Our Mindset Episode 25
In the morning, the daughter-in-law of the elderly woman next door came over to invite me for a Haldi-Kunku ceremony. She said, “I came by yesterday, but you weren’t home. We have a special gathering for married women today. Finish your chores and come help with the cooking.”
My husband had taken the goats to the orchard, so I finished my work and took the children with me to her house. She had three kids of her own—two daughters and a son. While the children played together, I got busy in the kitchen.
Many women from the settlement had gathered there, and each one had advice to give me.
“In fifteen days, it will be time to plant cotton. Everyone grows cotton—it’s a six-month season of work. Even Mangoo’s family plants it every year. You should grow vegetables in between and sell them at the market yourself. If you just sit back shyly, you’ll starve.”
Who was I supposed to listen to? Should I work in Bhabhi’s vegetable fields or plant greens in Mangoo’s farm to sell?
After lunch, I returned home. The month-long Suvasini festival for Goddess Mayakka was being celebrated across the entire settlement, so I got a chance to visit many homes and meet everyone. It felt good to be included, though Mami didn’t seem too pleased that I was being invited everywhere.
In the afternoon, after resting for a bit, I decided to visit Bhabhi and tell her I’d start working for her. When I got there, her three kids and Baloo were present. They had caught a small snake and were in the process of removing its venomous fangs. The snake died in the process.
I told Bhabhi, “I’ll start work tomorrow.”
Baloo smirked and said, “Come and learn farming properly. You’ll have to cultivate your seven-acre land someday. You may be the owner, but an owner should know how to run a farm.”
I didn’t understand the sarcasm at the time. Subtle taunts and double-meaning remarks went right over my head. I would just stare blankly when people spoke that way.
Bhabhi, surprised, asked, “Seven acres? In our village or somewhere else?”
Baloo answered, “About eight or nine kilometers from here. Patil is planning to buy it.”
Technically, his last name wasn’t Patil, but everyone called him that.
“They’re planning to build a house there and hire a couple to manage the farm with them. Big plans.”
Baloo stepped aside to take a phone call, while I got acquainted with Bhabhi’s three kids.
Then Bhabhi suddenly asked, “By the way, have you had an operation?”
I nodded.
She handed me the fodder she had set aside and said, “Come tomorrow.”
That evening, I was cooking on the outdoor stove when my husband left to deliver milk. Since it was dark, I could only see people when vehicles passed by and their headlights lit the road.
A song was playing on someone’s mobile phone:
“Yaar O Yaar, Teri Adaa Ne Maara”
It was a popular song back then.
Something about the tune made me glance toward the road. I saw a man walking back and forth, his face partially covered with a scarf. He circled the area four or five times, while the same song kept playing.
What exactly had he found charming about me?
One day, I wore a sari. The next day, a nightgown. My saris were all mismatched—the pleats one color, the blouse another, and the petticoat something entirely different. I didn’t even know what “matching” meant back then.
My fourth sister had left a nightgown behind after her delivery, and I had been wearing that too. I barely had time to comb my hair before noon. My face was always weary, burdened with worries.
What grace or charm did I even have for someone to notice?