Skip to main content

The Silver Bracelet - Part 2

Neera is in no way related to Lelin dadu by blood. She happens to be the eldest daughter of late Banshidhar, Lelin dadu’s best friend from childhood. Banshi was a few years younger to Lelin and even as a kid had dreams of making it big in life. That is why he moved to Kolkata after finishing high school, and started his own small business. He married late and all his children were brought up in modern ways, unaccustomed to village life and people. Since Banshidhar passed away ten years ago, Neera hadn’t since returned to the village, and had almost no recollection of Lelin dadu.

Neera’s New York is as different from the village of two-lakes, as is Brooklyn Bridge from the makeshift bamboo lake-crossing that threatens to snap if more than two persons or one cow walks over it at a time. Unlike two-lakes, New York has running water and wide roads bereft of potholes. The many heroes of the city, the Lelin dadus, vein through city’s gushing life-forces, but their songs of glory are overpowered by the honks of rushed passengers.

Unlike the two-lakes girls that are married by the time they are sixteen, Neera was twenty nine and single. She worked at an architecture firm in NYC and dated Indian men. For the last few months however, she had been going out with Jeff, a young American man with Irish ancestry who worked in the same firm as hers. She had a big fight with Jeff the day before she had to leave for India, to be with her mom and cousins for Durga-Puja.

As she boarded the airplane at the airport, tangential emotions tugged at her heart: the sadness from her fight with Jeff; the enthusiasm to meet her mother and cousins after two years; the dread of meeting her well-meaning aunts that greet her with the same old “So when are you getting married?” question; and the anticipation of going to the village of two-lakes after ten years. Settling down in her seat, she plugged the earphones and tried listening to some on-air music. The soft swinging of the plane heaving through clouds, the smooth jazz, and the heaviness of Neera’s thoughts had a soporific effect and soon, she succumbed to sleep.


***********************************


The village of two-lakes had been informed well in advance that Banshidhar’s daughter, a beautiful grown woman that made more money than anyone else in the village, a modern girl that wore jeans and clingy tops, an NRI, and peculiarly still single, would be visiting the village for two days. By the time Neera actually arrived at the village, all four hundred inhabitants of the village knew she had arrived. She would be staying at Lelin dadu’s house along with Lelin dadu, his wife, their three sons, the son’s wives, and their twelve children.

The commotion caused by her arrival was something Neera had never expected.

Four or five married women had gathered by the house. Neera knew they were married because they all covered their heads with their sari-pallus, wore red bindis and carried a cheerful but matter-of-factly disposition. One of them had a thermos flask filled with overly-sweetened tea. The lady in the red printed sari had brought Marie biscuits, a tin of uncooked “boiled” rice, and four large young coconuts. Neera hadn’t even asked for things and they had already been arranged for her. But it took her a few minutes to understand that the real reason these women came was to see “her”, and not to bring food and tea (which Lelin dadu’s family was already providing for her). Neera was now beginning to realize that she, to them, was an outcome of the past, a cause for the future, an abnormality, and a celebration, all at the same time.

Within a few hours all boundaries had been broken, and laid out on the big verandah that overlooked the vegetable garden, the hand-pump, the pond, and further down, the village temple. Out on the verandah Neera’s gifts for the family had been laid out on a large straw mat, as they were being carefully inspected, admired, discussed and marveled at by the family and a group of on-lookers( that were only passers-by moments ago). Though overwhelmed and tired, Neera was enjoying the attention and company, and tried her best to make the best of those two days.


*********** to be continued ***************

Comments

Vivek Sharma said…
I will love to chop chop chop edit edit edit add full stops and breathers and shorten sentences and make few changes here and there like the opening paragarph where her and his are confusing and leap to the future in New York and "boundaries broken" and certain other edits would make it as lovely as the underlying story and number of things that work fantastically if you know what I mean my sentence is an example of how things can be said but must not be said.
:)

And really speaking, like how the story flows, progresses. The details are there. Dress it up:)
Proma said…
Yes Vivek , point noted :)
Ruksana said…
nice, agree with vivek's points but i think i am more interested in the story than the english so awaiting the continuation, hope its coming up soon!
GS said…
I like the story and where it is going. I don't know how short or long you want to make it but I feel more time could be spent in these early "chapters". I'd like to learn a little bit more of Lelin's relationship with Neera's dad. What does Neera know of her dad's village etc.

She seems to arrive in a hurry and settle in faster than any ABCD I know...faster than any Desi I know for that matter :)

Like Vivek said - the bones are there...now stick some meat on them and break out the grill ;)
.amanda. said…
I agree with Ruksana and GS in that the storytelling is great, even if the language could use a little work- that is a minor point. The parallel and contrast between the two worlds is a great underlying theme that is illustrated consistently and well throughout the piece.

I'm eager to see the rest. :)

Popular posts from this blog

Faraway

Like a rose without water I will age deep vermillion and scentless. Your love I will keep like white envelopes from the past unopened under my sandal-scented bed. It is not memories that the mention of your name reminds. But a whole universe that I sometimes see when I sit and watch snow melt outside my window. Two drops of jasmine oil and two words later I remind myself this is only a poem and you distant, like a faraway place I want to visit. And say goodbye once again.

First Love makes you a worse person. (So go look for the second one to fix that!)

It has been twenty years since you left. Twenty years that I have not seen you. Honest to God, I don’t completely remember your face now. Only that smile, those hazel eyes, and your green striped shirt that later, someone stole from your clothesline on a summer afternoon. That summer remember, we stole mangoes from whichever garden we could, and attempted to cook chutney. And the aftermath – burnt coils of the electric heater and a blackened saucepan. I wonder why even after all these years, a gentle sprinkle of your memories, unleashes a strong flow of emotions that occupy those corners of my mind that normally don’t exist in my everyday life. I don’t like it. I don’t like that you come so close to me but only in a dream. I can neither touch you nor make you go away. You tease me like a freshly popped champagne bottle spilling out froth. That froth that burns my fingertips, but never wets them enough. And slowly, precipitates away into nothing. You are not “nothing” in my life. Y...

The Compromise (Final Part)

June 21st 2007 5:40pm Savannah, GA Shyla’s little ranch home was tucked away behind the row of weeping willows. More dreary looking houses and an abandoned truck rusting by the street, made the scenery look even sadder. It was hard to imagine that inside one of those old withdrawn houses, a newborn was trying to see the world with twinkle eyes in all amazement. Eric had parked on the street and was now walking towards the little ranch home. He had not noticed the adjoining houses, nor that the driveway ended into a worm-infested narrow mud pathway leading towards the house. He could see nothing, as his insides couldn ’t bear another iota of sensory impulse. Or perhaps, he, standing at this moment, still and alone, on grounds completely alien, was shielded from everything outside of his own chosen senses. He felt strangely calm, as if he had just come walking out alive from the dead. As he stood in front of the large wooden door now, loud heartbeats thumped against his ringing hea...