Amita's day

Amita's day

(This article has been read 101 times)

Posted by samurai on January 13, 2003 (Monday)

Amita looked at her own eyes in the looking glass and after she thought she detected some faint wrinkles under them, she moved her head closer, to be sure...

Amita looked at her own eyes in the looking glass and after she thought she detected some faint wrinkles under them, she moved her head closer, to be sure. A sudden panic of age that had risen with the thought of the wrinkle becoming visible, quietly receded to the background of her active thoughts, as she tried to console herself with the philosophy that everyone would age � today or tomorrow, it being only a matter of time. But she was happy, at the same time, to be young, and rejoice at the fact that the wrinkle was something she had to scrutinize in order to really detect and that too was very fine and scarcely noticeable. She stood back once again and continued brushing her hair, black silky tresses that flowed around her smallish head, just a little below her shoulders. They were still slightly damp, after her bath early in the morning, and responded willingly to the long, careful strokes of the rolling brush. She glanced at the window on her left, through which sunlight lit up this corner of her little room, to look at the street between the slight gap of the curtain and the wooden frame. No, the elderly lady wasn�t at the bus stop yet. After brushing, she dropped the comb on a tray that carried all the paraphernalia she used to accentuate her looks. Then she stood a little while longer in front of the mirror, looking at herself, and finally, after a smile that she liked being referred to as �cute�, she walked away. It was getting late.

Once outside, Amita paced towards a telephone booth, a couple of blocks down the road from the place that she rented. She needed to call home to assure her mother that her world was still in one piece although she hadn�t been able to call during the weekend. Calling home during the weekend had become a routine, something she never thought twice about, ever since she had started living alone in a big city. Her parents worried. She didn�t understand why they should worry so much, now that she was old enough to take care of herself and even had a job of her own. But reason was something that she knew wouldn�t really work well in the circumstances and accepted the fact quietly, and her initial disgruntling subsided to a peaceful demeanor over time.

�What�s the matter with you? Why didn�t you call on Saturday?�

She smiled silently. Adjusting the pallu of her saree, she leaned lightly on the glass wall of the booth, and keeping her voice deliberately low, she said that she had been a bit busy.

�How is your health? Are you eating properly?�

Their conversation continued for about ten minutes, during which the curious youth at the telephone booth stole several furtive glances, while pretending to concentrate on a street grade film magazine. Then excusing herself with getting late for work, Amita disconnected with a sense of relief and slight irritation, paid her charge and headed for the bus stop. Glancing at her watch, she began to take quicker steps, since her bus, if on time, was due any moment. The elderly lady had already left.

She felt happy to find a seat by the window, and slid open the dirty glass pane. A burst of wind hit her face and disheveled her hair that she quickly tamed with expert fingers traveling around her temples, and behind her ears � in a manner only women can. She relaxed on her seat. Soon, she thought, she would be at her desk, and begin another day of her mundane existence � a routine she accepted without particular enthusiasm. She didn�t take too much pride in her job, but performed it, she believed, to a degree of fair efficiency. She knew the importance of having a job. Many of her friends from college were still struggling to find one. Independence! Each time she visited her parents, she knew that she would soon be leaving home. She had a job of her own, paid her own rent, had a bank account where she carefully accumulated each month�s savings, and bought her own groceries. She didn�t have to ask her mother any longer if she wanted to return home late. And she didn�t have to worry about managing a household, a kid or keep a husband happy. No, not yet. The bus came to an abrupt halt at a busy intersection. Amita wondered what it would be like after her marriage. A sudden streak of panic, at the imagined loss of her new found independence, caused her to shift uncomfortably. Then she sent a silent prayer up to the God on whom she trusted, that her husband turn out to be an understandable man. With that she cast aside thoughts of marriage and gazed at the chaotic traffic, the streams of darting people moving around like bees, giant billboards and beggars.

Rekha had reached before her again, Amita noted with a slight sense of dismay as she smiled at her while exchanging perfunctory pleasantries before settling down in her own place at work. As she eased herself on her seat, keeping her brown leather handbag on the table, she noticed a couple of files, with a yellow memo stuck on top of them that had �URGENT� written in red ink. It didn�t take long for her to get immersed in work.

By lunch hour, she still had a substantial portion to complete, something that she had to do by the end of the day. Thus lunch was a little hurried and she excused herself from the small group of women who occupied a corner table of the office canteen with their bright clothes, interminable chatter and occasional giggles. As she dropped off the files at the desk of her boss� secretary at three o� clock, she felt relieved at a job that she thought was thoroughly done. Her mind raced back to her morning conversation with her mother. Now she felt a tinge of regret and even sadness at having been rude to her.

The phone rang. It was Paromita.

�So what time are we meeting?� she sounded enthusiastic.

Amita remembered that they had planned to go for a movie that night. She dragged her chair closer to the telephone while eliciting a voice more suppressed than her usual, cautious not to let others around overhear her. After she was done, she placed the receiver back on the handset and quickly glanced at her watch. There was still more than hour to go till she could leave. She reflected that she would have to hurry in order to make it on time.Although she didn�t have any work for the rest of the day, she decided to plan for something that she anticipated. Walking up to the row of shelves not far from her seat, she began to search for the files and documents she would need. She thought about Paromita. She didn�t have many friends and Paromita was someone with whom she blended well.

Although she wanted to get some work done, she soon found lapses in concentration that allowed her imagination to soar on what she would do in the future - enrolling for a part-time MBA degree program, taking up a course in French, and joining a yoga class. Sometimes she thought how it would feel to have a man by her, someone she could go home to, cook for, and who would take care of her. Maybe some of her financial problems would be solved. She wondered how it would feel to have children. She didn�t particularly fancy kids, but decided it would be an experience she wouldn�t want to miss in a lifetime.

As the clock approached six, she closed the binder in front of her, collected her handbag and headed for the ladies room to freshen up a little before leaving. She found quiet content at the discovery that she looked much brighter and cheerful than she had imagined her to be at that time of the day. She thought about the movie. She wasn�t too keen on seeing it, but Paromita insisted that it was one that every woman must witness. It was about how a middle aged housewife decided to take control of her life when she discovered, out of a sudden insight apparently, that she was just a toy in her husband�s hand and then got herself a job and climbed up the corporate ladder in a world dominated by men. She wasn�t too much of a feminist herself but she liked being independent. At the same time, she knew that if the right person came into her life, she would willingly be led and be happy about it. There was, she reflected, a kind of comfort in being with a confident man. While the only men in her life had been her father and two brothers, they had been good examples, leading responsible and socially respective lives. Her father, a professor, was quiet, never didactic and had trusted her to choose her own path in life. Although she failed to trace any special memories of loving bondage with him, neither did she find anything to cause her regret. It had been a placid relationship - logical, with occasional warmth, dissipating vacuously into something about which she had neither anything to cherish about or loathe. Her brothers, elder to her by several years, had been brilliant students and by the time she reached puberty, both had moved overseas. Now they met once in several years, when they visited home with their wife and kids. Sometimes they teased her about marriage - how she would soon marry someone much older than her and perhaps of a totally different countenance than her own. Perhaps they pitied her, she thought � pitied her mediocrity as a student, as a weakling, as a woman.

Flipping off the faucet, she looked at the face that stared at her in the mirror, and a smile gradually crossed her lips. All of a sudden, she eagerly looked forward to meet Paromita and watch the movie that they had planned to see together.