Mhaisal - a village, on the banks of the river Krishna, is in Sangli district of the western state of Maharashtra. Being on the boundary between Karnataka and Maharashtra, it is a confluence of cultures, languages and religions. Though the official language is Marathi, almost seventy percent of the population is bi-lingual. The highway to Bijapur and Belgaum, passes through the village. Agriculture is the main occupation, with sugar-cane, and grapes being the most important crops. Mhaisalkars are lovers of festivals, which are celebrated all year round with fervor and gaiety. (Map)
It is fortuitous that not only do I hail from Mhaisal, but chose, to spend my life here.


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

This Promise - I Shall Never Break

In the Eighties, I used to travel to Mumbai quite frequently, the trips were usually very short. (Longer ones would  burn larger holes in my pocket, which I could ill afford then.) In spite of the tightness of the schedule, I invariably found time to do a round of a couple of places, I loved. One was the Jehangir Art gallery, where  I would gaze at the paintings, and try to fathom the emotions that the artists were trying to convey through their works of art.

I would then spend what ever time I could spare, at Fountain with the pavement bookwallahs. Just thumbing through the pages of the books that caught my fancy, was therapeutic. Those were not the days when such pavement sellers would simply sell pirated books of the popular kinds. The books displayed, then. were usually collections sold by people who had no use for them, may be a relative of a demised bibliophile, who had inherited them but did not care a dime for books, or a new tenant of a house, who had found the lot in the attic and did not know what to do with it, or simply someone gone old and unable to re-read them any more.



On one such occasion, I was flipping through an old hardbound copy of 'The Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte, when suddenly a folded paper fell from the pages. I, picked it up, it was a handwritten letter. I put the letter back in the book. I already owned a paperback edition of the book, and did not really need another copy, but curiosity prevailed and I bought the book with the letter inside - without even haggling for the price demanded.

That evening in the train, I got the book out, and there was the letter again. This time, I couldn't help reading it, albeit not without some guilt. I thought I was being voyeuristic. The single factor which helped me  overcome my guilt, was that the letter was very old, it was dated Sunday July 20th. 1952.

The letter was from a mother to her teenaged daughter. She seems to have been recently separated or divorced from her husband when she wrote it.

A few days back, while looking for a book, I came across this book with the letter, I had forgotten all about it, As I took out the book, the letter fell down, and old memories came gushing through. I am now in a dilemma whether I should bring it in the public domain through this post or not. But the letter is so good that despite the breach of privacy, I felt it can be published without naming either the author or the recipient, whom we cannot identify anyway.

The fragility of human relationships, is what is most striking in this letter. Here, I am presenting an abridged version of the letter.



 Bombay,
Sunday, 20th., July 1952

 My Dear Annie,
By the time this letter reaches you, I will, in all probability be far removed from this presidency. Though physically, the distances that separate us may be vast, yet you shall never cease to be an inseparable part of me. At the time of your birth when the doctors cut the umbilical chord and made you an individual, you showed your resentment by bawling, you were consoled only when I held you to my bosom. This time, I know for sure, you will not make a scene, but my heart tells me, that you would be shedding silent tears, and trying to grapple with the fact that when you return from school I will not be there to hug you.

You are far too young, to understand, why these things are happening to the people in your life. As you grow older, you will see the compulsions that made these events inevitable. For now, I want you to remember that, you in no way are responsible for these developments, and should never feel the burden of guilt for the same.

Many years ago, I had made a promise that for better or for worse I shall always be with your Dad, but I hadn't realised then, that keeping promises is not an effort in isolation, but needs active cooperation of the parties concerned. I, certainly do not want to create the impression that I am a victim, or the one wronged. At this stage, let me just say, Your Dad and I,  were not compatible, and realised this a bit late. It is quite some time since the drift between us began, and I can understand the trauma you have gone through, specially during the summer holidays, when you were with us. Though we meticulously avoided making scenes in your presence, the coldness of our relationship, could not be kept away from you. I could see the myriad questions in your eyes, but I simply did not have the nerve to even look back into them, leave alone answering your unasked queries.

I know, home to you will not have the same connotation as it did before, yet I hope that you will soon accept the new realities. One thing will certainly not change, you shall continue to be the pivot around which our lives will revolve, albeit separately. 

I do not want to end this letter under a pall of gloom, The future is much more important than the past, and you have in store much more 'future' than any of us. Hope life  brings to you all the joys that it can offer. As for me, I shall always have you in my heart- and this is a promise I shall never break.
Love,
Mamma.

Credit: above picture from stockpicturesforeveryone.com