“Everyone I met in the family thought it was a strange hankering I had. ‘To do something.’ What? You get married, you have children, and you manage your house. What else can you do? I was asked sceptically. I didn’t know. I knew Ammi and Abbu wanted to get me married. And here was Imtiaz, after the same thing too.â€
Have you ever known what it is like to be on the brink of freedom and not taste it? Like a kite that flies in the blue skies but cannot escape because of the string that tugs it down? Who holds that string? Can the kite escape eventually? Will it have to be cut down by another ruthless kite before it can fall to the ground gracelessly?
Kite Strings is the story of Mehnaz, a Muslim girl from an orthodox South Indian family where despite the trappings of education and reluctant modernity, she realises that she is not allowed to make the important decisions of her life on her own.
Easy to spot is her constant tussle with her mother over what Mehnaz’s priorities should be. But not so easy to understand is the constant yearning for direction in her life. As a novel of self discovery, Mehnaz encapsulates the lives of many such girls who are not even aware that they too can do something worthwhile with their lives.
Andaleeb Wajid has been writing since she was ten years old. She has published many stories for children over the past ten years. A collection of short stories called Curtains: Stories by 9 women, published by Bangalore-based Unisun Publishers was released in 2005, which contained four of her stories, including the title story.
Born in Vellore, Andaleeb has lived all her life in Bangalore. She is at heart a Bangalorean as well as one who takes pride in her Tamil heritage. A mother of two sons, she is also an avid blogger. You can know more about her at www.andaleebwajid.com
Hopes, Dreams and Reality
“I’m two years older than your mother. This was the house we lived in when we were small. We were only two sisters. My parents had hoped for a son, and Ammi did have two sons. Both of them died when they were only a few months old. After that, Ammi didn’t have any more children.
“Abba didn’t send us to school. He was so ashamed of us. Wherever he went, he saw other men talking about their sons and their pride in whatever they did. Other men boasted of how their sons would help them in their business once they grew up. In all these conversations, Abba could never say a word. He always sat silently and listened.
“But he always came back home in a foul mood and snapped at Ammi and thrashed Shabana and I if we happened to make too much noise while playing. We never could understand the reason for his fury. But that was how life was for us. Ammi persuaded Abba to send Shabana to a local Urdu school at least and he agreed reluctantly. Not so with me. I stayed at home and helped Ammi. I did wish to go to school, but Abba was not willing to spend more money than what was necessary on a girl’s education– one that would not be of any use to him.
“When I was sixteen, some people from Hyderabad visited us. There was a young man in their group, and he was the only young man I had ever seen. You see, I hardly ever stepped out of the house, and although I had seen the men who came to our house, they were mostly Abba’s age and there was nothing attractive about them.
“I didn’t speak a word to him, but I would always look at him from the kitchen window or would try to hear his conversations with Abba. He was a student and he soon was to join his father’s business. I dreamt about him, about his life in Hyderabad, and simultaneously about my life here. Without knowing it, I had entwined my dreary existence to his more exciting life, hope and a meagre faith in life making me wish for what I could never have. Your mother was in school then and whenever she returned, he would be sitting outside in the hall, almost as if he were hoping to run into her. As if he was waiting for her.
“She was only fourteen then. And he was twenty. But they seemed to have a lot to talk about. I would look at them laughing sometimes and wonder why I couldn’t talk to him so openly. She was so easy-going! She giggled at his jokes, and he would come up with so many! Ammi didn’t want her to talk so much to him. Shabana was going to finish school in a couple of years and she would be waiting to get married. Like me.
“He went back after a few days, and we slowly got over the excitement of having so many people at home. Life resumed the way it was, and soon Shabana had finished school. I was getting quite a few proposals but Abba didn’t seem to like any of them. He was looking for a pair of brothers to whom he could marry both his daughters. Someone had told him that it would be a good idea and he had firmly decided that he wanted it that way.
“I was nearly twenty, and other family members were anxious that I hadn’t been married yet. That was when we got news of the Hyderabadi people. They had sent a proposal for Shabana. I couldn’t understand what I felt. Whether it was a disappointment, or anger… it was confusing. Abba was confused too. He didn’t refuse straightaway. After all, they were relatives and wouldn’t take it lightly if we refused outright.
“Abba had liked him, but he didn’t know if it would be a good idea to get a daughter married and sent so far away. Shabana was rather anxious. I could see from her face that she was extremely happy to have received that proposal. But she was also unsure of what would happen from there. What if Abba refused?
“I couldn’t bear to see her looking so happy and so anxious. I watched her pray, her duas after namaz were interminably long, and I knew what she was praying for. In my own prayers, I silently lamented about the injustice of life.
“I dropped hints to Ammi a few times after that. I told her how Hyderabad wasn’t a nice place, and Ammi would look at me and frown. “What would you know?†she asked. I couldn’t answer, but I thought of other ways to ruin the alliance. Finally, I did the one thing that I regret to this day. I told Ammi that he wasn’t a nice man. I told her that he had once caught my hand and kissed it.
“I remember becoming red and uncomfortably hot, just saying it and imagining that it had happened. Ammi made her decision then. She slapped me and hit me, calling me all kinds of names for having allowed him to do that. But she was also angry that I had ruined a perfectly good proposal and soured things between relatives. She and Abba discussed it, and I didn’t know how much they told Shabana, but they called it off, naturally.
