Thursday, August 31, 2006
THE POINT
THE POINT
Lata Jagtiani
Its time, Rohit Bajpayee muttered to himself, to close shop. It was late. He had waited for the woman who had shown an interest in buying his textile shop. She’d left with the words, “Give me some time; I’ll let you know in due course.”
That was four months ago. She hadn’t returned. Yet with every dawn he felt she’d call, every evenings, he’d despair. Then he’d chastise himself for wearing his heart on his sleeve.
He had a good life. In fact, he’d been luckier than most. He was healthy, had a faithful wife, a decent bank balance, a good reputation and no real grouse against life and yet……
“You’ve missed the point !”
That whisper again, shattering his peace yet another time. Anxiety crept in. He touched his wife.
“Purnima, are you awake?” he asked. He knew she wasn’t, and yet he couldn’t control himself. Panic and passion gripped him.
“What is it?” she asked annoyed at being woken. Her voice was strained, sullen and tense.
“Can we…?”
“NOW?”
“Please, I need it.”
Purnima shut her eyes and pursed her mouth. Was she going to cry? But it was almost always over in an instant, sometimes no sooner than it started. And he was a man, goddamnit.
Purnima knew she couldn’t stop him. She’d waited in vain for the day he’d say, “I want you” rather than “I need it”. She never told him- this is an act of love, not a duty to perform.
When she had first seen him she had found him repulsive and had refused to marry him. He was too milky white. She’d wanted a rugged-looking man who walked with leonine grace, not somebody who shuffled around wobbling his excessive weight about him. On the day he came to “see” her he had picked at the samosa with his neatly filed red thumbnail. Red nailpolish on a man! When she had told her parents she wasn’t attracted to him they had been bewildered. The man should feel attracted, not the woman. She was only being difficult. Babaji would drill some sense into her head.
While she waited outside plaiting and unplaiting her long hair, she overheard them explaining to Babaji: she was a “manglik”, she was dark, her eyesight was weak, and she was too tall for the community’s boys.Would Babaji talk to her? How could she refuse a decent, well-settled boy from their society, merely because she wasn’t attracted to him!
“Beti, come here,” he invited her softly, while gesturing to her parents to leave the room. She was relieved to see them depart obediently.
“Yes, Babaji” she whispered. She touched his feet respectfully and then sat cross-legged on the mat. She met his eyes hoping he’d understand.
“You know how difficult it is for unmarried girls. Now you have three brothers and one sister, how will they feel if you spoil their chances? Your family will be embarrassed when they take you along for functions. You understand, beti?”
She nodded mutely.
“We can’t live for ourselves alone, we are here to make the world a happier place. Your family will be unhappy just because you weren’t attracted to this man. They say he has a good business and comes from a good family; why don’t you try living with him? Once you do that you’ll feel differently”.
“But he is so effeminate, he has nail-polish on his fingers...“Yes, yes, most marriages start like that, then they improve. All will be well. Try, for your parents’ sake, beti.”
Tears collected in her eyes. Her heart ached.
Then he added, “Be strong, you must ignore the heart, it is often confused and makes foolish choices…” Pausing, he had picked up a tulsi leaf and handed it to her.
“But you must give me your promise, beti, before you leave.”“Yes, Babaji?”
“You must promise that you will always cooperate with your husband when it comes to sex.”
She had been too shocked to respond to that forbidden subject. How could she discuss it with him of all people? She nodded, eyes downcast.
“I promise” she whispered and a shiver ran up her spine. She couldn’t take her mind off his red thumbnail.
She never refused him. He took. She gave. The heart watched silently as she made sensible choices. She cooked. He earned. He asked. She obeyed. It was pragmatic and got easier with time. This, too, shall pass, she told herself as he rocked and heaved over her, while she tightly gripped the side of the bed. Yet even after so many years she wanted to flee the room when he took her.
