The Pygmalion

Childhood is a luxury. Take it from someone who never had one. While other children ran after fireflies, I collected twigs and brambles that could light a fire and warm a house. When other children uncovered the mysteries of the universe witnessing caterpillars metamorphize into butterflies, I was trying to not get caught in the fibers of my life that were closing in like a cocoon. As other children frolicked in the rain, I strained not to wet the only shoe I had. In trying to bring some semblance of control to my crumbling family, I felt my childhood slipping out of my hands like sand. The tighter I tried to hold on to it, the faster it slipped away.  

My father gave up on life even before life gave up on him. As the alcohol consumed him, we saw him diminish and finally become a shell of his former self. His drunken stupor would last for days and when he came out of it we wished he hadn’t as he was more malleable when he was drunk. My mother who faced the brunt of it most; would have run away from it all, found an escape one way or the other had she not been tied down by her children. Me in particular. It was not that she was not attached to the boys, however, when she looked at me something akin to horror ran through her eyes. There is nothing more binding, limiting yet beautiful than the relationship between a mother and daughter. She would have risked any rocky terrain if she was alone but with me, the risks were magnified and she settled for some degree of familiarity instead of the vast unknown. If she resented me and the bondage I represented, I never knew. However, I knew for a fact that considering yourself the reason for someone’s drudgery was a huge cross to bear - especially for a child.

The Satyawali family was one of the most prominent in the entire Kumaon region. The fruits from their orchards traveled miles to Europe and beyond. They had an array of cars, managers, and servants going in and out of the palatial gate; the doors of which led to the magnificent dwelling they called home. I had only seen the imposing gate, but the cook in the Satyawali household was my mother’s dear friend. “Our entire cottage would have fit in the smallest corridor of their house,” she exclaimed once to our bewildered expressions. From the little snippets of gossip, we heard from Manorama it became evident that the Satyawali family had everything one could ever ask for except for a male heir to inherit this golden legacy. The three daughters they had, led the lives of princesses, yet even they seemed like prerequisites to the actual promise – a son. Since the lady of the house was pregnant again, the atmosphere in the house was electric. Elders claimed that this time the lords would be kind to the household and give them a son. They discussed at length the shape of the belly, the temperament of the would-be mother and other facets and asserted that this time it was a boy. I secretly hoped it was another girl. I prayed to the God of small things. There should be some balance in this word. The scales could not be this lopsided.

We learned from Manorama, the cook, that the oldest daughter Maya studied in a boarding school tucked away in the beautiful hills of Mussoorie. She came home only during the winter holidays. The other two girls were much younger, demanding and a bane to their mother’s existence. Since the lady of the house was thus indisposed someone was needed to take care of the girls. Manorama knew the failing condition of our family and her intervention changed the financial and emotional landscape of our lives. She suggested that I get a job as domestic help, assisting in taking care of the girls. It would be easy enough as I was “so wonderful” at taking care of my brothers. Also, what added to my repertoire was the fact I was deemed lucky; as not one but two brothers had followed me into this world. “What better omen to bring to the household?” She would later explain to Dadi ma the matriarch of the Satyawali clan who still ruled with her iron fist albeit in a velvet glove. This befuddled logic escaped me, but, the curiosity to glimpse the world inside the golden gates was too intense, even more powerful than the need to help my family. What kind of human was I?

The two girls were little fiends. They had to be cleaned, fed, taken out to play, supervised as they watched TV and kept out of trouble. I hated how their every whim was carelessly granted. I hated their nasal demanding voices, their toys, their rooms, their clothes and everything else about them as they dragged me from one chore to the other. Yet, I was grateful for the delicacies that came my way. Scraps of exotic food, a torn blanket, dismantled toys…which I trudged home with at the end of each tiring day. The happiness in the face of my brothers as they saw these goodies was my reward. The faint smile that illuminated my mother’s face was my benediction. I even forgot the shoe bite I was braving every day due to the small size of my shoe.

