used to write on scraps of paper, and throw them away. Her sister, in Bangalore, sent her a cutting in which American professor, Howard McCord of the Univ. of Seattle asked for poems by "avant-garde young Indian poets" for his Anthology. Her sister wrote "At the most, you'll lose a few stamps!" Prof McCord's warm response to her poems, made her start taking her writing more seriously! Her first poems were published in P. Lal's MODERN INDIAN POETRY IN ENGLISH. She continued to write, and, later, moving to Bangalore her dream of theatre was somewhat realised. She had roles in plays by Shaeffer, Ibsen, Sartre, Pinter, Tennessee Williams, Lorca and others. She was a co-founder,with friend Snehalata Reddy, of THE ABHINAYA POETRY/THEATRE GROUP.
Her poems have been published in The Commonwealth Journal; Indian Literature; The Little Magazine; The Times of India; Dialogue India; Chelsea (New York); The London Magazine; The Poetry Review (London), Two Plus Two (Switzerland.), Contemporary Asian Poetry Ed. Agnes Lam, Hong Kong/Singapore: Post-Independence Poetry in English ed. by Arundhathi Subramaniam She was among 4 poets "show-cased" on the 50th Anniversary of the Sahitya Akademi. She was an Associate Editor of the prestigious Literary Journal, Two Plus Two,based in Lausanne, Switzerland. She has 5 collections of Poetry in English, and her poems have been translated into several Indian and European languages.
She now lives in Delhi. ​​​​​​​

---