After so many years she still stiffens when I touch her, he thought angrily. She never initiates only surrenders. It was only her body. It was a task to be performed. Sometimes he couldn’t tell which was worse, the tension before or the frustration after. But she was his wife for whom he provided all the comforts.
But once someone had responded.
He had felt a woman tremble with pleasure. Once a woman had initiated, once a woman had been tireless, in ecstacy. She had loved him. After their lovemaking was over, she had always placed her hand over her heart. Bewildered, he’d asked her why.
“My heart is full, too full. I want to feel that fullness completely, and never forget it. I love you in every way.”
Purnima never did that. Her hand gripped the bed while he rocked and thrust. She never praised him or guided him; she just waited for it to end.
But with her, his love, it was different. She gripped his back, her fingers dug into his smooth body, she moaned, she laughed, she groaned. Sometimes when their lovemaking was done he found his head where his feet should have been. With her he lost track of both time and motion. She was passionate. But with Purnima he could neither forget time nor the futility of existence. When he saw his love place her hand on her heart he felt overwhelmed. He felt the tears in his eyes only when he was with her.
But one day she had spoilt it all by asking for his help. It meant that he would have to forsake his wife. How could she have imagined he’d leave Purnima who had borne his anger and impatience, who had given unstintingly? She was no child, she must have known how important his position and status was to him. She couldn’t make such a demand.
“Please, this is complicated, I have a position in society, a wife…”
She stared at him, her tears stopped in her eyes. He knew he had broken her heart. It was better to be clear and decisive than to waste time on unpleasant scenes.
“I suppose I was wrong about you,” she said as she collected her handbag.
He knew he had lost her then. She would only return to him now if she changed completely.
“Nobody can have loved you the way I’ve loved you” he said before parting.
Amazed, she asked, “Say that again?”
“Nobody must have loved you the way I’ve loved you,” he repeated flatly.
She nodded. “Yes, perhaps. For you… need is love, need is….”She stopped herself. She raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them each. “Sad. You’ve missed the point. It is you, perhaps, more than me, that needs help.” And she laughed. “Imagine that, you are older than me and even now you haven’t got it. You’ve missed the point completely. And yet, even then, the victory is yours. While you were loved completely, I didn’t know that I was loved with so little of your heart. I only occupied a tiny corner of your heart, a heart that was too small for me to grow in. I was only pleasure and excitement for you. I was foolish to seek more from you. We are two fools.”
Missed the point, she’d said. Sometimes he agreed. When she matures she’ll see that mine is the correct way. Until then he’d wait.
The meaning of it all, was it love? Love!
Better to be sensible and worry about the sale of the shop. If only she had left her number, her address with him…
Purnima awoke at seven. The doorbell, so early? She opened the door to a woman.
“I’m Dina Jain. We haven’t met.”
“Dina?” Purnima’s strong instincts told her the lady spelt trouble.
“What do you want?” Purnima asked in a tremulous voice.
“Hasn’t he told you about me?” she asked sweetly.
The room began to spin. Sharply she asked, “WHO?”
“Oh, he didn’t.”
She heard the bathroom door shut. He had gone for his morning ablutions. She heard the water running. He’d be here soon.
Purnima gripped her arm and said urgently, “ Please, don’t tell him you came here. I beg you. Please go away.”
Surprised by the frantic appeal, Dina felt her skin crawl under Purnima’s fingers. “But I… but he…”
“Please!”
She shrugged. Dina remarked casually, as she began to leave, “If you want to reach me I’m at Sagar Hotel today.”
“Yes, but no, I won’t be needing you, please go now.” The tap had stopped running. The bathroom door opened again.
She shut the front door quickly and turned around to face Rohit. Had he seen her?
“Who was that?”
Whew!
“Nobody, just someone who called at the wrong house. Tea?” she asked softly.
“Yes, has the paper arrived?”
“Oh, I forgot, I’ll get it for you.”
Her voice was gay.
Perhaps today she’ll call, he thought.
Purnima poured out the tea.
Two for him, one for her. Same as usual. Stir. Serve. Smile.
