The Mirror does not Smile Back

"Savithri amma?" I asked, in half hesitation and half excitement, of the frail form in a faded cotton saree who answered the door. She nodded and looked at me keenly, before asking me to step in. There ended, my search that had gone on for more than an hour, first driving, up and down a now very unfamiliar road and painstakingly entering each multistorey apartment, checking the names of the occupants. But the search for Savithri amma began almost thirty years ago in a manner of speaking...

I woke to the mild strains of Hamsadwani played on the veena, that floated in through the open window. It was summer time and for a seven year old, it was bliss time- no pressure to wake up early and rush to school. I could play for hours in the yard and no one would care. I could have lain there, half awake, soothed by the music, but an unkind sun, streaming down through the high window made me squirm and pull myself up. I gave a frustrated shout and got up. My mother stood over me grinning and said, 

"Good for you! Now roll up that mattress, brush your teeth and come and have breakfast! I know, once you go out to play, I wont be able to catch you!"

I lumped up the bed as neatly as I could and placed it atop the pile of mattresses, in the corner of the room. I ran to the backyard, to quickly finish my morning routine. I loved to splash the cold water kept in the pail drawn out from the well. I had the day's events planned out really well. I would collect, the unripe mangoes that fell off the large trees in the backyard, which my mother pickled. I would hunt around the front yard for 'treasures.' In the afternoon, I would 'cook' food in my little earthenware pots and pans. My evenings were mostly spent in visiting temples with mother. I got to eat tasty 'prasadam' and listen to very interesting musical narrations of Hindu mythology that were performed there regularly.

I drank the glass of milk in three straight gulps and rushed out. It was a typical hot summer day, but I was rather comfortable, shaded as I was by the large neem tree, in  the front yard. I was quite busy, talking to myself, playing with the odds and ends- the 'treasures', I had found in the vast spaces around the house - bits of stone, pieces of broken ceramic tiles and plastic jewellery. The green, bitter neem berries that resembled grapes so much in appearance, tempting me to bite  them, fell periodically around. And every strong breeze brought down a tingling cascade of the soft tiny cream coloured neem flowers, with their distinct smell. Then all of a sudden I heard the tinkle of an all too familiar bell. I knew instantly, it was the sonpaapdi seller with his cart. I ran to the kitchen window and called,

"Amma, amma!"

"The sonpaapdiwala is here, please, please, can I buy some at least today?"

I looked pleadingly at my mother, who came to the window.

But as expected, she shook her head.

"Oh, Devi," she said, "You know appa, will not like it... look here,

I will make peanut candy for you this afternoon, ok .."

"But, amma!..." I trailed off as my mother turned and moved away from the window.

I returned crestfallen, to the neem tree, when I heard someone call my name softly at first, then again. I looked up, through the leaves and I could make out aunt Savithri standing at her window.

"Devi," she said,

"Do you like sonpaapdi so much?" I nodded my head in assent.

"Can I buy you some?"

I was quite confused. I wanted it, but was afraid.

"Amma, will not like it," I said, in a meek tone.

She said, "Wait," and instantly, she was in the street, talking to the vendor.

The cart had a large, green, bell shaped glass jar and as always, the flaky sweet filled less than a quarter of it. I loved to watch the way, the vendor would reach all the way to the bottom of jar, sift and loosen the flakes and arrange these in a piece of newspaper torn into neat squares. The passers by, stopped around him and I watched eagerly from the gate, as aunt Savithri bought some. She came up to me and handed the paper carefully through the bars. Temptation got the better of protest and I ran to the play area and sat down and ate slowly, savouring each mouthful of the tasty sweet.

Thus began, my interactions with aunt Savithri that summer. My mother had specifically warned me not to speak to aunt Savithri. Having been 'bribed' in this manner, I never breathed a word about this incident to my mother. I did ask her several times, as casually as I could, why I was not allowed to speak to aunt Savithri, but was only reprimanded on each occasion.

