I have been following the serial 'balika vadhu' thats quite a rage in India today. It traces the issues of child marraige and beautifully.. This one episode on the death of the a little girls husband has my brain cells at work yet again..
Why is it that widow remarraige is considered immoral in India? In earlier days a widow was considered an outcaste, so much so that her existence on any occasion was considered a curse. She was ostracised from the society.. With child widows it was worse. A little girl who didn't know the meaning of the word marraige was made to live a life of pain and suffering. In some parts of teh country the heads of girls were shaved off. If i do not mention the white sari, I wouldn't be doing justice to the description of a hindu widow.
As though the trauma of a life full of loneliness is not enough, the widow is forced to stay away from all worldly pleasures. A life of renunciation for no fault of hers!!
I remember distinctly my grandmother, a lady with radiant skin and the most beautiful wrinkles. Her hair as white as the snow, freshly fallen on the ground. Her face as fair as the moon and a cute smile. But it was the colour of her sari that always troubled me. "Why do u wear a white sari always"? i remember having asked her so often.. I also asked whether she missed my grand dad.. I had never seen him. Her eyes lighted up as she spoke of him.. and then i had dropped the question that had always haunted me.. "Eya, (thats what i called her) baba ki death kab hui? ( when did grand pa die) The question set her into a haze, her eyes moistened and then she got into her shell and moved towards the bed.
Evening came and with that the answer to my question, but from my dad.. "He died in the year 1959" he said... That made it 30 years!!!! God! 30 years of loneliness.. My heart went out to the woman who I always thought was a terror, trying to control our lives. I was 19 and would get married within a month.
I knew i had to make peace with the woman on whose lap i had spent my summer holidays. Whose stories sounded like lullaby's. Whose soft white sari was the perfect bed for me. Whose soft wrinkles and toothless smile made me smile. I saw her sitting near the window and went up to her. Not a word was spoken - we looked each other in the eye.. and after what seemed like forever, she smiled at me. I saw a flash of pain, joy and love in her eyes, all at once.
And there by the window, I was one with my grandmom.
3 comments:
Hi JD,
I think the situation with widows in India is much better when compared to yesteryears. For a matter of fact, i have known quite a few "vidhwas" who have been remarried.
I commend those guys who have the audacity to marry these poor young women who have been ostracized by our society endlessly. And the main nemesis to a vidhwa is another woman, not a man. You see, the "other woman" in yesteryears use to fear these widows cos they were a threat to their marriages. You know what i mean. Men stray and their women wanted to keep that from happening to them and for them a widow would have been an easy target. You know what i mean?
It's a collective process where-in both men and women joined hands to torture those poor souls, men with their lustful purpose and women with their insecurities.
my grandmom's 85..i've never seen my grandad.i always see her as a cheerful, lively person. i've never stopped to think how lonely she must be..
i liked your post..sensitively written.
thanx.. i guess we are so busy with our lives that we forget that they are humans, atleast i made that mistake..
Post a Comment