Kaleidoscopes

By Rani Rao Innes.

Kaleidoscopes narrates the real and metaphorical journey of small-town girl Lakshmi from Mysore to Bangalore, Bombay and finally London. The story revolves around three very different characters: beautiful and vulnerable Lakshmi, from an orthodox Brahmin family, her rebellious brother Raj and the gentle charismatic Kevin from an upper class English family. Their disparate worlds intertwine; shifting, changing and revealing the myriad colours and patterns of life and love leading them to the final and inevitable conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504942782

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© 2015 Rani Rao Innes. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/28/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4277-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4278-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Lakshmi

Raj

Kevin

Epilogue

Glossary

About the Author

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To my mother and my inspiration, Jiji.

Thank you for teaching me to see,

accept and value the beauty and harmony of the varied and ever shifting patterns of life.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to, first of all, thank my husband, Tony Innes, for having the patience to read and edit my book. I need and value your constant encouragement and support more than I will ever be able to say in words. I also want to thank Geraldine Moores for reading and giving me invaluable feedback. I owe a debt of gratitude to Satish Seetharam whose stray remarks during a drive one autumn in Canada inspired me to write this book. Thank you to Andrew Guild of Authorhouse Publishing for your unending patience in answering my many questions and doubts. And lastly, but importantly, a big hug and thank you to both my children Meera and Alex. I draw my sustenance from your unfailing faith and confidence in me. From you, I have learnt to appreciate the magical kaleidoscope of life.

PROLOGUE

Lakshmi held his dear face close to hers and whispered, It’s going to be ok.

"Akka, he repeated brokenly, Akka".

"Shhh, little brother, my chinna", she said.

My chinna. Hearing his elder sister and ever loyal champion’s endearment for him ever since he was a little boy brought out the tears he had been holding back. He quickly turned his face away but it broke her heart to see the drops drenching his beautifully curling lashes. She turned his face around to her and, trying to still the quivering in her voice, said, "Remember. I’ll be waiting for you to come home next year. Amma and Appa will be waiting too."

OK, he whispered, trying not to think of his parents just now. She could not read his eyes.

And take care of yourself for me. Promise?

He nodded wordlessly. He should have been taking care of her, he thought in silent anguish.

She looked up and with the other hand beckoned Kevin who was hanging back to come closer. He moved forward one step, but stopped.

She turned from Raj and walked towards Kevin. He waited with his heart thundering in his ears, not able to move. She surprised him by pushing aside the hand he tentatively held out, and gave him a quick impulsive hug. The shock at this uncharacteristic open display of affection was clear on his face. He returned the hug awkwardly and quickly stepped back. She looked into his blue-grey eyes and smiled, Thank you, Kevin.

For what? he asked brushing his hand across his eyes.

For being there when I needed someone. For teaching me to believe in myself. For simply being you.

Lakshmi, I wish …, If only I could have…, he stumbled.

But she shook her head and said, Shh, no if onlys. I am so glad I met you. You’ve been the best friend I could have hoped to find. Don’t shake your head. You must believe me. I know how much you love me, and I you. That is enough. And because of that, I am a stronger person and don’t dread going back any more. My only worry is Raju. Please look after him. He is fragile.

Yes. He said in a choked voice.

His intense eyes, more blue than grey today in the sunshine, pierced her heart as they had done when she had first looked at him and made her fall in love with him. She had to quickly turn away.

She took her cabin bag from Raju and gave him one last hug.

Akka. You look after yourself too, please.

I will, Raju. Don’t worry about me. I’m ok now. I’m going back to start my life again. No more white saris for me. Look, I’m wearing colours now. She said as she touched his gift pinned onto her shoulder.

She turned away quickly pulling the little case behind her. She knew they were standing there watching her walk away and willing her to turn back. She raised one hand in a thumbs-up gesture and kept walking. She did not want either of them to see the tears coursing down her face.

