A walking stick leaned against the plain green wall. For the past three hours, 13 women sat tasklessly in the living room of a house that some would stop calling home in 2 days. The family had a new house to warm.
Being taskless was an irregular occurrence, usually reserved for when there was a cause of preparation for a celebration. Today, they were preparing for a housewarming by putting henna and two of the women were those that had artistically reddened their hands for many years in many celebrations.
For the next couple of hours, “the others” of the family could not ask them to fetch water because if the henna did not set vibrantly on their hands, it would signal a bad omen.
In these three hours, they had everything to catch up on. The ones who married into the family got to ask the ones of the family why. The ones who married elsewhere got to say that they had it worse. At the end, both decided that for better or for worse, they all should be grateful that their kids would not be like this. Everything boils down to hope and a better future.
No one was speaking to any one person in particular. They didn’t sit in a circle; that would be too restrictive as most of the time someone or the other had out of habit left their seat to see if there was any work that needed to be done. Maybe some clothes folded, some food to be checked on or just ensuring that everyone was hydrated.
Everyone else would then say, “just sit, let the girl there handle it.” That was me and well, I am clearly preoccupied but don’t worry, everyone will get a glass of water eventually.
The two artists were part of every discussion, giving the ‘outside-family’ perspective. Their words were calmer, more relatable, and more directive. Between “this market only increases prices for women’s hair dyes because we colour our hair more than men do,” and “please keep your hand straight,” the power to direct this session as they pleased was in their hands.
The aunts and grandmothers were more than pleased to talk about market prices. They needed alternatives to decrease the use of cooking oil, “ghee is too expensive.”
Some would occasionally drift into topics like how healthy someone is, or how someone is old enough to be shipped to another family. But as soon as it was mentioned that someone was a lawyer (hhehe me), the conversation became more about how they too wanted to get out.
Not from anything in particular but from the perseverance and monotony that had come to be expected. I heard those closer to me talk about the many lives I had gone out and lived and the entire time, I wondered if all that differentiated me here in this circle was the lucky cards I got dealt with when it came to my parents.
And yet, hearing them ask what I was going to do or what I have done, I thought, “Did I play these cards right?”
Thankfully, all answers lead back to politics, and in our rather singularly coloured world, my impassioned rant about not wanting to persevere through things that weren’t even created for the benefit of those who carry the load of it soon circled back to whether Mamata Banerjee’s policies did any women any favours in West Bengal.
The mehendi artists continued reddening the hands, and the walking stick remained untouched for six hours. Four generations of women had a lot to discuss as they had to wait for something to celebrate to talk about what they had been observing all this time.
To say I was just being a fly on the wall in this function would be an exaggeration. I was a fly on the wall of two rooms away. Sitting in the living room and watching about 17 people sway to the sounds of loud clanking manjiras and five men sing words out of tune became rather monotonous after the first 10 minutes.
The amount of preparation that had gone into finally having a house seemed to take a back seat compared to the gratitude being showered on these scantily clad men.
I don’t really have a bone to pick with my family about this function. My issue is simply the entire ordeal of it and the suffocating smoke and the number of people eyeing everything up and down and trying to decide if the house is even good enough to be warmed and the costumes required to appease all and just how slow time seems to go when all your senses go into an overdrive.
Sitting two rooms away, I realise my own boredom further distances me from the things I say I am curious about but can never actually bring myself to observe for long enough. Yes, the smoke is truly suffocating but I am lying when I say that is the only reason.
In these four days (who knew it could take that long to warm a house up), the only thing that has stood out for me is how I find every way possible to stand far from the crowd. I have many great, justifiable reasons for it. Unfamiliar faces, clanking manjiras, loud rituals and the overstimulating nature of families. But even to see myself be proven right, I would have to understand where the patience and need to do such functions arise.
Progress was there. I did step into the function when those with the manjiras went for a break.
I controlled my tongue about the oddity of rituals that feel stuck in time, and then accidentally let my disapproval be known a few minutes later but hey, it’s for the plot and maybe then I will live up to my introduction of being a lawyer. and since two weeks ago, a journalist.
Most of the family was huddled in the middle of the living room, clapping and singing along. The songs had become similar to some Bollywood songs I knew. The cluster of green, red, and yellow outfits was swaying with kids sprinkled in the middle who remained surprisingly still, hunched over and elbowing each other whenever someone made a goal in their mobile football thing. There is a sizeable basement downstairs. There is also a ball rolling around in the balcony.
I, too, am sitting with a laptop perched on my lap and creasing the dress that was chosen to make me a little more presentable. The worry that I would call out the scantily clad men for using their phones for chanting kept most of the adults at bay.
Time and again, I would ask my grandmom, what is going to happen next. It was my way of showing that I was still very much in the house and also figuring out how much time was left.
How does one go about being curious when the effects of things always toy with the line of being neutral and concerning?
I have become a fly on the wall of the adjacent room now. Some relatives have persuaded me that things do get better. For example, one reminded me that in this economy, this might be the last such function. The other has a library in their house; people don’t talk about her much. Apparently, she rebelled in a manner that I briefly thought about.
I don’t know what specifically they are hoping gets better, but they do read the same books and watch the same movies as me, so maybe there is something we can all agree on.
After a total of 2.5 days of warming the house and being the first of three people to actually spend the night in it, I can confidently tell you, that the house has been warmed.
Oh and my grandparents celebrated an almost-50th anniversary!
