The Recital

Sulochona stared out of the passenger seat window at the rapidly evolving suburban settlement. Yet, one had the feeling that nothing really registered behind those unseeing eyes. A blank stare, a blank canvas. And, that is how it had been for 10 years now. The forehead was smooth except for a crease or two running the breadth of the temples. Dark impressions beside the nose marked spots where spectacles must have schafed against the skin. Sulochona had cocooned herself comfortably inside a sarcophagus - even the slightest movement of her limbs or a change in her facial expression seemed unnatural to an onlooker.


Her head jerked back to the driver as she felt a soft hand on her wrist. The lady in the driver's seat smiled at her encouragingly.


"Do you know where we are going today?"
"Where?" - words dribbled out of the elderly woman's loose lips.
"It's a concert - Indian classical music - by Pt Ajoy Chakraborty. You love his
music, don't you?"
"Do I?" She sighed deeply and ended with a "Maybe."


Rai left her alone. Her nostrils flared - a remnant of her yesteryear temper. She counted silently from 1 to 10 and concentrated on her breathing instead. That, along with the growing traffic as the small Cooper neared the cultural events venue, made her forget quickly the tension in the car. They reached the Convention Arena well ahead of time. Rai found seats for Mrs Gupta before heading outside for snacks.


"Kemon achho, Rai? Shorir bhalo to?"
"Oh, Chitra-di! I am so embarassed - we could not make it to your party last
weekend. You know how it is with Ma."
"I do, beta. But, I worry less for her and more for you. Sulochona has had a
happy life for the most part - and no mother could ask for a better child than
you. But you - have you thought..? I'm sorry - there I go again. Sumit is right -
I am quite the nosy parker of the subdivision!" She placed a warm hand on
Rai's back and gave her a quick hug.


Rai's eyes filled up with uncharacteristic tears. It had been a hard task to give up her aspirations for a high-profile career, a normal life perhaps as most of her friends had now. The entities that came in quick progression - husband, house, mortgage, children. Well, she could check some off that list. Her mother was like a child now - the doctor referred to the shock of Mr Gupta's sudden demise as a trigger. It was not Alzheimer's - Sulochona had taken refuge in her childhood, essentially erasing any reference in her mind to her married life, her only child, her house, her friends - any vestiges of an adult existence.


"Chitra-di...! I should be going now, Ma is by herself - see you in there?"
"Hyan re, take care."


Rai gathered the Kashmiri shawl around herself as she settled down beside her mother. She noticed her mother staring at her intently yet Rai did nothing - she wanted to enjoy this evening and did not want to be drawn into anymore disappointment stemming from Sulochona's condition. Ironic that it had been Sulochona who had introduced her daughter to the layers of classical music.


The program began with "Bhavani Dayani..."based on raag Bhairavi.


Goosebumps stood up on Sulochona's arms as she gripped her right palm with the left. She knew this rendition - every Wednesday evening, the music teacher would insist on starting the class by paying his respects to Goddess Durga. And, the sharp slap of the wooden ruler on Sulochona's right palm, if that was required to get her to "appreciate the nuances of Indian music". Sulochona was terrified all of a sudden, sitting in the cold unfamiliar confines of her hard seat. She turned to the lady on her right - the one who had driven her here. Wanting to tell her, to plead with her - Sulochona wanted to go home.


Her pleading gaze rested on Rai's shawl - the intricacies of Kashmiri embroidery, hues of pomegranate-red and peacock-blue on a buff background. Sulochona's request froze on her lips as her mind registered with a jolt - recognition. She knew this shawl.


Feeling her mother's eyes upon her, Rai turned to Sulochona and kept a reassuring hand on her mother's trembling fingers. Sulochona's doe-like eyes flitted from Rai's shawl to her fingers now - the ring on Rai's finger - a proud old Firoza stone studded with diamonds. Yes, Sulochona knew this ring - it was her mother's. For once, Sulochona's tired eyes lit up with a fire her soul had long banished unknowingly. Her hands clawed at Ria's shawl.


Ria's voice reflected her concern - " Kichu bolbe, Maa? Do you want to say something?"
Sulochona hesitated; her words stumbled over one another in excitement, "Maa, Maa - ami baari jabo."

"Mother - I want to go home!"


NOTE Written on the premise that it is easier to draw people into your world than it is to step outside, especially for someone like Sulochona.