LAKSHMI

Often she felt as though she had been picked up and turned about like a kaleidoscope, that all her complacent assumptions had been shaken up and reassembled in a different order

Judith Lennox, All My Sisters

Walking away from the two men I adored, each in his own way, felt like I had wrenched off a part of myself and left it behind. I had no wish to wander around duty-free shops although I had two hours before take-off. I went directly to my gate and found a quiet seat by a window. I looked out at the aircrafts, all waiting to go places. I still marvelled at the massive wing span and their ability to soar so high up in the air. I remembered how nervous I’d been when I had to board one the first time, even for the short flight to Mumbai with my newly-married husband. I had been even more terrified at the thought of being up in the air for ten hours on the flight alone to London but had needed to get away; needed to put as far a distance between Mysore and all that was familiar and painful.

When my parents and Raj suggested going to London for six months, it seemed just the place to heal wounds, both mine and theirs. Seeing me every day in the pale saris of a widow was a constant reminder of their failure. Torn by guilt and grief, they were wilting in front of my eyes until I was so alarmed my own pain had receded to the background. I had to think of some way to help them recover. Putting on an act was beyond me; putting a distance between us seemed the only way.

I also wanted to escape the pitying eyes of my friends and family. If their sympathy was not going to let me forget the disaster of my marriage, the bitterness and anger of my in-laws certainly wouldn’t help me get over it. They held me responsible for the tragedy and nothing we said made them see the reality for what it was. I, their daughter-in-law, was an inauspicious creature. I had brought their family bad luck and they were not going to forgive me for this. And yet, it was their insistence that had forced the engagement neither of us had wanted. That and my parents’ wish to see their only daughter well-married and settled with a boy from a good family background.

I had had no desire for marriage at all. After my Masters, I had wanted to escape our small suffocating community in sleepy Mysore and work for some time in the much bigger and cosmopolitan Bangalore. I had applied for a lecturer’s post in a private women’s college with one of my classmates and we’d both been accepted. We planned to stay together in a women’s hostel, at least for the first year. I’d also wanted to study art, privately. Even as a child, I’d loved dabbling in colours, and my art teacher in school had told my parents I was talented and should pursue art.

Appa, however, had never encouraged us to stray from the academic subjects, science being on the top of the hierarchy. I did not have the money to pay for private tutors. But if I got a job in Bangalore, I’d be able to pay for art classes on weekends. Apart from anything, I’d wanted to experience living alone, away from the pressures of being an obedient, almost a subservient, daughter to my father. I was also tired of constantly making up for the hurt and disappointment caused by Raj. I bided my time and stayed home learning cooking and music in preparation for being a dutiful wife.

The plan was for Asha who was a year behind me completing her Master’s to go first to Bangalore, find a job and a place to stay. We then meant to speak to Appa and get permission for me to do the same. So I did not mind this time at home with Amma learning cooking and being a good daughter knowing it would not be for very long. I dreamt of the freedom and my choice of lifestyle. But I’d finally given in to the emotional blackmail of aging parents, a father recovering from heart surgery and a diabetic mother. I sat staring out the window and remembered their coaxing, cajoling and criticising me as if it was yesterday.

It is alright for you to say you want to be free and choose your life-style. What about us? We have put our lives aside to bring you both up and see you settled so we can finally find some well-earned rest. But Raj went away to London and does not even bother to write to us anymore. I was hoping he would also become a scientist like me. But, no. Our beautiful city is too dull and we are too old-fashioned for him. I may not have made a big name or earned a lot of money. But I have earned a good reputation and people respect me here. I’d hoped he would follow me in my profession. But he does not seem to even want to know us anymore. And now you want to leave home too. Marriage proposals are coming thick and fast, and if you refuse them and go live on your own, none from our circle will want to suggest their son for you. People are already talking.

Yes? I said. And what are they saying?

That we are neglecting the future of our daughter. That we should have found you a boy long before this. That we are uncaring and irresponsible parents.

I wish they would mind their own business. It is my life after all.

Well said, my girl. Well said!

My father looked at me shocked and clearly incensed by this uncharacteristic rejoinder.

"It is your life and your business, is it? Don’t you know that our children are our business? That your life is our life? That it is our duty to find you a good home and see you well-settled? One day, when you have children, you will understand this."

I looked down, unable to counter this. Appa’s voice softened a little. We will not do anything in a hurry. We will wait as long as it takes to find you a perfect partner

And wait we did.

Finally, Appa announced he had found the right boy for me. Mohan is a good looking educated boy from a rich family in Bangalore. His parents are very modern and forward thinking. They have said they will permit their daughter-in-law to work if she wishes.