Lata Jagtiani
Its time, Rohit Bajpayee muttered to himself, to close shop. It was late. He had waited for the woman who had shown an interest in buying his textile shop. She’d left with the words, “Give me some time; I’ll let you know in due course.”
That was four months ago. She hadn’t returned. Yet with every dawn he felt she’d call, every evenings, he’d despair. Then he’d chastise himself for wearing his heart on his sleeve.
He had a good life. In fact, he’d been luckier than most. He was healthy, had a faithful wife, a decent bank balance, a good reputation and no real grouse against life and yet……
“You’ve missed the point !”
That whisper again, shattering his peace yet another time. Anxiety crept in. He touched his wife.
“Purnima, are you awake?” he asked. He knew she wasn’t, and yet he couldn’t control himself. Panic and passion gripped him.
“What is it?” she asked annoyed at being woken. Her voice was strained, sullen and tense.
“Can we…?”
“NOW?”
“Please, I need it.”
Purnima shut her eyes and pursed her mouth. Was she going to cry? But it was almost always over in an instant, sometimes no sooner than it started. And he was a man, goddamnit.
Purnima knew she couldn’t stop him. She’d waited in vain for the day he’d say, “I want you” rather than “I need it”. She never told him- this is an act of love, not a duty to perform.
When she had first seen him she had found him repulsive and had refused to marry him. He was too milky white. She’d wanted a rugged-looking man who walked with leonine grace, not somebody who shuffled around wobbling his excessive weight about him. On the day he came to “see” her he had picked at the samosa with his neatly filed red thumbnail. Red nailpolish on a man! When she had told her parents she wasn’t attracted to him they had been bewildered. The man should feel attracted, not the woman. She was only being difficult. Babaji would drill some sense into her head.
While she waited outside plaiting and unplaiting her long hair, she overheard them explaining to Babaji: she was a “manglik”, she was dark, her eyesight was weak, and she was too tall for the community’s boys.Would Babaji talk to her? How could she refuse a decent, well-settled boy from their society, merely because she wasn’t attracted to him!
“Beti, come here,” he invited her softly, while gesturing to her parents to leave the room. She was relieved to see them depart obediently.
“Yes, Babaji” she whispered. She touched his feet respectfully and then sat cross-legged on the mat. She met his eyes hoping he’d understand.
“You know how difficult it is for unmarried girls. Now you have three brothers and one sister, how will they feel if you spoil their chances? Your family will be embarrassed when they take you along for functions. You understand, beti?”
She nodded mutely.
“We can’t live for ourselves alone, we are here to make the world a happier place. Your family will be unhappy just because you weren’t attracted to this man. They say he has a good business and comes from a good family; why don’t you try living with him? Once you do that you’ll feel differently”.
“But he is so effeminate, he has nail-polish on his fingers...“Yes, yes, most marriages start like that, then they improve. All will be well. Try, for your parents’ sake, beti.”
Tears collected in her eyes. Her heart ached.
Then he added, “Be strong, you must ignore the heart, it is often confused and makes foolish choices…” Pausing, he had picked up a tulsi leaf and handed it to her.
“But you must give me your promise, beti, before you leave.”“Yes, Babaji?”
“You must promise that you will always cooperate with your husband when it comes to sex.”
She had been too shocked to respond to that forbidden subject. How could she discuss it with him of all people? She nodded, eyes downcast.
“I promise” she whispered and a shiver ran up her spine. She couldn’t take her mind off his red thumbnail.
She never refused him. He took. She gave. The heart watched silently as she made sensible choices. She cooked. He earned. He asked. She obeyed. It was pragmatic and got easier with time. This, too, shall pass, she told herself as he rocked and heaved over her, while she tightly gripped the side of the bed. Yet even after so many years she wanted to flee the room when he took her.
After so many years she still stiffens when I touch her, he thought angrily. She never initiates only surrenders. It was only her body. It was a task to be performed. Sometimes he couldn’t tell which was worse, the tension before or the frustration after. But she was his wife for whom he provided all the comforts.