I sometimes thought about the older girl Maya who according to my calculations would have been around my age. What disparity I thought! and hated Maya without even setting eyes on her. Our first meeting, however, was rather awkward. As the two girls were for once sleeping I was asked to take the tea upstairs to Dadi ma. As I went up to the terrace to give her the tea, I saw Maya sprawled on the mat as her grandmother oiled her hair. As Dadi ma grumbled about the texture of the hair because it had not been oiled, Maya looked miles away. Just as my hand went up to feel my straw-like hair, Maya’s eyes locked with mine. I couldn’t stop the hatred from filling my eyes. The green-eyed monster was assailing me and I was helpless. Before I did or said something that would precipitate my thoughts I mumbled something about the tea and ran downstairs. But not before I saw a look of astonishment and then amusement in Maya’s eyes. What crushed my heart was not the fact that life was unfair, but the fact that I was so helpless in trying to fix it. I needed a miracle, but it was known that the God of big things turned a blind eye occasionally.

Since the girls took to sleeping at the same time every afternoon I found myself with a few hours to spare. In one such temperate afternoon, I was summoned by the servant. “Maya Babyji would like to see you in the dining hall,” she said. Her tone reflected the astonishment, I felt. When I reluctantly approached the room, Maya was seated at the far end of the dining table having her afternoon tea. Without a preamble, she asked, “Why do you dislike me so much?" What could I say to that? How could a thousand words of injustice, angst, and bitterness fit into a sentence? I remained silent. “At least you are honest - you don’t deny that you hate me”, She laughed. A maid came to fuss over her and I knew somehow that I was dismissed. I withdrew as neatly as I could to dissect my tumultuous emotions in private.

Again, during my slack hours, I was summoned by Maya. This time I was prepared.

“What would you do if you didn’t have to take care of my sisters?” She asked again without a foreword.

“I want to answer the question you asked me the other day,” I said.

“Which one?” she looked confused.

“You wanted to know why I hate you?" I answered.

“Sure,” she whispered. She had the look of someone falling and I was glad that she was sitting on the sofa.

I don’t know what came over me. “Why shouldn’t I hate you? I hate you because you have everything I don’t. What have you done to deserve all this? Why are all these luxuries automatically yours while I must struggle for every morsel I eat? How come you get the best chance at education while I wash the dirty clothes of your sisters? Fate has been kind to you and harsh to me and I simply don’t know why.”

I felt embarrassed at the sudden hot tears that tumbled down my cheeks and then abruptly I felt a chill run down my spine. What had I done? What if she threw me out of the job? The tiny solace we had found would again be lost. I was ready for a physical and or verbal attack, but to my surprise, she sat unruffled on the sofa. Only her eyes showed some emotion. They looked tormented and sad. Why I wondered. “Yes, fate has been generous to me,” she said with a sigh as her eyes again took on a faraway look. I knew I was dismissed without being told. What an enigma! I thought, intrigued.

The next day the maid came to call me again. “Maya babyji has called you in the library,” she said. I went to the large oak-paneled room with some trepidation. Maya looked very much at ease seated in a settee surrounded by books of all shapes and sizes. I had never seen so many books in my entire life. All the books in the school that I went to for two years during our better days would have fit into one of the shelves in that room. “Smell it...,” she directed as she extended a book towards me. I cautiously opened the yellowing pages and took a small whiff. Musty, mothballs and something else I couldn’t describe; but it was not altogether unpleasant. “The one you are holding is called ‘Jane Eyre’. In this novel, a poor orphan girl beats all odds to find her true vocation and love”. She went on to describe the story in some detail. The images of the red room, the bitter cold at the orphanage and the fire…danced in my head as I walked home that night. The next day she showed me a novel called ‘The girl who fell from the sky’ and talked about Rachel, a biracial girl as though she was a long-lost friend. Maya spoke animatedly of Rachel’s grief over the loss of her family and elucidated with such passion her standing against society's notions of race and identity that her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Again, I came home bemused. I could barely feel the dampness of my bed or the nagging pain of my shoe bite. ‘Island of the blue dolphins’ came next and I was transported to an island called San Nicholas in the Pacific Ocean. Maya made Karana’s solitude ring true and her grit real. She gave voice to Karana’s strength, serenity, and self-reliance. In the middle of the hills and lush valleys, Maya and I roamed around the imaginary island in the mind’s eye and were completely transported. I began to see a pattern.

