The Onus of Ancestry (17 page)

“Congratulations, Mrs Dutta.”

“Please could I be known as Dwita Roy, if it is not unacceptable to the company?”

“No problem – you will be Dwita to us in no time, in any case. I shall have the appointment letter ready,” Mr Katrak assured her.

“She starts tomorrow,” Wadia said.

She followed Mr Katrak to his office where they got through the details very quickly. He had been efficient and business-like, probing no further, only asking casually towards the end if she already knew anything about publishing or the publications business. She said she did, as it happened and he asked which company she knew.

“Superior.”

“Are you any relation to Aparna Roy Chowdhury?”

“She is my mother.”

“Why did I ever doubt your capability or your interest in a career?”

They both laughed and she left, astonished at landing a job after one day's efforts. She had expected to wear her shoes out walking the corridors of prospective employers. She could not believe her luck.

She re-entered the Dutta household, light-headed and happy, her head in the clouds.

“Any news?” Prithwish stood in front of her.

“Plenty – I have a job and I start tomorrow!”

“Congratulations Dwita – though I had no doubt about your impressing any prospective employers.”

“That's kind.”

“Let us celebrate with a good tea at Skyliner's.” He sounded suddenly cheerful.

“Why not?” She was cheerful too.

“Ma, come quick. Mohua, Maya! Hurry up. We are off to Skyliner's for tea.”

“Why suddenly all this generosity?” Mohua enquired, rushing in with her little portable vanity bag.

“No time for make-up, Mohua, or we leave you behind,” Prithwish said gaily, “some celebrations cannot wait. Dwita starts work tomorrow.”

The girls shouted, “Wonderful, marvellous!”

Her mother-in-law just squeezed her hand. “Bravo, my girl – I wish I had been brave like you and done the same.”

At the table Dwita decided to tackle the matter of changing her name straight away.

“Ma”, she said addressing her mother-in-law, “I am most grateful to you for your understanding and support. But I must say something to you which is delicate for me and perhaps painful for you. In the office I shall be known as Dwita Roy – neither Roy Chowdhury nor Dutta. This is something which stands for my individuality at work and for my own status in my future profession and it will help separate my past from the present.”

“We understand,” Prithwish said on their behalf. “Good luck to you from all of us, Dwita. Please understand that we are with you all the way.”

It was nearly eight weeks since she had walked into Rusi Wadia's office to become a management trainee at Sunbeam Publications. Those weeks had flown past and her initiation into the Sunbeam clan had been smooth and painless. She had been more or less adopted by Rusi and Janet Wadia. They were a childless couple, lonely and affectionate, and Dwita seemed to fill a gap in their life. They felt she had been thrown into the rough waters of an individual existence rather suddenly – the security of a supportive family system that had sheltered her so far had suddenly disappeared from under her feet. They liked her spirit and courage, admired her determined mindset – she never moaned, but was always smiling and cheerful. Janet was particularly grateful to her, as Rusi was much more relaxed these days – he was almost cured of his outbursts of bad temper. Dwita seemed to understand him and manage him so that not only Janet, but the entire office noticed the change. In fact Dwita was fast becoming a protective wall between Rusi Wadia and the rest of the company. She was working very hard too, but she enjoyed every moment of it and it took her mind off Nishith, Parna and all the pressures of a home life without any future or any domestic objectives.

It was announced one evening that Nishith was coming home. She had been visiting him at the clinic as often as was advised by Dr Mitra, but on those visits Nishith was mostly under sedation and seemed distant and lifeless. They talked of family events and other unimportant matters – she never mentioned Sunbeam to him nor did they ever discuss his recent breakdown.

So far, Dwita had managed to keep Nishith's illness secret from Parna as well, telling her mother that Nishith had had to accept a short-term posting in Hutchinson's offices in Bombay. Dwita was not sure how long she could keep up this game with her mother, but somehow it did not worry her. She had decided to come clean if and when she was confronted with it.

Dr Mitra had long discussions with Dwita from time to time, advised her on strategies for handling Nishith when he returned home. He was to be given a separate room and should be allowed to return to work gradually. The doctor warned her that he would be below par physically and should avoid strenuous sport and physical exercise. He also warned her that his present condition was a depressant phase and she must watch for signs of the emergence of the other Nishith – the Nishith who was arrogant and excitable, far too active and uncontrollable. Dwita was asked to report such symptoms immediately to Dr Mitra. In the end he had said, “I am pleased for you Dwita, that you have found yourself a vocation in life – we all need one to be able to survive. But I'm afraid I still think you should have thrown conventions to the wind and left the Duttas in good time, before you got too entangled.” She had answered with a smile – there was nothing she could say.

