TEN
There were times when her father had bitter fights with her stepmother. She was a pretty woman and like many a pretty woman, she too craved attention. On the contrary, her father was a very humble man with few wants.
Once, after her stepmother yelled at her, Maya went into the bedroom and tore a new dress into pieces, to vent her anger. The Dewans had been summoned by Maya's class teacher who complained that their daughter was restless and hyperactive. She told them that Maya has been categorised as an Indigo child in one of the routine counselling sessions. When they returned home, Mrs. Dewan, who too had no clue of what an Indigo child was, drained out her anger on Maya. Her reasoning was that Maya was making up things. “What is this pseudo thing? Indigo child, being sensitive and all that crap. It's all nonsense! Your father and mother have completely spoilt you,” her stepmother told Maya and her father, accusingly.
She knew Maya was intelligent, but for some reason wouldn't listen to her. She refused to acknowledge that Maya was an Indigo child, and that such children are to be spoken to in a language they understand. All children need love, but Indigo children need lot more of it.
“I wish you could understand me,” her stepmother once told her.
“I wish the same too,” Maya said.
It was different with her father. There are times when children become pseudo companions in parents' lives. They take the place of the imaginary lover that is hidden somewhere behind the realms of consciousness. Ironically, they bond in such a way that it connects deeply and absorbs the intensity of the relationship that should have been with someone else. Maya and her father understood each other's fears and shared the sorrows. Maya was his pseudo partner in life.
There was one thing that Maya did like about her stepmother. Though she took good care of her father, but she was more than a good caretaker, she thought. She tried to have a child with Mr Dewan, but somehow it didn't work out. She gave up the idea and adopted Maya completely as her daughter. However, Neetu Dewan was largely gripped by one consideration that Maya should be married off as soon as possible. Like many mothers she also thought that marriage was the only goal to be achieved in life.
By the time Maya finished college, Neetu had spread the word around in the neighbourhood that she was looking for a suitable boy for her Maya.
“Hun vaddi ho gayi hai apni choti,” she said to one of her friends at a wedding.
“My name is Maya ,” she immediately corrected her.
“Haan, haan vahi ,” she laughed at Maya's reply. “Do tell us if you know of a good boy for her!”
“Mom?” she used to plead with her to drop the topic.
On one such occasion, Maya took umbrage at her stepmother's requests to nearest strangers to find a match for her.
“I am not going with you anywhere anymore!” she told her stepmother angrily when they reached home.
“Why would you? We look like fools to you?” her step mother asked.
“Mom, you have nothing else to do other than think about my marriage!”
“You should get married now.”
“I don't want to marry!” she replied. “How many times do you want me to repeat the same thing?”
“You just want to go out with boyfriends,” her stepmother said accusingly.
“I'll do what I want,” Maya said, anger turning into rage.
“Bring disgrace to the family!” Neetu roared.
“I will do much more. I will rot.” Tears rolled down Maya's cheeks in anger.
“Such a nasty girl you are. Sometimes I wish you were never born.”
“No wonder why you are childless.” Maya did cross her limits. She knew this would hit her and hurt the most, but she couldn't hold herself back.
Neetu turned around and slapped her hard. Maya missed her mother. Her own mother would never have had thoughts of this kind, let alone say it.
Overhearing the argument, Maya's father came in from the living room.
“Neetu, please stop. You're also behaving like a child. Maya isn't a baby anymore,” he told his wife.
“She's grown up? Why doesn't she learn to behave, then?
Didn't you hear how she spoke?Is this how children talk to their parents?” she asked her husband.
“You know you aren't my mother, don't you?” Maya let her stepmother have it.
“Yes, I know that. I'm not mad either, like your mother was!” Neetu said, her spite spilling over.
“My mother was not mad. She was ill,” Maya screamed with hot tears rolling down her cheek and left the room.
“And you are equally ill.” Neetu's voice followed her.
Her father looked at his wife with contempt and went over to Maya. . He took his daughter's hands into his and hugged her.
“I understand, Maya. I know it hurts. Your mother was not mad,” he said.
“Why is she always so fucking rude.,” Maya was gasping.
“Mind your language honey,” her father reacted.
He hugged her and slowly the crying ceased.
“I don't want to get married, Daddy.”
“You will have to one day, my little girl. You will have to leave us and go.”
“Don't send me away daddy. Whom will you talk to?”
“Neetu is not a bad person, Maya. She is good at heart,” her father said, attempting to be a broker of peace between his daughter and his wife.
“I know, Dad, but sometimes she doesn't know when to stop.”
He himself felt helpless with Neetu. She was always complaining about something or someone. She was accustomed not to look at the bright side of things.