Ember

Chingari did not mourn the passing on of “Amma-ji”. She is not my real Amma, she thought. She remembered the day more than 30 years ago, when she came to Amma-ji’s house as a daughter-in-law. “Call me ‘Amma-ji’”, said the grand old lady.
But she never treated me like a daughter, added Chingari mentally.
Chirag was a good husband. When the alliance came through, his mother said, “We are Gandhians”. Chingari was happy. In her extracurricular course on Gandhian Philosophy, she had read Gandhi-ji’s words: “When woman whom we call abala becomes sabala, all those who are helpless will become powerful”. Be strong like Draupadi and Sita, and have the strength that comes from the courage of conviction. On the dowry system too, Gandhi-ji did not mince his words: “The system has to go. Marriage must cease to be a matter of arrangement made by parents for money”. Chingari did not want to purchase a husband with a bribe. Neither did her parents, whose own arranged marriage was marked for its simplicity and absence of dowry.
Chingari’s mother was happy. With almost no effort, they had found out about Chirag, a respectable and respected bank officer. Chirag did not have any hang-ups about his wife addressing him by his first name; wearing sleeveless blouses; or cooking eggs for breakfast. Chingari called him by name. The older daughters-in-law didn’t call their husbands by their names. “Have you named your husband, then, that you call him by name?” said Amma-ji. Chingari did not reply. Chirag hated these “petty little quarrels”. Chingari continued calling him by name. She continued wearing sleeveless dresses, although not in front of Amma-ji. This “Gandhian” Amma-ji asked Chingari’s mother, “Why does the nose-ring on your daughter’s nose look like a blood stain? I thought you would give her a diamond nose-ring”. Chingari never forgot that insult. Chirag merely told her, “Ignore what my mother says”.
But he never took his mother up on that extremely nasty comment.
When Chingari was expecting her first child, Amma-ji came for the bangle ceremony. She felt the heavy gold bangles that Chingari’s parents had given their daughter with ill-disguised satisfaction. Sure enough, as she was the oldest married lady present, Chingari was ordered by the purohit to touch Amma-ji’s feet. Chingari was seven months pregnant. She resented this. She looked obdurate, but Mummy told her to do as the purohit said.
Chirag never has to touch Mummy’s feet, she thought. Why should I touch his mother’s feet?
Amma-ji enjoyed all the importance that she got as the daadi-to-be. She had started the line, hadn’t she? She had brought up three sons and planned their education through all their transfers. “I bless you to have a healthy son”, she said. She whispered an aside to Chingari’s mother, “I hope he won’t be born wearing glasses like your daughter”. Chingari thought, I don’t like you! I don’t love you like a mother. Why should I touch your feet? You have feet of clay, too. The charade continued, as Chirag did not like “scenes”.
“Gandhians, my foot!” thought Chingari furiously. The old lady is greedy, vain, and egoistic!
Significantly, Amma-ji did not make her snide comments in her husband’s hearing. She nipped and stung in private. When Chingari had a second child – a girl – Amma-ji took her time to come and visit the little one. The child had a heart defect. Chirag had gone to Britain on a scholarship. “Do not join him”, said Amma-ji. “Let him enjoy his stint there in peace. You stay here with the child. I don’t want him to worry”. Chingari was appalled! She had given up a chance to study at a premier management institute because Amma-ji felt that her son earned enough. Now that this was a girl child – and a defective one at that – she could not wait to distance her son from his own daughter!
Gandhiji was right! Abala woman has to become sabala. "My daughter will learn to be strong. I will teach her to be strong", thought Chingari. She and her two children made their way to the UK. Chirag knew of his daughter’s heart defect but not of his Amma-ji’s machinations. Now, Chingari was not so open with her husband any more. She had hidden feelings too, which she used as a fuel in her transformation. Strength comes from secrecy and silence. In the hospital, the little girl too kicked furiously in her incubator after her first heart operation. “Oh! She’s an angry young lady!” said Dr Arnold her cardiologist.” Oh Yes, Baby!” thought Chingari, “You will be my mighty atom. God bless you! And give us both strength!” For the child was scheduled for a second, very serious eight-hour-long operation a few months later.
They returned to India a few years later. Chingari had sent weekly updates on the baby’s health to her parents-in-law. Amma-ji had demanded a letter for every one that she wrote to her own parents. The children grew and studied in India, and had difficulties adjusting to the Indian educational system. Chirag completely washed his hands of family issues. His attitude was, “I am the breadwinner here. All these home issues should be managed by you!” He also hinted to Chingari that she should go out and earn, as some of his colleagues’ wives did. Chingari became a lecturer in a college. Wherever they shifted, Chingari always found a teaching or academic job. She even paid for a part of the house they constructed. However, she was never considered even a co-breadwinner by Chirag, his mother, or her own children.
“Hang it! I know I’m one anyway”, thought Chingari. Every time they visited his parents, his mother would want a pranam. Chirag and his father would remain in the living room, while Amma-ji and the other daughters-in-law assembled in the kitchen-cum-puja room. She insisted on those pranams. “If the children don’t want to prostrate before me and God, they need not!” she said. Of course, Chirag never prostrated before his parents. His father did not stand there like a demigod either. Chingari respected her father-in-law. She really felt that he was "Appa-ji". When Appa-ji died, she really mourned him. He was so good to his grandchildren.
Now, it was a year since Amma-ji died. The daughter-in-law who had looked after her for more than thirty years wanted a complete farewell ceremony to mark the first death anniversary. Chirag knew they would attend. He owed his "Bhabhi-ji" at least that much!
The ceremonies went on from about 8 am to beyond lunch time. They had to fast; serve food to the Brahmins; and eat only after the latter had finished. That was not all! The three women were summoned by the chief purohit, who pointed to another priest in orange garments. “Wash his feet! Wipe his feet dry! Pour ghee on his feet! Now wipe them dry again! Touch his feet,” he said. “Bow down to the three seated priests and tell them to take their time eating”.
Chingari was aghast! “Why should we touch some random guy’s feet?” she asked the older daughters-in-law. “He is Amma-ji today”, they replied. “We are actually touching her feet and asking for blessings”. Reluctantly, Chingari did what they did. She chewed the information over. All this had not been done for her father-in-law Appa-ji’s anniversary. Amma-ji had always been the more forceful of the two – a liberated, confident woman who always got her way. So, if women were in the ascendant, why did they have to touch the feet of a pot-bellied random man? For this Brahmin priest’s 3-hour chanting, they paid him Rs 10000. For the honour of washing his feet of clay and anointing them, they paid him Rs 15000 more!
One truth broke in on Chingari. It is good for women to become sabala and find a voice. Cheers to Amma-ji for being strong, forceful, and vocal. But that certainly did not mean that strong women should misuse that strength to bring other women down, and trample on their dreams.
The embers of rebellion in Chingari’s mind grew to a blazing fire in her belly. I am never going to participate in this abject submission and hypocrisy any more, she thought. She lifted her chin. “Chirag”, she said with firmness. “When I die, just read some prayers or words of wisdom from Kahlil Gibran or from the Bible. I do not want any of this mumbo jumbo.”
“Yes, indeed”, he said. “Maybe people should mention this in their living wills. Anyway, after people die, I do not believe that they actually attend these ceremonies in spirit. Hence, if these ceremonies are only for the satisfaction of those living, they might as well be simpler, more meaningful, and more intimate”.
It certainly seemed as though the children too would shake off these superstitions and go in for meaningful ceremonies. Tradition is not always right! And tradition does not necessarily reflect culture. After all, Sati was also a tradition. And tradition is not static – it is dynamic and it keeps evolving!