Chapter Three: Trying Times

November 25, 2001.

Praveena lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling fan. It rotated at maximum speed, and she was tried to make out the wings; it was her favourite past time. Whenever she felt sad, happy — or anything at all — she would lock herself inside her room and stare at the fan. It tired her eyes and helped her fall asleep. She needed a lot of that too; her workload was mounting higher than ever before.

It was just another stressful Thursday; she had been told to write a two-page essay on “Life in Renaissance.” She didn’t understand the point of studying the causes and effects of something that was already gone. What’s the use? She could only wonder.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she imagined, for a moment, asking the same question of her History teacher. She would have regretted her existence by now. Boy, that old hag had a way of insulting anyone who had anything against the word “ istory.” He would peer down at students with his magnified eyes and start tutoring about the greatness of history and the value historical research. A widower, Mr Andrew lived in his huge ancestral property. No one sees him in the neighbourhood except when he leaves for work and when he returns. He never went out during the weekends, and visitors were an unlikely possibility. It was always a source of great entertainment for the kids at school to wonder and spin stories about what he did all alone, all day shut up in that house. They knew more than half of the building was unoccupied. They would imagine and share stories of ghosts and vampires, considering and reconsidering the chances of Mr Andrew being a vampire.

People said Andrew had quite a semblance to Edward Cullen — except the complexion of course — and the age. Mr Andrew certainly looked his age, which would be around fifty five.

Come to think of it, Praveena couldn’t recall why Andrew was said to be similar to Edward at all. She saw hardly any similarity. Mr Andrew was thin, yes, and could have been a handsome youth, but he did absolutely hate being out in the sun.

And unlike the twilight vampire, Mr Andrew had a large pile of untidy grey hair, an oversized and badly tucked in belly, and an uncanny interest in peanuts. That would surely rule him out as a vampire, Praveena thought. Though she would have loved to give into the idea.

The fan was still spinning, and now so was Praveena’s head. The next moment, she was fast asleep. Her room was a mess, and Praveena’s surroundings expressed her mind. The area of her bed in which she wasn’t sleeping was laden with clothes both washed and otherwise, giving no room for her pillow which now had collected dust under the bed. Her usually well-swept room was covered in a kind of a pungent stench that she had become accustomed to.

She hadn’t let the maid in to clean her room the previous week. She wanted to do it herself, but she was overcome with too much workload that she barely slept nowadays. She didn’t know what kept her awake all night, but she knew that it wasn’t going to end soon. She knew that she had to wait with open arms for sleep to embrace her.

It did now, and she slept. And then she slept a little more.

Praveena woke up the next morning and felt like a new person. She had slept well, and it showed in her eyes. She washed, got dressed in record time and went to meet her mother in the kitchen.

Her mother was there, setting up a humble breakfast with the little strength she could muster.

“Good morning, Ma!” she said, and smiled as wide as she could. Her mother turned to her and smiled; a smile that she gave only Praveena, a loving smile that only Praveena could interpret. It was the same smile that she had given Praveena every day of her life, whether or not her daughter noticed it.

“Morning, dear” Geetha replied. “how about an early breakfast, huh?” Even as she placed the round dish on the polished table, Praveena noticed that her mother had lost her pace. Her eyes had begun to sink in, and she had tied a scarf on her balding head. She knew that her mother’s pancreatic cancer had weakened her a lot, but she had hardly noticed.

“Maybe a little later, Ma. Where’s Pa?” Praveena sat down and gestured her mother to do the same. She pulled out a chair which Geetha took, stumbling a little.

“Out, on his usual walk.” smiled Geetha, “You seem to have slept well last night,” she observed without wavering in her smile. Praveena nodded. “good. You need to get a lot of sleep at this age. Never deny your body the rest it deserves.”

That struck Praveena. Drawing her courage, she spoke, for the first time about her mother’s condition, “What about you, Ma? You need the rest too. Why do you still strain yourself so much?” She could feel her eyes searing and fought back a tear. “You’ve already done your duty” she added as an afterthought.

Geetha smiled. It was a simple smile, there was no pathos or self pity in that smile. It was a tolerant smile that one gives while explaining to an unbelieving toddler that one plus one makes two. “It’s not about duty; it was never my duty to raise you. It was out of love. If I am spending my little time for you, it means that I care about you, and your dad. It has noting to with duty.” She shook her head gently explaining to her little daughter that, despite having such a short time with her, she loved her more than anything. Geetha wheezed and took a deep breath, tired.

Praveena no longer felt happy.

Chapter Two | Chapter Four