Maya was trying to tell me something. The resilient female protagonists of the stories were introduced to me for a purpose. Her favorite book was ‘Anne of Green Gables’ to which she returned again and again. The antics of the feisty protagonist (an adopted orphan) brought a smile on both our lips. Was this friendship? Pity? Escape? I do not know how, but in that dimly lit library my world turned upside down. There was such magic in those stolen moments… I wanted to capture them forever.  There is nothing quite like a book that provides the human mind with provocation, proclivity and privacy at the same time.  I traveled and explored minds and worlds. Characters took shape and dimension. We spoke of nothing else. We didn’t need to; so, connected were we by our shared experiences… so immersed in the fictional characters that reality lost its bite. Ironically, even though I couldn’t read, the library became my sanctuary. I sometimes wondered; why Maya, who thought I hated her, stay closeted in the house and find not only forgiveness but time for a waif-like me? Her family was not happy about this; however, Maya’s whims were not to be ignored.

The stories were long but the winter was short and time is a game played beautifully only by the children. In the adult world, the real world, the game stops only too soon. Preparations shortly started for Maya to go back to her boarding school. My world, it seemed was crumbling to dust, yet, she called me again. This time I saw her room. It was everything I had imagined. Soft curtains gently swayed in the wind. The antique drawer-set was fit for a queen. Maya reclined on the four-poster bed covered with the same turquoise color of the curtains. Above her hung a gossamer-thin canopy. Only the gothic walk-in closet seemed out of place. What skeletons was it hiding I wondered?

“I have to go,” said Maya. The finality in her words shook me. “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop,” I blurted before I could change my mind. She just smiled knowingly. “Come with me, You can’t let the circumstances win always. I know Mr. Paliwal the Vice Principal of my school will surely help someone like you, provided you are willing to go through fire to reach your goal. Of course, you will have to sit with the younger students and learn, the other girls will be nasty and you will have to work hard for your upkeep. But it will all be worth it. Naina, a girl he rescued from the hills is now in my class. He treats her like a granddaughter he never had. Mr. Paliwal once told me it was the purpose of his life to ensure that education was not denied to the deserving. Are you deserving?” she asked finally, as her eyes penetrated my soul.

“I don’t know,” I wailed. “How can I leave the only certainty I’ve known to chase a dream that might not transpire? What will happen to my family? They depend on me…”

Maya looked offended and said, “Didn’t you learn anything from the stories? Then maybe I was wrong about you.”

“How can I leave my mother in this mess and look for escape for myself…isn't that selfish?” I argued.

“Your mother probably dies a hundred deaths when you come here to work. Don’t you see she will be happy if you break this vicious circle…? Do it for her, if you don’t have the courage to do it for yourself. I have saved some money and it will help you get started.” When I still looked hesitant she added, “Imagine reading all the books on your own…there are millions in this world!”

“Why are you willing to do all this for me”? My voice was an incredulous whisper.

“Because we are meant to fly …and sometimes we can’t even walk; but mostly because Naina is a friend and I know what it feels like to be the child of a lesser God.”

 “I …” I started to say something when she picked up a rectangular box that was wrapped in a beautiful blue sheet and gave it to me. The color of the sky I thought.

My mother and I broke down when we opened the box. Shoes! So beautiful and exactly my size! Once the sobs stopped shaking her shoulders, my mother said that I had to take this leap of faith. “I can’t let you make the same mistake,” she said and told me that she would live vicariously through me. Maya had promised that my mother would get my job. I wept copious tears. Such as it was, my family was all I had. To leave them and chase the unknown was a daunting task but Maya had done her job well. The stories shared in the quiet corners of the library kept churning my mind. This was my chance…probably my only chance. I took it. 

The next day I tied my clumsy belongings in an even more clumsy plastic bag and went to Maya’s house. It felt strange that everything I owned in this world would fit into a small plastic bag. Was life this simple? Or this complicated? Maya’s ornate trunks were being loaded into the car. Just as jealousy was rearing its ugly head again; I saw Maya.

The plastic bag fell from my hand. My jaws dropped. My eyes burned. How did I not notice this before? How come no one told me? How did my own pain and rage make me blind to something that should have been so obvious? Maya in a wheelchair?! Tears burned behind my eyes but I did not cry. Maya simply smiled. Somewhere above us the God of small and big things smiled too. There was glitter in the face of adversity. The pieces of the jigsaw fell in place. We were meant to fly…

“Come,” she said, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”