Tantrums

"Begusarai hadn't changed much from before, was the first thought that came to the Mishra family's mind as they stood in front of the one-story house whose black iron gate still had the small dent where Niyati once crashed her bicycle as a kid.

Walking inside that gate was even more nostalgic as memories of the good days flooded back. The alcove where the tulsi plant should be was empty, and seeing that, Manorama ordered, "The first thing we’ll do is replace that."

The moving truck had arrived two days earlier and was handled by Manorama's eldest son, Raghuveer, and his wife, Roopa. Radha felt a bit of satisfaction knowing that. Her brother-in-law, however strict, was a good man, and his wife was one of the kindest people Radha had ever had the fortune to meet.

His family lived near the ancient temple where Raghuveer was the head priest. They also ran a general store, which was managed by either him or his eldest daughter, Shivangi.

"I’m so tired from the journey. The sun seems determined to scorch us all to death," Manorama spoke from the sofa where she was massaging her feet.

"And if that doesn’t do it, your overgrown tantrum surely will," Maithili murmured under her breath, knowing well what was coming next.

"I’m going out to visit Malti and will be back before the evening Pooja. So, I expect the place of the goddess Durga to be pristine clean by then," the elderly woman said before leaving. Only when the sound of the gate closing was heard did Niyati hiss,

"Yes, that would be really nice. We too traveled all the way from Indore to this craphole, and yet she expects so much from us."

"One would get confused between who the child and who the adult is among us," Maithili, the fourteen-year-old, huffed like an overgrown adult who had already seen everything in life.

And truth be told, Radha couldn’t blame either of her children. Fifteen years ago, when her husband Laxman left home along with his family, her mother-in-law cursed them all the way. Blaming the girls and her for brainwashing her youngest son, bluntly ignoring her own faults and actions that led to the separation.

It was only three months ago, when she chose to forgive them—him—because he was on his deathbed, fighting the cancer that had spread all over his body, slowly sucking his life away until one day it all ended. But there's that saying: old habits die hard. And in Manorama's case: never.

She blamed Radha again for all of that, taunting her daily, not even sparing her granddaughters, equally dragging them all along. "If he had a son, none of this would have happened," as if having a boy would have cured the cancer.

She went so far as to drag her widowed daughter-in-law and her children from the city where they had woven their small world to a place where they only had bad memories associated with.

"Leaving a woman alone is the same as giving meat to the vultures; they won’t hesitate to create a mess. And I care enough for my dead son's virtue to take you all under my roof to protect you from this dark world with its sharpened claws, just waiting for the right moment to attack. So, be grateful."

Radha, though not completely agreeing with her mother-in-law, nodded her head, knowing to some extent she was right. For the other part of the offer, she firmly put her foot down and made it clear that if they were to return to Begusarai, she would not live under the same roof as her.

The reaction to her demand was not pretty. The old woman shrieked and roared, demanding an apology right away. But her brother-in-law understood the hidden meaning behind her request. For that, she would always be grateful to him.

The daughters, whom her husband had treated and raised as flowers, shielding them from the world, loved more than anything, should be treated only as that.

"No one would think that, Meethu. After all, one could easily differentiate between a crow and a cuckoo," Niyati said with full sympathy, thumping her sister’s back as the younger one snickered.

"Hush, children... Do not speak about your elders like that. If someone heard you, they would think I didn’t teach you any manners," Radha admonished.

"If one heard our dearest Amma, they would already think that," Niyati deadpanned.

"You would actually be surprised to know, but many of the women here share the same thinking as your Amma."

"Of course, birds of a feather flock together," Niyati remarked, plopping herself on the sofa as her eyes roamed the hall. The house was actually decent; the iron gate led to a small garden, which then led to a wooden door that opened to a decent-sized hall. Across from the hall was a bathroom that connected to two bedrooms side by side. The kitchen of the house was a small room, unlike the open kitchen they had back in Indore, with a storeroom attached to it.

