My mother was diagnosed ovary cancer in 1966. After a successful surgery, her life continued without much trouble. A few years later diabetes was followed by high blood pressure. Old age brought its own complications. It became a regular routine to have the doctor see her after an interval of 4-5 days. She needed moral support to come out of failing health. By that time Daddaji was seventy. He enjoyed good health, had a commanding voice with an immeasurable anger. His mental faculties were quite sound. In addition to his routine meals he used to have a quarter-Kg. of Malai, the cream of milk, and half a liter of thick milk daily.
No one can imagine the agony of a person born between two children. He resembles a football ground which is trodden by players of both the sides. He can be stationed at the goal post but is unable to score a goal. Like a plain in between mountains remained drought stricken. In Ramayana, Bharat and Laxman remained under-assessed simply because they were the middle between the two Ram and Shatrughan. I sometimes desire to form an association of such boys and girls to protect against such predicaments. I don’t mean that the elders or the youngest are free from worries. I alone know what happens when one is younger to one and elder to another.
I was fully conscious of my domestic responsibilities but it was getting difficult to continue staying at home due to several events, which were unbearable. At the last, day of my departure approached, when Daddaji asked me to make an alternate arrangement. He had given such threats several times in the past but my sense of duty made me ignore them. However, this time, I took it seriously. I resolved that I would leave the house, I had redeemed enough. I was unhappy that the family to which I had assigned my whole life, given up my desires, worked as a free servant that three-storey building had sheltered such circumstances which didn’t have any room for my stay. Your question would be obvious, ‘What had happened?’
If I were to write a fictitious story I would have borrowed a name and would have written without any hitch since this is not a story but an autobiography in which my own name occurs, I can not afford to invent fictitious events, I am supposed to abide by a limit. It is quite common in politics to defend oneself by accusing someone else of a fault. Hence I would not hesitate to blame myself responsible for such an outcome.
When I apprised Madhuri of my decision, she was stunned, “what are you talking?”
“Daddaji has asked us to leave the house.”
“I heard Daddaji shouting in the morning but that is his routine habit. He has said such thing ten times in the past. What is wrong with you now?”
“Madhuri, it is difficult to take shelter any longer in this house. I won’t live here.”
“What nonsense are you talking?” She busted on me. “Who will take care of Ammaji? Who will look after Daddaji, who will cook meals for them? Have you gone crazy?”
“No arguments, please. My meals in this house have come to an end. I have seen a house on a rental basis.”
“No, think again. You are angry at the moment, what you intend to do is not right.” Madhuri objected. It took me thirty-seven years of pondering. I spent my past tolerating and yet Madhuri insisted, ‘Think again.’ Was there anything to reconsider?
I was an arm of the family and nursed it selflessly, with no feeling of, ‘what would be mine and what is for others’.At ‘Pendrawala’ I didn’t work as a proprietor but as a trustee with sincerity and diligence. There was a multitude of family circumstances which had made my stay in the house unbearable. The instance of Daddaji asking me to leave was not the only reason. The summation of such events had prepared the screenplay of my expulsion from the house, the mere action was awaited.
The family I was born in, which helped me to grow and to which I was religiously attached for 37 years was to be bidden good-bye. Time had arrived. As long I had been its member I did my best for the growth and prosperity with the hope that ‘Gabbar khush hoga’ (he would be happy) with my efforts but, on the contrary, Gabbar ordered, ‘Le ab goli kha' (Get ready for the bullet.)”
Daddaji had ordered me to leave and I decided to oblige, though Madhuri pleaded me to reconsider my decision. I wanted to leave as if was trapped in a concentration camp, I urged freedom. It was the house where I was born, the tree under whose shed my childhood spent, grew adult, was married and had children, was it easy to part with the house? One day passed then two followed till six days, I didn’t have the courage to abandon the house. My situation was such that I was unable to swallow nor able to spit out.
One day Daddaji asked Ammaji to hand over Madhuri’s ornaments to her. All the ornaments of the family remained in his custody. When I returned home in the night Madhuri enquired, “Did you demand the ornament?”
“No”, I replied.
“Then, why did Daddaji gave it back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep them when he himself volunteered for it. The situation is already quite explosive. Let us not add fuel to fire.”
“What have you thought?”
“Decided. No need to stay in this house.”
“Then, what stops you?” Madhuri asked. Her question made me weep. When I was quiet after some time she asked, “what happened?”
“Tell me, how can I abandon this house? I always believed that my doom would leave the house.”
She replied, “Then don’t go. Since long I am trying you to convince to reconsider your decision.”
She slept while I was awake. I began chewing betel and started reading a discourse by ‘Osho’. I continued reading for two hours. Osho explained through an example: ‘when a fowler wishes to catch a bird he ties a twig to a bamboo in such a way that the moment a bird sits upon it, it turns upside down. Fearing death due to slip, the bird holds the twig more firmly forgetting that it had wings to fly, to escape and to stay safe but the fear leaves no scope to understand it and the fowler catches the bird.’
It was 1:30 A.M. in the night. I woke up Madhuri from a sound sleep. She got up much disturbed and asked, “What is the matter?”
“We are going to leave tomorrow.”
“You woke me up just to tell this?” she asked.
“Yes, I felt it necessary to apprise you right now.”
2nd May 1984, we packed two suitcases with our and children’s clothes, touched Ammaji’s feet one by one. She came down along with us and entreated Daddaji, “Stop them, she (daughter-in-law) slaves from morning till late night, this alone ensures you meals. Once she leaves I shall not be able to do anything, not even Khichri.”
