Gandhi Statue

“Kaila oru kozhandhaiyoda Gandhi statue-keezha pichai eduppe dee,” Mother yelled, as Sahana pushed her degree certificates into her backpack. Her mother’s curses were always colourful, but begging on the streets with a baby in tow was laughable to the 22-year-old Sahana. There was no way she’d bring another human into this cruel world.

Sahana’s silence didn’t deter Mother, though. She kept screaming in her coarse, cruel, hypodermic voice. To be fair, Mother wasn’t one to physically abuse her children. She’d just slap herself, weeping from rage, while tearing her daughter down with words. One stone, two mangoes.

Checking she’d taken everything for the fifth time, Sahana turned to say bye to her grandmother who was making pleading-crying faces at her and her much-younger brother who was picking threads off his cricket ball. Squeezing her suitcase into the footrest of her Scooty and wearing the backpack tight over her shoulders, Sahana set off to the house she had rented with some friends.

She was free.

*

“How old are you?” asked the interviewer. Sahana was old enough to say, “how is that relevant to this job?”

“No, you look like you’re in your late 20s. Soon, you’ll marry, have babies and want maternity leave. I have to do your work also for those six months. Unfair, no?” he said, genuinely convinced by the strength of his logic.

Again she chose silence and left. Thankfully, 29C came almost immediately. She waved it down and got on at the signal. When the bus crossed MG Road, her phone pinged.

“Unfortunately,” the email began. She took a deep breath and looked up at the pigeon shit-covered Gandhi Statue passing her by.

*

For her 30th, Sahana wanted an LV Neverfull. She’d done the math and it was well under 5% of her total savings. “Three lakhs for a handbag is still much, no?” she asked softly. “You’ve earned it, Sahana. It’s prudent enough,” her husband reassured her as they parked her 8-year-old second hand Hyundai in the basement of the mall.

Still nervous, she got out of the car and took the lift to the ground floor. In a few seconds the door opened to a post-modern artist’s wicker installation of a near-naked Gandhi under the full blast of mall A/C.

*

After rejecting several outfits, she decided that her softest silk, diamond tennis necklace and thaali were agreeable. “Won’t she think it’s too much for the occasion?” she asked her husband. “Isn’t that the point?” he teased her.

Her Uber Black arrived. When she reached the location, her brother and his wife were already there. No time for pleasantries. Sahana took the urn and opened it as though she needed to see that the coarse, cruel, hypodermic voice was truly burnt.

Her brother spread the ashes in the sea and sighed. “At least come home for lunch, Sahana. You are free now.”

No need. She just wanted to go back home to her husband and their rescued Indie. She booked herself an auto and called the driver, “Where are you?”

“Dho, namma beach Gandhi statue aanda Madam.”