How very generous of them to permit me, I thought bitterly.

I did not dare say this aloud. Ours was a very patriarchal family. Appa had very strict ideas about the role of men and women. It was what he was brought up to believe, by both his father and mother. His views on marriage, family and society were simple and fixed. Men were the bread winners, the protectors and controllers of their womenfolk. Women stayed home, cooked and cared for their family, quite often extended. And brought up the children teaching them the same values. That was it. He frowned upon how my cousins on my mother’s side in Bangalore were being brought up. They wore western clothes and aped western habits. They fall between two stools, he said, neither western nor Indian. He did not like me spending much time with them. Bangalore has changed a lot, he always complained. Thank God Mysore has remained the same. Little did he know I was so bored of sleepy old Mysore; that I couldn’t wait to get away.

But sadly, although he believed in educating his daughter, he did not support the idea of her going out to work. He even saw academic degrees just as a passport to a good marriage. And to find a suitable boy for her was his duty, his purpose in life. A daughter was his possession until he handed her over to another family, and with that ended his responsibility. The world around him might have changed but he did not consider it progress. In his mind he was always right and would brook no dissent. And his only son rebelling and then leaving home had affected him so badly that it had probably weakened his heart. Amma and I, worried about his health, usually gave in and at least did not openly disagree. Although perhaps Amma agreed with him to some extent. Her own upbringing had not been very different.

In fact, it was Amma in the end who succeeded in persuading me. She had sat down beside me and taken my hand, quietly saying they were thinking of what was best for me. Their life and experiences had taught them to think with more maturity and responsibility. They were not about to push me into the jaws of hell. They only wanted what was best for their daughter. I should trust their judgment in such matters. One day, I too would be a mother and realise the responsibilities that came with parenthood. Did they not love me more than anyone else in the world? Would they not do anything, make any sacrifices, for the happiness and well-being of the child they had brought into the world. Did I also not owe them duty befitting an obedient and loving child? Amma wiped her eyes with the end of her sari pallu.

Listening to her, Appa also calmed down and sat on my other side. He reminded me yet again that there were only two challenges in a father’s life. One was to build his own house and the other to get his daughter married. He had accomplished the first, and if he could do the other, his life’s work was done and he could die in peace. He knew that I could not bear to hear any mention of his dying. We had had a terrible scare when he had a heart attack after Raj left home and the doctors had warned us that he could not cope with too much stress.

I was hemmed in, literally too as I felt them both bear on me from either side. Helpless and beaten, I finally agreed to meet Mohan.

My parents were elated. Everything was arranged in a feverish hurry. The boy’s parents who lived in Bangalore were contacted. They in turn asked their son who was working in Mumbai to come down to view the girl. A week later the family arrived home. It was a big concession they made in not asking us to go to them instead as custom demanded. I was dressed in a traditional sari with some of the gold jewellery my parents had already got made for my wedding.

The parents were clearly charmed when they saw me. How fair she is! She looks like Goddess Lakshmi incarnate. She will surely bring prosperity to our house, they said. The snacks that Amma and I jointly made with help from our maid was passed off as mine. How impressive! What a talented cook! A truly accomplished daughter-in-law! Daughter-in-law, I noted with some shock.

Mohan and I were left alone after tea to have a few private moments of conversation. It was desultory and awkward. Mohan did look me up and down and seemed to like what he saw. But he did not show much interest to learn about me. He had hardly touched the snacks and so his decision did not depend on my culinary expertise. I glanced at him from under my eyelashes. He was quite good looking and extremely well dressed. But I found it strange that he wore a suit, that too all in black. Even his shirt was grey. At least he wasn’t wearing a tie, I thought wryly. He looked what he was, a successful Mumbai businessman. But there was an air of reserve, even arrogance, about him that made me fearful.

My parents were over the moon after they left as he was certainly a catch and wait till they tell all the relatives who were carping that my parents had been neglectful of their duties. We got the call from Mohan’s parents the same evening. Yes, they approved. They did not care to ask if I did. But then, neither did my parents.