But once someone had responded.
He had felt a woman tremble with pleasure. Once a woman had initiated, once a woman had been tireless, in ecstacy. She had loved him. After their lovemaking was over, she had always placed her hand over her heart. Bewildered, he’d asked her why.
“My heart is full, too full. I want to feel that fullness completely, and never forget it. I love you in every way.”
Purnima never did that. Her hand gripped the bed while he rocked and thrust. She never praised him or guided him; she just waited for it to end.
But with her, his love, it was different. She gripped his back, her fingers dug into his smooth body, she moaned, she laughed, she groaned. Sometimes when their lovemaking was done he found his head where his feet should have been. With her he lost track of both time and motion. She was passionate. But with Purnima he could neither forget time nor the futility of existence. When he saw his love place her hand on her heart he felt overwhelmed. He felt the tears in his eyes only when he was with her.
But one day she had spoilt it all by asking for his help. It meant that he would have to forsake his wife. How could she have imagined he’d leave Purnima who had borne his anger and impatience, who had given unstintingly? She was no child, she must have known how important his position and status was to him. She couldn’t make such a demand.
“Please, this is complicated, I have a position in society, a wife…”
She stared at him, her tears stopped in her eyes. He knew he had broken her heart. It was better to be clear and decisive than to waste time on unpleasant scenes.
“I suppose I was wrong about you,” she said as she collected her handbag.
He knew he had lost her then. She would only return to him now if she changed completely.
“Nobody can have loved you the way I’ve loved you” he said before parting.
Amazed, she asked, “Say that again?”
“Nobody must have loved you the way I’ve loved you,” he repeated flatly.
She nodded. “Yes, perhaps. For you… need is love, need is….”She stopped herself. She raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them each. “Sad. You’ve missed the point. It is you, perhaps, more than me, that needs help.” And she laughed. “Imagine that, you are older than me and even now you haven’t got it. You’ve missed the point completely. And yet, even then, the victory is yours. While you were loved completely, I didn’t know that I was loved with so little of your heart. I only occupied a tiny corner of your heart, a heart that was too small for me to grow in. I was only pleasure and excitement for you. I was foolish to seek more from you. We are two fools.”
Missed the point, she’d said. Sometimes he agreed. When she matures she’ll see that mine is the correct way. Until then he’d wait.
The meaning of it all, was it love? Love!
Better to be sensible and worry about the sale of the shop. If only she had left her number, her address with him…
Purnima awoke at seven. The doorbell, so early? She opened the door to a woman.
“I’m Dina Jain. We haven’t met.”
“Dina?” Purnima’s strong instincts told her the lady spelt trouble.
“What do you want?” Purnima asked in a tremulous voice.
“Hasn’t he told you about me?” she asked sweetly.
The room began to spin. Sharply she asked, “WHO?”
“Oh, he didn’t.”
She heard the bathroom door shut. He had gone for his morning ablutions. She heard the water running. He’d be here soon.
Purnima gripped her arm and said urgently, “ Please, don’t tell him you came here. I beg you. Please go away.”
Surprised by the frantic appeal, Dina felt her skin crawl under Purnima’s fingers. “But I… but he…”
“Please!”
She shrugged. Dina remarked casually, as she began to leave, “If you want to reach me I’m at Sagar Hotel today.”
“Yes, but no, I won’t be needing you, please go now.” The tap had stopped running. The bathroom door opened again.
She shut the front door quickly and turned around to face Rohit. Had he seen her?
“Who was that?”
Whew!
“Nobody, just someone who called at the wrong house. Tea?” she asked softly.
“Yes, has the paper arrived?”
“Oh, I forgot, I’ll get it for you.”
Her voice was gay.
Perhaps today she’ll call, he thought.
Purnima poured out the tea.
Two for him, one for her. Same as usual. Stir. Serve. Smile.