"Kaka did an exceptional job with renovating this place," observed Niyati. While the house did have its flaws—few places on the wall had chipped paint, and the outstanding mural Niyati had made of an old serial on the wall still looked at them with its star-shaped, haunting eyes—not to forget the stain of chai on the old carpet under the tea table, but if one kicked all of these small flaws out of the window, they would see a home.

The home where...once a family lived.

The tiles were squeaky clean, not a trace of cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling, the storeroom filled with necessary items like soap, detergent, and mosquito repellent, and one look at the kitchen was enough to say the same.

Not to forget the small refrigerator that looked second-hand but worked just fine. Her Kaka had indeed done an excellent job with the house. Or it could be Kaki too; the lady is an incarnation of a deity, Maithili once said.

"When are they coming?" asked the youngest, still sitting on the floor, now drinking the packaged soft drink she found in the fridge. "I miss Kaki and Shivangi dii—" gulp "oh, and Kaka and Ranveer too."

"Just say you miss everyone and save a breath."

Glaring playfully at her eldest, Radha replied, "Tomorrow. Jiji said not to cook since she will bring breakfast with her. But Shivu and Gola have their college and school respectively, so they will come in the evening along with Bhaisahab."

"Speaking of that, what about ours? Which school and college have you chosen for us?" Niyati asked, now lying upside down on the sofa, her leg dangling off the edge, long hair mopping the floor.

"First of all, sit properly—"

"This is proper for her, Maa; otherwise, you would see Didi—"

"Who asked you? I don't remember being the one."

And before the youngest could open her mouth and their bickering could lead to a headache, "Silence. Children, this is not Indore. Your bickering, no matter how much I enjoy it, is now adding to the stress of things I have to tackle soon. So please," Radha said, pinching the area between her eyes.

They were not in Indore; the city life they once had had already left them for good. And here in Begusarai, life would be different. The arms of a very conservative society where small things like speaking loudly and laughing openly are frowned upon, where even the tiniest of their mistakes can become the subject of gossip for others' tea time.

Their carefree personas and bickering and fighting should now be replaced by calmness, seriousness, and solemnity.

"When you are in Rome, be a Roman. Simple," was how their mother concluded her lecture about their new lifestyle.

"As for your question, you both will attend the same faculty as Shivu and Gola."

And once again, Niyati forgot the timing and place where they were, "But Shivangi dii—she goes to a girls' college, doesn't she?"

"Yes... what's the problem with that?" There was a strange calmness in Radha's voice, a look in her eyes like she was challenging her own blood to rebuke her, and Niyati wouldn’t be her own child if she didn’t. "I’ve never been to an all-girls' college. Most of my friends in school were both boys and girls, if you forgot that. Papa had no qualms with that, always encouraged me to be—"

"Where are you right now?" The abrupt question made Niyati go silent. She glared at her mother for a short while, lips wobbling, thinking if her Papa were here, none of this would have happened.

If he were here...they wouldn’t even be here.

"In a craphole," she rebuked.

"The admissions are already done; you will be going there the day after tomorrow. Bhaisahab said that you and Shivu will go to college together and must be back before the evening—no arguments."

Radha did not believe in raising her child only with gentle hands like her husband. Sometimes even the healthiest tree needs a bit of grooming. The line between mollycoddling and pampering them should be balanced by the toughness of upbringing too.

"This is not your city. The faster you understand that, the better it will be for you," Radha said to the back of the retreating figure. "Accepting Begusarai is the only option you have."

When the door closed with a thump, she knew she had made her point loud and clear.

From the floor, Maithili watched the scene with wide eyes, knowing that the curtain had drawn on this act. If she didn’t want to be the lead heroine in the next—something she definitely didn’t want, given her mother's volcanic temper—she had to leave soon.

"Any demands from your side?" Maithili's mother asked, turning to her with one hand on her hip, the other holding a vase, that familiar look in her eyes. "Reasonable ones only."

"I only hope the canteen at Gola's school makes decent sandwiches at least." At that, her mother smiled, and thinking how cleverly she had dodged the bullet, Maithili made her way to the kitchen to find something to munch on.

__

Welcome to the Begusarai.

.

.

Like || comments|| follow