Daddaji was extremely angry. We all touched his feet and left the home in silence.
I wasn’t sad while leaving the house but wasn’t very happy either. All pains and pleasures associated with the house flew away. Time wanted to test my endurance and fortitude. (Seriatim)
No one can imagine the agony of a person born between two children. He resembles a football ground which is trodden by players of both the sides. He can be stationed at the goal post but is unable to score a goal. Like a plain in between mountains remained drought stricken. In Ramayana, Bharat and Laxman remained under-assessed simply because they were the middle between the two Ram and Shatrughan. I sometimes desire to form an association of such boys and girls to protect against such predicaments. I don’t mean that the elders or the youngest are free from worries. I alone know what happens when one is younger to one and elder to another.
I was fully conscious of my domestic responsibilities but it was getting difficult to continue staying at home due to several events, which were unbearable. At the last, day of my departure approached, when Daddaji asked me to make an alternate arrangement. He had given such threats several times in the past but my sense of duty made me ignore them. However, this time, I took it seriously. I resolved that I would leave the house, I had redeemed enough. I was unhappy that the family to which I had assigned my whole life, given up my desires, worked as a free servant that three-storey building had sheltered such circumstances which didn’t have any room for my stay. Your question would be obvious, ‘What had happened?’
If I were to write a fictitious story I would have borrowed a name and would have written without any hitch since this is not a story but an autobiography in which my own name occurs, I can not afford to invent fictitious events, I am supposed to abide by a limit. It is quite common in politics to defend oneself by accusing someone else of a fault. Hence I would not hesitate to blame myself responsible for such an outcome.
When I apprised Madhuri of my decision, she was stunned, “what are you talking?”
“Daddaji has asked us to leave the house.”
“I heard Daddaji shouting in the morning but that is his routine habit. He has said such thing ten times in the past. What is wrong with you now?”
“Madhuri, it is difficult to take shelter any longer in this house. I won’t live here.”
“What nonsense are you talking?” She busted on me. “Who will take care of Ammaji? Who will look after Daddaji, who will cook meals for them? Have you gone crazy?”
“No arguments, please. My meals in this house have come to an end. I have seen a house on a rental basis.”
“No, think again. You are angry at the moment, what you intend to do is not right.” Madhuri objected. It took me thirty-seven years of pondering. I spent my past tolerating and yet Madhuri insisted, ‘Think again.’ Was there anything to reconsider?
I was an arm of the family and nursed it selflessly, with no feeling of, ‘what would be mine and what is for others’.At ‘Pendrawala’ I didn’t work as a proprietor but as a trustee with sincerity and diligence. There was a multitude of family circumstances which had made my stay in the house unbearable. The instance of Daddaji asking me to leave was not the only reason. The summation of such events had prepared the screenplay of my expulsion from the house, the mere action was awaited.
The family I was born in, which helped me to grow and to which I was religiously attached for 37 years was to be bidden good-bye. Time had arrived. As long I had been its member I did my best for the growth and prosperity with the hope that ‘Gabbar khush hoga’ (he would be happy) with my efforts but, on the contrary, Gabbar ordered, ‘Le ab goli kha' (Get ready for the bullet.)”
Daddaji had ordered me to leave and I decided to oblige, though Madhuri pleaded me to reconsider my decision. I wanted to leave as if was trapped in a concentration camp, I urged freedom. It was the house where I was born, the tree under whose shed my childhood spent, grew adult, was married and had children, was it easy to part with the house? One day passed then two followed till six days, I didn’t have the courage to abandon the house. My situation was such that I was unable to swallow nor able to spit out.
One day Daddaji asked Ammaji to hand over Madhuri’s ornaments to her. All the ornaments of the family remained in his custody. When I returned home in the night Madhuri enquired, “Did you demand the ornament?”
“No”, I replied.
“Then, why did Daddaji gave it back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep them when he himself volunteered for it. The situation is already quite explosive. Let us not add fuel to fire.”
“What have you thought?”
“Decided. No need to stay in this house.”
“Then, what stops you?” Madhuri asked. Her question made me weep. When I was quiet after some time she asked, “what happened?”
“Tell me, how can I abandon this house? I always believed that my doom would leave the house.”
She replied, “Then don’t go. Since long I am trying you to convince to reconsider your decision.”
She slept while I was awake. I began chewing betel and started reading a discourse by ‘Osho’. I continued reading for two hours. Osho explained through an example: ‘when a fowler wishes to catch a bird he ties a twig to a bamboo in such a way that the moment a bird sits upon it, it turns upside down. Fearing death due to slip, the bird holds the twig more firmly forgetting that it had wings to fly, to escape and to stay safe but the fear leaves no scope to understand it and the fowler catches the bird.’
It was 1:30 A.M. in the night. I woke up Madhuri from a sound sleep. She got up much disturbed and asked, “What is the matter?”
“We are going to leave tomorrow.”
“You woke me up just to tell this?” she asked.
“Yes, I felt it necessary to apprise you right now.”
2nd May 1984, we packed two suitcases with our and children’s clothes, touched Ammaji’s feet one by one. She came down along with us and entreated Daddaji, “Stop them, she (daughter-in-law) slaves from morning till late night, this alone ensures you meals. Once she leaves I shall not be able to do anything, not even Khichri.”
Daddaji was extremely angry. We all touched his feet and left the home in silence.
I wasn’t sad while leaving the house but wasn’t very happy either. All pains and pleasures associated with the house flew away. Time wanted to test my endurance and fortitude. (Seriatim)
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