So Nishith had returned and had been given a room next to her own. It was a study bedroom with an interconnecting door between them. Prithwish had put a padlock on her side. Nishith accepted it as a medical decision and settled into his room without any visible objection.

However, next morning at breakfast he noticed Dwita's street attire, her handbag and briefcase.

“Where are you off to?”

“To work. I started some weeks ago.”

“Whatever for? Wives of Dutta do not go out looking for jobs. Were you not being fed enough in my absence?” He said it nastily.

“It is not always food or lack of it that drives one to work,” Prithwish cut in.

“You keep quiet, brother. Dwita is not dumb – moreover why stand between husband and wife? She does not need your support surely.”

“I must leave now, Nishith – I have a meeting to attend.” Dwita spoke quietly but with assurance.

“I do not think you can go until you have answered me.”

“There is nothing to answer – not this minute anyway. We can talk more on my return.”

“Leave me your telephone number.”

“Prithwish knows it. See you later.” She had left hurriedly before the argument deteriorated any further. His family could take care of his petty irritabilities. She felt no inclination to pamper him.

It had been one of those days at work as well. She had been extremely busy organising Rusi Wadia's schedules and was hard put to harness his flights of creativity. He wanted to make several changes in the management structure of the company and new as she was she felt it would be wiser to postpone them. She was also attached to the circulation department at the moment and the circulation manager had been particularly active with his training sessions. She was completely exhausted by the end of the day. Her peon Lakshman had brought her a cup of coffee out of the canteen machine and she was sipping it whilst clearing up her desk and tidying her papers. She would just love to go home, get into a warm foamy bath and relax completely, read a book and quietly fall asleep. The thought of confronting Nishith made her shudder inwardly – she could not face him now, nor his barrage of questions. The telephone rang – Parna was at the other end.

“Dwita, how are things? You have not phoned me the last three days and have not been to see me for nearly a week.”

“I am sorry, mother, I have been very busy. I rang you yesterday but you were out.”

“Why don't you have dinner with me tonight?”

“Not tonight, mother.”

“You have been avoiding me recently, Dwita. Whatever is the matter with you? When is Nishith expected back?”

“He is back.” No use lying. She was bound to find out sooner or later.

“Back? Good – then make it both of you, tomorrow night. I can offer you potluck tonight, but that won't do for him – so make it tomorrow night at eight.”

“Ma, I will have dinner with you tomorrow night. Leave Nishith out for the moment.”

“Why, Dwita? That does not look nice when he is back in town.”

“He won't mind – he is in fact not too well.”

“This long trip away from home must be the cause of the upset – all right then, you come tomorrow night. If you are coming alone, come early – make it before eight.”

“I will; straight from work.”

She had known all along that this moment had to come. She had been merely giving herself a little time before Parna would have to be told. Dwita was afraid of the reaction – would she blame herself for anything? Somehow, Dwita did not believe she would – she had never seen her mother regret any of her actions. She always managed to divest herself of guilt and find a scapegoat. Who was it going to be this time? Nishith, God or herself?

Returning home had been far from pleasant – no relaxing bath, no book, no quiet surrender to sleep. Nishith was awaiting her, ready to pounce before she had time to put her case down. He had been unreasonable, petulant and cantankerous. He had threatened her with all kinds of dire consequences if she so much as stepped out of the house again. He had gone on ranting until he had exhausted his strength and vocabulary. She had not uttered a word. Finally he had declared, “You will stay at home – understood? Go and write your resignation now.”

She did not speak or stir.

“Your silence will not gain you anything, Dwita – speak up.”

“Once you promised that you would help me with my career–” she began quietly.

“I promised nothing of the sort.”

She then gave up being patient and spoke to him more firmly. “All right then – I would like you to know that I do not wish to give up my job. I need it for very good reasons – one of them being to hold on to my sanity. You have nothing to offer me, Nishith, I have to find my own lifeline for body and soul – and that is going to be my work. Also, your job with Hutchinsons will not last for ever. We cannot live without money or material support.”

“My job is there for as long as I want it.”

“Do not delude yourself, Nishith. It will last as long as the goodwill of Hutchinsons and your investments last.”

He glared at her. “I have found out where you work – I shall speak to them and get you discharged. Do not underestimate Nishith Dutta.”

“Of course I do not underestimate you, I never have – but your speaking to them will not make any difference. I have been employed in my own right, not as your wife. Moreover, the company is fully aware of my personal circumstances. Hence, nothing you say is going to be new or sensational to them. And if you must know, my managing director and yours are good friends – so please do not overstretch Hutchinsons' loyalty to you.”