But, unknown to my mother, I made several stealthy trips to aunt Savithri's house. I found myself drawn to her. She was rather tall, with a fragile build. She wore her long hair that almost touched the back of her knee in a neat braid. She wore very few ornaments - and I loved her delicate wrists that were adorned by a simple pair of gold bangles. But she sported a large diamond ring on her ring finger, which stood out, from the rest of her jewellery. I always found her dressed is simple cotton sarees. She had large kind but sad eyes and  smile lit up her face, when ever she talked to me. She spoke softly, and most of all, I liked the way she looked into my eyes and spoke. Sometimes I felt, she was as much a child as me and as I didn't have a play mate other than my imaginary one, she became my play mate in a sense. Her music kept me company, at all the times, I played in the yard.

One afternoon, we had guests over and my mother was lost in the melee, shouting something to her, I  rushed next door in a trice. She was playing a soft raga on the veena. She smiled, and asked me,

" Devi, what raaga is this?"

Now this was a game we played all the time. She would play popular ragas for my benefit and then quiz me about them.

 I asked her shyly "Is that Abheri?"

"Sabash!" she exclaimed.

I asked her hesitantly, whether I could play the veena too. And she smiling sat me on her lap and guided my fingers over the frets. I winced as the strings almost cut my fingers, and I was disappointed with the choppy wooden sounds that now ensued from that magical instrument. Seeing my absolute disappointment, she comforted me by saying,

"It sounded that way, when I started too ... you will improve if you practise more!"

So saying, she gently held me and planted a kiss on my cheek. I enjoyed that kiss, and the nearness it brought.

I was struck by her gentleness and warmth and I was puzzled why my mother was so antagonistic to her. Since, I couldn't ask my mother, I decided to ask her instead.

Aunt Savithri had begun to leave her front door ajar for my easy entry and I had flitted into her house to have a quick drink of water from the earthen pot near the door. I looked at her pensive face even as she sat on the large wooden indoor swing, lost in thought. I asked her shyly, "Can, I swing with you?" She jumped out and led me gently to it and seating herself next to me, she began swinging gently with me. I found her nearness so comforting and I suddenly asked her " Why doesn't my mother like you? "

Aunt Savithri somehow seemed to know that the question was coming and she said,

 "Paru,Y is actually a very nice person, she is only punishing me, because I have done something bad... you know like when you've been naughty ... "She struggled, to find the right words and 

She said, speaking more to herself,

"I should have been more responsible, but mistakes are inevitable I suppose my dear!"

One day, I was in her house,  trying to match my stride to the large tiles that patterned her living room- with each stride, I almost fell as I had to stretch a great deal to place each of my feet on the edges of the tile... I had covered about half of the room, when I heard a strident ringing of the doorbell. Savithri hurried to the door and I overheard her urging the tall stranger who stood there to keep it low as I was inside. She hurriedly took him to an anteroom and very hesitantly asked me to leave. I sensed her agitation, I wanted to stay, to be by her side, but was also scared of the tall swarthy man who had entered so impertinently into the house.

The rains came and with it the start of school and a new class to sit in. I couldn't visit aunt Savithri anymore as my days were packed. I would often stare longingly at her window and I would wave eagerly if I spotted her there. I had grown more bold and despite my mother's glares, I waved to her.

I thought of her often, in the midst of homework, while at school, recalling her face, her smile and her tone.

 Within a couple of months however, my father had a job transfer to a different city. I was upset and extremely disturbed.  One evening, I was very surprised to see my father at aunt Savithri's house. He was standing at her doorstep and Savithri was saying something earnestly with folded hands, my father mumbled something, turned abruptly and walked out of her door.

It was in the years, growing up, that I pieced together, Savithri's story, mostly from my father. I was shocked to learn that she was the younger sister on my mother and my maternal aunt. Savithri, the younger of the two sisters was the bright and bold one in the family.  Her parents had sent her to college, to study Law, a first for any one in our family and a great achievement for a woman hailing from a highly conservative family.

But, just when the family was soaking in the achievement of their daughter, aunt Savithri did the unthinkable- she fell in love. Falling in love was a crime those days and to make matters worse, she chose a man from a different community. Aunt Savithri was the bold one and she and Salil, who was our neighbour, decided to go ahead and get married despite the massive opposition from both families. My mother was understandably upset as she and her parents bore the brunt of the shame, in our familial and social circles. 

