A different drumbeat

"Hello? This is Priya. I'm trying to reach Kamala"

The heavily accented female voice at the other end is hesitant. Sheela, the oldest daughter-in-law of the house and my former co-sister, is a woman of few words. She spoke only when spoken to, and in measured sentences. She had often made me wonder if my marriage would've survived if I had locked up all my feelings and moved, automaton-like, the way she did.

"Kamala left yesterday to her grandma's place. They should've reached last night itself..."

"Yes I know. I tried there but the phone kept ringing. Last night I couldn't get the line at all. I wonder if the number has changed. Could you confirm the number please?"

It was the same number. She said that the phone had been dead for a day, perhaps I had called at that time?

"Yes, I believe so. Thank you so much, Sheela. I'll try again"

Then came the bolt from the blue.

"How are you, Priyamvada?"

I almost choked....there was such genuine warmth in her voice.

"I'm doing well, Sheela. How about you, is everything fine?"

She laughs uneasily. "I'm fine. How is your job, are you faring well?"

Wonder of wonders. Sheela making conversation - and that too to Priya, the purported black sheep of the family who dared to leave. Who was painted in colors beyond recognition, to make the divorce more digestible to the relatives. Who was aware of all the stories circulated, but did nothing to clarify the truth. It is a wonder if anyone is still speaking to me (aside from the one or two who still care).

I swallow my surprise and answer her.

"I'm doing well, Sheela. How are you? And how is little Neeraja?"
"Ah, we are doing ok..."

It is clear she wants to talk more. I try to make it easier.

"Neeraja must be in school now, right?"

She laughs "Yeah - actually she was off for a couple of days due to cold. Now she has gone back."

Neeraja must be about eight. A calm, much quieter child compared to my fireball.

"She must be going to third grade? She's a year older to Kamala."

"Ummm...actually no, Priya. She is very slow you see, so we've put her in a special school. She is probably at the kindergarten stage now"

Her voice is calm, but I can sense the effort. "She must be in lower or upper kindergarten I think"

She sounded a little too nonchalant. Like someone who had given up on life, who didn't believe she had the power to change anything.

Sheela always drifted with the tide, never voicing an opinion at any time, her face a mask that betrayed nothing. It was hard to believe she had an M.A degree. Her husband was a decent, yet reticent man - driven by logic, conservative, crisp in speech, not someone one would open up to. It was an arranged marriage of two very quiet individuals.

Sheela must be lonely in Delhi. The mother-in-law who occasionally visited can be very sarcastic, making unflattering comparisons of Neeraja with her other grandchildren. Sheela with her quietness had never been her favorite daughter-in-law, and by now she would've been made to feel responsible for Neeraja's purported slowness.

So where does Sheela go for comfort? Sheela doesn't open up to anyone outside her family. She has trouble making friends. She has to keep up appearances everywhere - except perhaps to Priya the black sheep.....

How I wish she had spoken to me while I was still married, when we had the opportunity to get to know each other as women? How do we bridge the gap now - separated as we are by miles, continents and the former in-law status? This belated hand of friendship is bitter and sweet at the same time. I try to change the subject.

"You know Sheela - yesterday I was filing away all of Kamala's baby pictures in albums. And there was one with Neeraja and Kamala playing....They were two and one in that picture! Neeru must be much taller now..."

She laughs a little - happily this time "I remember that visit. Yes, Kamala and she are the same height now, Neeru has grown taller"

"Its been more than six years since I saw her - how time has flown!"

I ask some more general questions, and close with

"Convey my regards to your husband. And Sheela - you take care"

*-*-*-*

Is there something more I could have done? I don't know....I feel like calling Sheela once in a while, just to ask her how she's doing - from one woman to another. I can understand her loneliness, having known it myself in so many forms.... But a call for no reason from Priya would make people uncomfortable. My reaching out to the in-laws would be seen as an attempt to alienate the ex from his own people. There are no easy answers here.

I think of Neeru, the difficulty she had getting potty-trained, the unflattering comments made about her even then. I think of the general impatience of her paternal grandmother with Neeru - and the anger she took out on poor Sheela. I thought of Neeru whose fingernails I had painted, and who had gurgled and played happily in the yard with her cousins even as Kerala's monsoons threatened yet another downpour.

I hope Neeru will not be judged for the way God made her. I hope she will be treated kindly, and valued for who she is. I hope the hands that hold her have strength, tenderness, and plenty of support. I hope the people in Neeru's life will remember that this child dances to a different drumbeat - a beat for which only He is responsible.