“Shabana was broken-hearted. She cried for days and Ammi was alarmed. Abba just glared at me whenever I walked into a room. Shabana stopped talking to me completely, and I became uncomfortably aware of what I had done. Ammi had probably told her about what I had said, and Shabana was aghast.
“The days continued and my guilt kept growing inside me. It grew so big that I decided I couldn’t continue living with it. But I didn’t have the courage to face Shabana and come clean with her. I got a proposal from a family in Vellore, and Abbu stopped looking for brothers to whom he could get both of us married.
“The day I got married, I purged myself of my guilt and wrote everything in a letter. I placed the letter on Shabana’s pillow and went to get dressed. She came into the room. I was wearing my jewellery and I saw her open it curiously. From the mirror, I saw her reading my clumsy Urdu scrawl, and saw her frown. She looked up at the mirror at my reflection a couple of times. Quickly, I averted my gaze.
“She wasn’t one to let things go easily. She came up to me and demanded an explanation. She was always the stronger one among us both, and I felt a bit scared of her. Just then Ammi came in and took me away for my nikah. My eyes were closed throughout my nikah, but I knew that my younger sister hadn’t attended my wedding. She had chosen to stay at home.
“Ammi told me later that Shabana showed her my letter. Maybe she hoped that things could still work out in Hyderabad. Ammi once again discussed things with Abba and they didn’t know what to do. Those days, we didn’t have a phone in our house, and neither did they. So, Ammi wrote a letter to them, apologising for the misunderstanding and hoping that things would be well between them. Towards the end, on the last side of the blue inland letter, she added that she was willing to give her daughter in marriage to their son.
“Abba posted the letter hesitantly. He didn’t want to approach them again. He felt that it would make them lose face, and they would receive no respect. But Ammi thought that maybe there were chances that it would work out. Ammi had liked him too. We waited for three months but there was no letter from them.
“I visited Ammi’s house, this house, regularly. My husband was an indifferent man. He lived his life and he expected others to live theirs too. However they could. I was soon pregnant with my eldest daughter, Razia. I came home for the delivery, and your mother still didn’t talk to me. The Hyderabadi people hadn’t even bothered to respond.
“After the delivery, I stayed for the required forty days. Just when I was going to return, your mother got the proposal from your father’s family. Abba agreed quietly. Your mother didn’t say a thing. She just sat quietly at the nikah. After Shabana got married, Abba slipped from the stairs and fell down one day. The woman who cleaned the house had been swabbing, and in one corner of the stairs, the water hadn’t dried completely. Abba slipped, broke his neck and died. Shabana left for Bangalore after that. I saw her only once after that. At Ammi’s funeral. After that, I haven’t heard from her, and I don’t even know how she is.â€
I stared at the tray before me. The girl had kept a cup of tea on it and a plate of biscuits. A brown wrinkled skin floated on the surface of the tea. I couldn’t believe a word of all that I had heard. Khala had to be joking. She must have made it up, living here all alone these days. But then, why would she do that?
I lowered my head and stared at the pattern on my burka. This had to be true. So much of Ammi’s past – obliterated by her marriage. Ammi had deliberately distanced herself from her sister and her house. Why? What Khala had said implied that Ammi hated her for interfering in her life. But so much hatred that she had ignored Khala’s very existence?
I was still having trouble taking it all in. My mother! I shook my head and lifted my face. Khala was looking at me, smiling a little vaguely. Her story still hadn’t answered many questions. Why was Khala living here instead of living in her own house? Why had Ammi broken off all ties with her only living relative? Why had Ammi never told us about her sister? Why did Khala look so old, if she was only two years older than Ammi?
I leaned forward to ask her when the doorbell rang in shrill bursts. The girl hurried to open the door, and a young boy stepped in. He looked around my age. He walked in complaining about something, but stopped when he saw me. Without asking who I was, he removed his slippers, washed his hands and feet in the aangan, and went inside one of the rooms. I turned to face Khala. She was looking at him with adoration. Who was he?
The sky had darkened completely, and the Isha azan rang out clearly in the warm, still air. The door bell rang once more. I looked at the door in dismay. It had to be Abbu. He said he would return in an hour. But I wanted to know more. So many things were still not answered. I heard Abbu’s voice calling out to me, “Mehnaz! Come, let’s go.â€
I scrambled up, the tea untouched. Khala got up with me shakily. She looked at me sadly. “Are you going away?â€
I nodded. I wished I could stay and ask her more questions, but it wasn’t possible with Abbu at the door. I didn’t know if I would ever get another chance. I walked to the door slowly, wishing Abbu hadn’t returned so early. I turned to Khala who was trailing behind me.
“What are the names of your children?†I asked her.
“Razia and…†she said and looked at her son, who was inside, sleeping on a cot, “Raheem.†Their names were now etched in my memory. New cousins… but what was the point if I was never going to meet them again? I wished there was some way I could tell Khala that I would be back. I smiled at her, hoping that my smile conveyed what was in my mind.
I gathered my burka around me, feeling a chill on my arms. I was feeling cold in warm and torpid Vellore.
^ Top