She tried to govern her anger. She had not intended to speak like this to an ailing man, but his behaviour had pushed her into it. It had also silenced Nishith, at least temporarily.

Her mother-in-law had taken her hand and placed a cup of tea in it. “Come with me, Dwita, enough is enough. Dr Mitra should never have allowed him home,” she muttered to herself.

Nishith had not resumed the discussion that night and had not stopped her from going to work next morning. Dwita, however, dreaded the evening ahead of her with Parna and Maheshwari. But she thought it was much better to get it out of the way, so that they could leave her to lead her own life. She wanted nothing from either of the families, neither support nor sympathy. All she wanted was to be left with her few personal rights – the right to privacy and the right to survive.

She had arrived at her mother's with an overnight bag – Maheshwari was delighted to have Dwita all to herself as Parna had still not returned from her office. She showered her with questions, brought her iced coffee and piping hot samosas, took her hair down and combed it out gently, caressing every strand. It was like old times again and Dwita said, “I miss you, Mahama – no one pampers me as you do, not any more. Come and live with me.”

“You know I can't, my child. I miss you too, all the time. This house is so cold without you. Dwita, tell me, are you happy?”

“What is happiness, Mahama? Define it for me.”

“Do not talk to me in riddles, child. I am not clever enough to follow them and now too old to learn.”

“I am married to a very sick man.” She pointed at her own head, “Sick here – and he will never be well again. So, happy? No, not really – on the other hand I am very happy with my work. I love my work.”

“What? Sick in his head – oh, my God, are you sure?” When Dwita nodded silently, Maheshwari burst into tears with the lack of reservation of old age.

“It is your mother's fault. She could not be happy in her own marriage, so she made sure that she inflicted the same destiny on you. If he is sick in the head what are you going to do?”

“Nothing – I can do nothing as long as one of us is alive. I cannot leave him – the family are kind to me. He is manageable until he is violent, then he has to go back to the hospital.”

“What about your own future, my girl?”

“If you mean children, I am not allowed to have them – forbidden by the doctor. So my future is my work.”

“What?” A voice cried out in agonised tones from behind her – Dwita and Maheshwari had not heard Parna coming in. “What did you say?”

“Do not excite yourself, Ma. Please sit down – we have all evening to discuss me.”

“You just said you have been forbidden to have children – what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me, for heaven's sake – let us talk about it later, there is no desperate hurry. I am spending the night here.”

“No, tell me now. I cannot wait.” Dwita was once again exasperated by her mother's hysterical response to everything – such melodrama, all to no purpose.

“Well, if you insist – Nishith is incurably ill. He suffers from mental illness. He has been in Dr Mitra's clinic all these weeks.”

“So you lied to me?”

“Is that important?”

“It is to me. However, how can this suddenly manifest itself? He was fine earlier.”

“Fine in your eyes, mother. He has been a mental patient for nearly twenty years.”

“How absurd – have they sought other medical opinion? After all, Bijit Mitra is not the only psychiatrist in town. What is his history?”

“Look, Ma, it is very painful for me to go through all this with you – if you wish for further details, speak to Dr Mitra yourself.”

“Yes, indeed I will – but what are your plans?”

“I have no plans. I carry on.”

“You carry on? Do you mean you carry on blaming me?”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“We do not always speak out loud to convey our thoughts. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Then you see too much.” Dwita was feeling increasingly fragile and vulnerable.

“I am going to see a lawyer. I am sure the marriage can be annulled.”

“Mother, I do not wish you to do anything of the sort. Please do not interfere in my life any more. I am an adult and I can take care of myself.”

“As far as I am concerned you are still my daughter and I have every right to–”

“No – I am sorry, you lost your right the day you handed me over to Nishith Dutta. He does have rights – but he cannot really exercise them and he has no role to play in my life. Still, I intend to stay by his side as long as he needs me and so long as he does not prevent me from leading my own life.”

“Rusi Wadia has certainly given you some new ideas!”

“Yes, he has given me the strength and confidence to stand on my own two feet.”

“I am completely shaken by all this. I do not understand anything any more. Maheshwari, have you heard?”

“I have – what did you expect?” The old woman turned and walked out, wiping her eyes with the end of her white
than
.

Parna began weeping, not softly, but with choking sobs, wringing out every spasm from the depths of her heart. Dwita recognised it and was afraid – it was the beginning of the same syndrome that had sent her to the altar. What was it this time? What did she want now? She had nothing to offer any more, nor was she going to succumb to maternal blackmail as she had done so disastrously before.