A hurried consultation with the astrologers and the wedding was set for the following month. There were no auspicious dates for nearly a year after that. It was too soon, I said in panic. Nonsense, said Appa. Why delay the good deed? You have seen and liked each other, the parents are also impatient to finish the deed, so why wait? Had I told them I liked him? There was no recollection. In fact, I remembered very little about Mohan. The few stolen glances had not been enough to create more than a blurred impression of a rather formidable figure in black. Even that was receding by the day.

I did not see Mohan again until the day before the wedding. It was a whirlwind of shopping, buying presents for dozens of relatives on both sides, wedding trousseau for me and expensive gifts in gold and silk for Mohan, his sister’s family and his parents. My mother’s greatest thrill was selecting the saris for me. She and her cousins went to the famous Mysore silk factory and selected saris in the myriad rich glossy hues with contrasting borders Mysore silk is famous for. They were fabulous and fabulously expensive. One in each colour of your precious rainbow, they teased me. My superstition regarding rainbows was well-known in the family.

I could not share in her excitement. I worried that my parents could ill-afford such expenses and wished my younger brother Raju was here to share some of the load. But Raj did not even attend the wedding. He was tied up, it was too sudden, it was the wrong time. I had a sinking feeling that any time would not be right and wished I could understand what kept my little brother away from home even at a time like this. We used to be so close as children.

The wedding itself was an extravagant three-day affair for which a marriage choultry had been booked. The choultry had enough rooms to house all our and some of their relatives for two nights, and a huge hall where the wedding mantapa had been beautifully decorated like a shrine with garlands and the sacred fire for the homa blazing in the centre. The sister who had come from the US had refused to stay in the cramped rooms of the choultry with its shared bathrooms and had to be accommodated with her family in a nearby hotel, with a taxi hired to ferry them to and fro every day. The cost for all this must have been prohibitive for my parents. They were just so grateful their daughter was marrying so well that they agreed to any conditions.

The three days went by in a daze with rituals morning, noon and evening, and before I knew it, uncles, aunts and cousins were seeing us off with sniggers and whispered innuendoes to our hotel where a honeymoon suite had been booked for the nuptials night. The room was beautifully decorated with flowers and candles, and a floral decoration of two entwined hearts on the bed.

For the first time in my life I felt terrified being in this room with a total stranger. We hadn’t exchanged too many words during all the ceremonies as we were always surrounded by relatives and friends. I felt exhausted and wished only to sleep - on my own. My eyes, reddened and still watering from the smoke of the homa flames, were refusing to stay open. But when I came out of the bathroom after shedding all my wedding finery, my husband was waiting by the bed, a drink in his hand. He offered me some which I refused as I had never tasted alcohol in my life. Mum still gave me a hot milky drink before bedtime. I felt gauche and unsuited to this sophisticated man.

He asked me to sit by him on the bed. I did as I was told. It had become a way of life with me – to do as I was told. My life had never seemed my own. To do as I pleased. It was always about obeying others’ bidding. I had never questioned authority, except the one time when I spoke up for Raj that had secured his freedom. But never for myself. So also now. Every nerve in my body protested. But I sat on the bed next to Mohan as bid.

I shut my eyes. It was painful, unromantic and mercifully brief, nothing at all like what I had read in my literature books. Immediately after, I was left alone to turn on my side and go to sleep. But, ironically, worn out as I was, sleep evaded me and I lay going over and over how this had come to pass. I had expected to be a lecturer in a college in Bangalore staying in a women’s hostel, discussing literature with my colleagues and students. One day I would meet my hero as I had seen in Hindi movies and he would sweep me off my feet. I had only fantasised romance, never sex. And here I was, bleeding and sore, lying beside a total stranger in an expensive hotel suite having no sense of belonging either to the place or person next to me.

We were woken up early for more ceremonies and leave taking. I hated the knowing glances and smiles of my cousins. No doubt they were wondering what this handsome fashionable man had seen in me. The same question had repeatedly gone through my mind. There had been no pressure on him to marry me, or indeed anyone. He was free to make his choice. Then why had he not rejected me? He hardly knew me as we had met just the once and even then barely exchanged a few sentences. But he could see how different I was from the women in his life, like his mother and his sister.

