Balancing Act

         I tapped in the numbers with impatient fingers; a sixteen digit string of numbers and yet they poured out of my head as easily as molasses on a hot day. I checked my account balance at the break of day, back from work and the last possible moment before a night’s tossing and turning. I peered into the numbers as though some financial manna would have materialized in my account. I was also wary of the dreaded double entries that told me a cheque had bounced – again!

         I clipped back an errant strand of hair; it had escaped from the bun that rode heavy on the nape of my neck. I hated to feel anything touch me, even my own hair. I even warded off glances at my body with full-sleeved, high-necked attire. It was an aftermath of years of spousal abuse, my reaction even after five ‘free’ years was to try and hide within myself.

         Ah, the figures were not bad – it was the fifteenth of the month and a tidy sum still resided in the account. It looked tidy at any rate – only I knew that the insurance payment would eat away a good one-third of that, along with the mechanic’s bills to be paid tomorrow, that left …I did a quick money per day calculation and ended up with almost the same figures that stared at me each month. It was going to be touch and go. I dreaded thirty-one day months.

         Footsteps thudded in the corridor outside and although I would have cowered in instinctive fear in the past; today I relaxed, logged out and stood up. Two small forms in dusty school uniforms jostled each other in the doorway, eager to be the first to reach me. Their school bags were discarded with quick shrugs as they wound hot sweaty arms around my waist and neck. I bent down and their breath was sweet upon my cheek as I got two moist kisses.

         They disengaged themselves and the usual routine of inquiring what was the after-school snack clashed with my admonition to change and wash before going in the kitchen.

         Two amenable and glowing still-damp faces bore mute testimony of a thorough wash. They were pleased to see ‘smile’ sandwiches laid out for them. This was just a smiling face made on the sandwiches with grated-cheese hair, boiled-pea eyes and a tomato-sliver smile. I eked out simple fare with innovative decorations.

         The rest of the day was taken up with their dinner preparation while they played in the street with the other colony children. Being a company township, the streets were safe for play. As we ate dinner, the current went off, this more a routine than an aberration in our area. The children knew the drill, everybody was to sit where they were until I lit the first candle. I had candles in stands all around the house and a match-box handy next to each. The deal was that as long as the power was off, I would tell them stories.

         Nanni set the ball rolling. “Mommy, tell us how Ajji

grand-mother in Kannada, one of the many Indian languages

and her brother used to come home from school running behind the bullock cart instead of riding in it.”

         Naturally Ravi had his own favourite. “No, tell of the time when she and your Mama

maternal uncle in Kannada

would fight over their lunch and the cart driver would end up eating it.”

         The candles flickered and their light shining up from the table gave the tales an air of fantasy. They both got their wish because it was a long power outage. The lights came on just as they rose from the table; a negotiation began as to who would blow out more candles.

         “She blew out three extra last time – I should blow out six extra today.”

         Ravi’s indignant protest was drowned out by his sister’s scathing rejection of his convoluted Math.

         Before the argument could get acrimonious I solved it with practiced ease, “How about the one who blows out more candles helping me to clear the table?”

         I saw that they were not quite so enthusiastic about the ritual now. They allowed themselves to be led off for what I called ‘quiet time’. They were to change and get into bed. They could talk softly, play board games like Ludo or Snakes and Ladders, read storybooks or listen to the radio. If their raised voices or arguments made me come out of the kitchen, they got a week of lying down with the light off until I was free to tuck them in. Today they opted to listen to a quiz programme – Brittania Quiz Contest

This was a popular radio show specially created for school children

.

         The Quizmaster’s voice crackled into the room, “ I am sorry St. Stephen’s, your time is up. The question passes to Kendriya Vidyalaya, Bangalore. Which bird has the largest wingspan?” They delivered their snappy scornful opinions of the contestant IQs as I backed out of the room.

         I let some water flow from the tap, the first few seconds had the icy cold temperature of the outside, but the stored water in the overhead tank retained its daytime warmth and was friendlier to my chafed hands. As I sprinkled some detergent onto the scrubber and started on the grease-rimmed fry-pan, my mind was possessed once more of the worries that seized every empty moment.

         Rub-scrape.

         God, why is it that I am still struggling to make ends meet after five years and two promotions? There never seems to be enough money. You know I do not spend on luxuries – why, we do not even have a TV or music system.

         Ping. The answering thought popped unbidden into my head.

         Are your children not clamouring more for your family's stories than a TV? Then too, how would the TV work if the power was off?