But a cruel fate seemed to dog aunt Savithri, as Salil died in a tragic car accident within a couple of years of her marriage. Her act of rebellion had estranged her from her near ones and to make matters worse, Salil's family began to mount pressure on her to vacate the property. I recalled, the swarthy stranger, who had barged into her house. But here is where, her training in Law, helped. Her husband had willed her the property and she took matters to the court with the help of her friends. In that summer, I got to know her, she was undergoing all the trauma and it was her training in music, that helped calm her. And, I unknowingly had served as the only link to her family. My father said, that before leaving, he had made one last bid to persuade her to move to our new city of residence, but she had declined. Savithri, wanted to stay in the path she had chosen for herself.

After I pieced together the story, my resentment of my mother melted. I saw, how Savithri's life and decisions had impacted her, turning her into a hard woman, who was torn between emotions of love and anger. It had coloured her relationship with her husband who wanted her to forgive Savithri and her treatment of me. My poor mother was overcome by an irrational fear that I would fall in love too and had been very strict, closely monitoring where I went and who I befriended. The stress got to her which led to her untimely death at the age of 45. My father and I had bonded after that and it was at my father's behest, that I was here.

Now, thirty years later, here I am at her doorstep, after going up and down the street, I had lived in as a child, desperately trying to find her house. All the independent houses with their vast open spaces and gardens, had changed into monstrous unaesthetic constructions, that loomed over and blocked the skyline. The only thing familiar was the name of the street.

I entered the rather small apartment, and sat down. I began earnestly, " I am Devi, ..."

Aunt Savithri, smiled faintly and said,

" I recognised you, Devi, you resemble Paru so much..."

She spoke in the soft voice, I knew so well and at sixty she still retained much of her charm and ethereal beauty.

"Appa, sent me to look for you, and here I am..." I said smilingly.

I held her soft hand, and said, "You know, I never stopped thinking about you, especially after I came to know that you are my maternal aunt ..."

At this, she got up and sat down next to me. I put my arm around her.

"How is amma?" she asked.

On hearing the news, she sobbed uncontrollably and we sat, our bodies shuddering in a weird union. I stopped crying and began comforting her and it seemed strange that I had to comfort someone for the death of my own mother.

"Devi, I have lost, my childhood friend and last surviving family, in this world. And an insensitive fate has made me hear this news, after so many years... I ... have lived in oblivion all these years and I, I wasn't there at her side... I ... I ...did try to look for you, you  know, asked common friends... but every time, I booked my train tickets, I would not make the journey... fearing Paru's wrath. I ... should have steeled myself and come... I should have swallowed my pride ...."

I sat there, rubbing her back, waiting for her to compose herself. The maid rang the bell in an all too welcome distraction. She made tea and it helped to calm my aunt down. I noticed the large framed photograph of my parents, and that of a handsome, smiling Salil hanging on the wall. The room had nothing much by way of adornment and the pictures stood out.

I wanted to tell her not to fret and that I had come with the intent of taking her with me.

But she was hysterical as if she wanted to empty her heart out of all the pent up emotions in a desperate confessional.

"This whole rebel thing is overrated!" she said.

"I will not be a romantic and say that I stand by my decisions and take responsibility for my actions.

My equanimity was not a conscious choice, it was the only option...

May be the time was not right. In today's age and with your generation this might not have caused such a storm."

"Yeah right..." I thought, "My life too was no different amma, thanks to your sister's over protectiveness," I said.

But she didn't seem to hear me. She rambled on.

"My rebellion cost me my family, my peace, my joy, my life and today I have nothing left except this small apartment, which I was allotted after a torturous court battle.  I have paid... too heavy a prize for two years of incredible happiness... she looked wistfully at the large diamond ring on her finger.

She continued, "I have made many enemies, and I have caused people, people who loved and nurtured me so much pain- I feel responsible for your thatha and paatti's death and Paru's death ..." she began sobbing again.

I moved over to the sit out, the sun was setting. I thought I would give her time, to come out of the years of pain, loathing and regret that were flowing out of her through her tears. I felt too that she was somehow comforted by my presence.

I returned after a while, and took out the airtickets and placed them on her lap gently.

"We are flying out tomorrow amma ... appa is expecting us..." I said.