His sister, just a bit older than me seemed terribly worldly wise. Normally, she dressed in western clothes. For the three days of the wedding, she wore beautiful gossamer georgette saris with tiny blouses that had spaghetti straps. They look more like a bra than a blouse, my scandalised mother had breathed into my ears. She spoke English all the time and, I heard from my mother, smoked and drank wine when she went back to her hotel at night. My Bangalore cousins approved. My father remained unaware. My mother was worried and suddenly unsure about the choice of life partner for her daughter. I quietly panicked.

I was taken to my in-law’s house from the choultry. It was a very different residence to ours, big, very modern and rather cold. The two days we stayed there were spent in showing me off to their relatives. The constant refrain was I would bear them beautiful fair grandchildren who would be the pride of their family. They had grand children already but it was their son’s children they craved for; someone who would carry the family name forward. Their daughter knew and resented this, and therefore resented me. The parents were very proud of their son and lost no opportunity to remind me how lucky I was to have been chosen by him. There had been so many families who had wanted him to choose their daughters, but he had preferred me.

I too could not understand why Mohan would want someone so simple and unsophisticated as me. His parents might think me pretty but he certainly showed no signs of finding me attractive. In fact, he barely even acknowledged my presence. And I always felt gauche and awkward in his presence. His sister, who did not care for me at all, was obviously annoyed at her parents’ praise of my beauty. She lost no opportunity in bringing it home to me how unsuited I was to marry her brother.

We left for Mumbai three days after the wedding. I wished I had more time with my parents but Mohan said he could not take any more time away from work. There was no talk of honeymoon. Leaving my parents was a wrench. It was heart-breaking to see my dad trying to keep it together and failing, and my mother shushing him saying he could cry after I left but not in front of me. Suddenly she was the strong one, but I knew she was weeping inside.

I touched their feet and that of my in-laws. My parents blessed me with eternal happiness and a long married life. My parents-in-law reminded me they were waiting for grandchildren. And with that ringing in my ears, I boarded the plane with my husband to start my new life away from home and everybody and everything I knew. This was my first experience of flying and I was scared. My fear of flying was compounded by dislike of airports. Raju had left from here never to come back to us. Everything around me made me feel they were separating me from all that was familiar, secure and beloved, the passengers milling around with their suitcases, signboards displaying flights to distant places or the disembodied voices of the announcers over the PA.

I sat up with a start as I heard announcements for my British Airways flight to Bangalore. I had been so lost in thought that I could have missed my flight back to India. I collected my case and my duty free bag, looked around one last time at the crowds milling around the busy Heathrow departure gates, joined the queue and slowly made my way to the waiting aircraft that would take me back to my old life.

Yes, this time it would take me back to security and familiarity but separate me and lead me away from those that I had come to love and cherish. I had fallen in love with London and sad to say goodbye to the two main reasons for that. What I felt most strongly though was gratitude.

My chinna Raju and dearest Kevin, thank you, thank you, thank you, I whispered.

The stewardess showed me to my seat and helped me stow my bags in the overhead compartment. I had a window seat with no one immediately next to me. Strangely, I had no fears now and looking out the window I thought back on my first fearful flight to Mumbai.

I did not know what made me more nervous. Sitting in an aircraft for the first time, being separated from my family or going to my new home in Mumbai with someone I barely knew. The only intimate moments we had were in the few nights after the wedding. There was no conversation at all. I did not know what to say to him and somehow felt inferior, even unintelligent. He spoke little to me and our days were anyway crowded with visits to various relatives or visitors dropping in to see us. We were hardly alone which seemed to suit both of us.

Inevitably, their relatives dropped in to evaluate, the bride. The comments were invariably about my complexion and size. Oh my god, how fair is she, what beautiful long hair, such lovely eyes, how demure, but how petite, hope she does not have trouble delivering with those slim hips, and so on, and on. I seemed to have become a trophy wife due to my appearance. Just as well, because it could certainly not have been for the wealth I brought them, as in their eyes my dowry was meagre. They had selected me for my looks and my family’s reputation. Otherwise we had nothing in common.

I struggled to adapt to his parents’ lifestyle. Mohan’s parents had a much grander house than ours and dinner times were quite formal. I’d never sat at a table before, or used cutlery. At home, we sat on little wooden mane, wooden plinths, on the floor in the kitchen, and ate with our fingers. I felt I could not taste the food otherwise. I also hated putting into my mouth forks that had been in many other