The green Pochampally

Vasudha slept on the wooden cot on the sunny hot afternoon.  It was somewhere during mid May and the heat and humidity made a perfect recipe for flies to party around the cot.  The single ceiling fan went on and on very slowly and the sound of the old rickety fan made Vasudha slip into a deep slumber.

After all she did not have much to do during the day.  He daughter-in-law, Minu sat in the cool interior of the prayer room and sewed something.  That was the place Minu preferred because it was cooler than rest of the house.

Vasudha and her husband lived with their son and daughter-in-law in a small town, in a smaller house.  Back in the village, they had a plush home with the airy windows.

But a cerebral stroke had made Vasudha totally bed-ridden.  Therefore, they had to stay back at the son’s place so that there were more people around to look after her needs.  She could not move by herself and for the entire day, Minu provided the nursing she needed.  During the night, it was her son, Sanjay who nursed her.

Vasudha would remain asleep for most of the day.  In between her naps, she would travel in time.  She would transport herself to her happier days.

“Vasu…..why don’t you eat the fish along with the rice, little girl?” her mother would affectionately ask her.

“Amma, I will have it at the end of my meal.”

Vasudha, as a little girl, loved the fish curries her mother made.  She would put away the fish pieces at one corner of the banana leaf plate and finish her meal, all the time admiring the pieces.  In fact, her brothers often joked that they could get anything done by just tying fish pieces in front of her nose.

The habit of delaying such pleasures was not limited to fish alone.  When she was a young bride and owned pretty zardosi sarees, she would all stack them away for some occasion, for when, she herself did not know.  In fact, her husband, mad at her habit, would put all the bitterness into his words, “If I am gone suddenly, you will repent not having worn them”.   

Vasudha owned a beaded purse in which she kept all her trinkets collected since childhood.  It had everything. Little anklets, flowery hair pins, even the colorful hair bands she had had a permanent place in the purse.  She also had few threads from her orange silk which she had worn the day she had first met her husband.  All her memories were bundled up in the tiny pouch and it lay beside her while she breathed in and out and time did not move forward or backward.

Vasudha was a keeper of memories, a guardian of moments.  Moments, frozen in time and neatly arranged in the pouch that was her life.

It was few months back that her husband bought a beautiful Pochampally for Minu.  The otherwise benevolent mother-in-law was suddenly very jealous of the young lady and one day, when Minu was out on her daily temple visit, Vasudha managed to shift the beautiful saree from Minu’s wardrobe to hers.  Minu was not unaware of this and although she was bitterly hurt, she did not dare reverse the action.  Ofcourse, the men in the family bore the brunt of the frustration of the young lady and wrath of the older one.

Vasudha did not wear the green Pochampally.  She dreamt, when she is back to her village, back to the plush bungalow, she would invite her friends and flaunt her beautiful saree.  She kept it away for the day.   She had it all planned.  They would return to the village, she would plant another jasmine plant, sell more coconuts and buy some lovely gold jeweleries to match the priceless saree.

One day, all of a sudden, all the plans were torn apart and Vasudha found herself confined to her own frame in the bed, dressed in comfortable knee length night dresses.

Times passed by, friends came and went and her family kept a vigil over her, seeing her breathe, day after day.  She still knew she would return to the greenery beckoning her in her green saree.

The day was unusually hot.  Minu, taking a break from the nursing duty, went to visit her cousins in the next town.  Vasudha’s husband and son were by her side.  They watched her drift away hour by hour and in the vigil of a dark warm night, Vasudha left all her dreams, memories, the trinket pouch and flew away.

Minu rushed back and so did all the other relatives.  To bid Vasudha good bye.  To shut the memories or to release them.

Dressed as a bride, Vasudha took her leave from the weeping family.  She was peaceful, she had enough and had given it all away.

On her last journey, Vasudha looked like a pretty, happy bride, in her green Pochampally.