          No, but if I had the money...

         I see, you admit you have had two promotions, did not your salary increase?

         Yes, but so do the children’s needs, they grow like they were advertising some food supplement, they have the appetite of Tasmanian wolves and digestive capacities of Ostriches.

         So, they are young and healthy without anything for you to worry about. Of course if they got ill, you would not have to spend upon them – your company pays. Would you rather they were weak, scrawny - of finicky appetite?

         No, no - I am thankful for their blooming health.

         So, why not put them in a Government school, if the fees are beyond your reach?

         Well, the near-by school they go to is not expensive; it is just that the extra-curricular activities are so many. Cub scouts and Brownies, Kung-Fu classes, Swimming, Vocal music, Bharat Natyam…the list goes on. All require uniforms and gear and travel … it adds up to money.

         I see, you would rather they were not eager or talented, that they mooned and whined around the house instead?

         No indeed, I am proud of them – Nanni’s painting was selected as a design by the Indian Cancer society for their greeting cards. Ravi might be trained for sprint events by his sports academy, but even if he is not picked I would still be proud of the effort he puts in – his practice sessions are at five A.M.

         Well, they must be pestering you for fancy gadgets and designer garments? I guess that is where the money goes?

         Actually they are happy to use discarded gadgets or even wear hand-me-downs from their elder cousins. They like knowing it belonged to someone dear to them and they wear it with pride. No, I guess it is the cost of my constant trips to Bangalore to attend the court hearings; I have to go two to three times in a year and often have to fly us all down because it is such short notice.

         So, why did you not file the hearings here – in Mumbai? You filed the case; you could have chosen that option.

         First, I feared that if he dilly-dallied about coming here, the case would drag on for years. Also, once he was here, he might have landed up at my workplace or home and made a nuisance of himself with pseudo-conciliatory moves.

         Hmm … so it is a necessary evil, a price you are willing to pay for peace of mind.

         Squeak. The pan was sparkling clean. If I had conversations with my inner self every day, my pots would get a mirror polish.

         Splish. Slosh.

         I made hasty swipes across the rest of the dishes, mostly just stained with a minimal food residue.

         The tap opened to a trickle, I was rinsing them off when the voice returned.

         Did you ever stop to wonder …?

         Yes?

         You feel that no sooner do you get a promotion or a bonus than some new payment rears its head? That all your assets are wiped out before they are even created?

         If a divine providence had not secured my head firmly to my neck, my vigorous nods would surely have had it rolling on the kitchen floor.

         Look at it this way, Somebody up there is looking after you very well. He sends you the wherewithal to clear your debts before ever they materialize. You have never needed to ask for a loan, or use credit to pay – have you?

         I wiped my hand on a dishtowel as I stacked the last plate in the rack. I had enough food for thought, but one stray rebellious notion pushed itself out from some dark cobwebby corner of my mind.

         If only I had never met that wretched creature - I might have been leading a peaceful life. If only that violence had never come into my life to scar me forever.

         Let’s take that in reverse, said the phantom adviser. It is deplorable that violence scarred both you and the children who witnessed a part of it. But you would never have been free of him in this society without that evidence of ill-treatment. His verbal abuse all those years counted for naught – he was a teetotaler, non-smoker, did not gamble –a vice-free paragon who ‘only’ counseled an errant wife.

         Your children would not exist if you had never met him, are they not your two blossoms, a joy to cherish and grow? Did not they heal your wounds with their love? Do not rue the twisted path behind you – be thankful it led to this shining smooth road. Maybe the smooth road taken at the beginning might have led you to a twisted path now.

         I was walking down the passage to the children’s room, the radio now churned out one of the golden oldies in Hindi

India's national language

. I interrupted a besotted lover with a flick of my fingers; I pulled up Ravi’s sheet and planted a kiss below the hair that tumbled onto his forehead. I slipped in beside my daughter for a moment and curled an arm around her. She curved into my waist and whispered a pleased “Mommy?” before drifting back to sleep. I looked out of the window.

         The night sky was pricked with myriad brilliant points of light. The same ones that promised there was light in the darkness even in those far off days of pain. They seemed to be twinkling reaffirmation of that promise. I was thankful, at last. Tomorrow I might tap in those familiar numbers again, but now I would offer a glad prayer that the columns balanced.


Word count: 1902
Prompt Quote: If you can't be content with what you've received, be thankful for what you've escaped.

Written for: November 2008 edition of "Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest"  [ASR]. (1st Place winner) *does a little jig*