Resonance of Silence

"Time is the gap between the hour hand and the second hand. Minutes are just fillers."

My fiancé of five days. I wanted to take him around Lucknow, in my own way. As we entered through the gates of Imambara, she approached us- "Want a guide ma’am, only 2 rupees." Her eyes had a certain depth. Must be the eyeliner. It was year 1980. A female guide in Lucknow. How could I say anything but yes? 

"You see those four minarets. They are of same height, yet one appears shorter than the others, wherever you look from." 

"Strange, isn’t it?", I said amusingly.

"Cos of perspective", he boasted of his knowledge in Arts. I was amused even more.

"Ma’am, your watch. It is very beautiful."

"My mother gave it to me when I entered college", I replied, with some kind of inexpressible pride. 

"Dad has bought a nice watch for you. You must wear it for the marriage". A gift from the father-in-law is no less than a gift from God.

This wasn’t my first watch. The first one had a flap with a butterfly on top. Using the tiny buttons on the dial, I would set and reset the time. Click once - long beep - adjust hours.  Click twice - short beep - adjust day. Click. Tick. Click. As a child, I would make the needles go counter clockwise or just stop the time whenever I wished to, not knowing it would run faster than my age, leaving me behind one day.

The big banyan tree outside the temple was covered with turmeric and vermilion. When the coloured thread is wrapped around the trunk, at one point, the number of rounds completed are forgotten. What is wrapped cannot be unwrapped. A wish to be granted. A count to be matched. They move on. To the next festival, to another tree.

It was a long queue. I wondered if the deity was really waiting for me. Who wanted to see whom? I felt happy whenever I could move two steps at a time. I looked at my watch. Time was dragging its own feet. “Why do you keep looking at it.?” He seemed clearly upset as I did not put on the watch his father bought. Not sure whether it was me or the watch, which annoyed him. We prayed together. I prayed for him, he prayed for himself. 

The labor rooms were on the second floor. A big hospital in the big city of New Delhi. The long corridor outside was undoubtedly the loneliest place in the hospital. On my previous visits to the gyno, every time as I would cross the alley where vaccination rooms were setup, I would feel that those little smiles were wishing me good luck. They all looked alike. Mothers would know, I thought. There were many people outside that day, waiting together. I waited alone. The seconds hand moved like the hour hand. Minutes could not fill the gap this time.

At end of pain, I was a mother. They probably thought, a mother had to be gifted. Not sure if it was a prize for giving birth to a boy, or a reward for my labor pain. “You should stop wearing that old watch” as he handed over the bracelet. The bracelet with a golden dial. I felt the needles inside me.

They would say, he looked like his father. His eyes, nose everything like his father. They must would have been right. Only if they could see inside him. My little one feels like me, no one else, I would say to myself, myself alone. Soon he was in grade six. "Mom, all my friends have a watch. When shall I get one?"  I rushed as I wanted to win this time. His toys, his shoes, his haircuts, everything was decided on the other side of the wall. The wall I could never breach. 

"What are you doing? He can’t wear your watch. He is a boy." 
Yes of course he was. I wondered, who I was. Did I even exist? May be just for one day. For one day, he could wear it. With no shame. With pride.

I looked at the hour hand. It was moving faster than the second hand. I wished I could stop it like my childhood watch. Click once - press. My fingers trembled, and I knew now that it could not be stopped. Life is like a sine curve. Goes up, comes down, goes up. We never know what is on the other side of the cliff. We never know how deep the trough is. We never know the last coordinates. 

He was away for a long time, building his future. No, I was not part of that future. I had glimpses of my presence, my existence during his short visits. On one of the visits, he said he was planning to settle down. I felt happy. There were milestones and this one was a special one. To see my little boy, start a new journey. He did not need to hold my finger anymore. It was long before he had stopped holding my finger. I wished I could hold his hand and he should teach me how to walk. He should teach me how to draw circles. He should teach me how to colour the rainbow. Wished he was a child again.

"What are you hiding?" 
"Nothing, just something, I thought I should give it to Priya. Something I got from my mother. I know it is old. I got it polished, cleaned. I have changed the straps also." 

"No, she doesn’t have to wear it. Just ask her to keep it safe somewhere. Who knows you might be gifted with a daughter? Give it to her as a gift from her grandma when she grows up. She might like to wear it, for a day at least."

I opened my drawer. It was more than a week. The straps needed cleaning. They still had the feel of my mother’s wrist. I tried to wrap those on my wrinkles, holding them tightly.


ⓒ Rajesh Srivastava