A Short Story
The more she saw them the familiar they seemed. Those waves were like her life- Undecided. They would approach the land eagerly and quickly retreat into the deep sea like they had never wanted to come out of it.
She loved staring at the sea, that is all she had done twenty-one years of her life at Mangalore.
Mangalore - the land of her ajji (grandmother), meenu (fish) and her shale (school).
Her parents ensured that she got the best education, she was considered to be intelligent by all she knew and was very hard working. Hence, she grew more and more ambitious over the years. Her ambition to ‘succeed’ brought her to Delhi.
Delhi - the land of her kaam (work), kamyabi (success) and…Kunal.
In her three years at Delhi, she had risen considerably in the hierarchy of the firm she was working in. She had grown used to admiration and appreciation she received everywhere. And she had also met Kunal, whom she thought was a ‘perfect march’ for her.
But Mangalore and Delhi were two parallel worlds that she was trying to hold together. Much like the waves that were desperately trying to feel at ease both on the land and in the deep sea.
She loved her family unconditionally. Though she visited them often, she longed to be a part of their smallest of joys and sorrows. She wanted to help her father mow the lawns, knit that blue-grey sweater with her mother, solve her sister’s maths problems and take those long walks with her grandmother.
The house was all sunshine with her around. And she knew, though they didn’t tell her, that her absence saddened them all. Immensely.
Her work in Delhi was also dear to her. She enjoyed her fame. Money. Success. And then there was Kunal…
She felt like the waves that leave the land barren when they go to the sea; and the sea would lose its meaning without the waves.
To make her two worlds meet was the biggest challenge in her life. Especially now.
Her father had telephoned, “ your ajji’s condition is critical. She might not live longer. She would never say it herself, but she needs you to be with her.”
She listened silently, not knowing how to react.
She thought of all those days when her ajji had put her to bed; when she taught her the secrets of life; and when, in those difficult times, ajji had lent a shoulder for her to cry on. Like the unpredictable waves that insisted on disturbing the calm waters, one news after another disturbed her.
Kunal had called her, just before her father had, to say that he would not give her anymore time to think about their marriage as he had already done it enough. “You’ve got to choose between Delhi and Mangalore,” he had said “and I know you love Delhi.” He had hung up.
‘I love Delhi…perhaps,’ she had muttered into the phone after he had hung up.
Now, she sat on the beach in her hometown, staring at the familiar waves.
Raksha Kumar
