THE WINDOW

Renuka Ayola Translated by D. Ranga Rao                                                                                                                                    I had invitation for my friends marriage in Kukatpalli. He rang me up asking me to be present. It was Sunday. No need to apply leave. The bike gave me trouble as I started it. I left it with the mechanic and took the bus. The bus was not crowded. I occupied the seat by the window. I boarded a city bus after a long break. The journey would take an hour and a half. I sat relaxed.  The woman conductor asked for the fare as the bus moved. Women complain that the fair sex has been left behind that the men are crushing them down. But what is this! They are happily working as conductors. Not only this. The other day I saw a women driving a seven-seater. The women are enjoying equal rights with men. Are they not?  The window. There is great importance to the window in life. Whether on the train or at home if we sit at the window comfortably, many thoughts flash across our mind. If it is at home, a cigarette can be puffed off before wife returns and throw it out of the window.  The bus was moving forward along with a member of vehicles as if fighting its way. At the opposite bus stop a married woman was standing. She appeared very attractive at the first glance. It is so with some women. Even if they are in the company of many others. They are so attractive that they compel the looks of people towards them the colour of sari she work merged with her personality perfectly.  My thoughts turned towards women’s freedom again. Radha Rani, who works in our office, feels that men are the very devils who always torture women no end. Whenever she gets a chance she acts as if she is the spokes women for suffer because of men and looks at us with satisfaction and relief that she had exposed all the atrocities and injustices of men over women.  No one bothers about hen-pecked husbands. Men cannot reveal their difficulties to other men. Does man suffer from difficulties people ask. He himself is the very personification of difficulties. That is what the world think. It is very disgusting to think of it. One feels as though  life has been spent away in an insipid manner. I studied like an ideal student and secured a job, when young. I did not think of girls and married according to the wishes of my parents. I dreamed as if to prove the saying that Rama is good boy, before marriage. But my dreams got shattered. Life with Latha is intolerable now.  The red light at the junction. The bus stopped with a sudden jerk. A couple were conversing happily on a motor-bike of late girls also are sitting on the pillow like boys, astride. The girl was also sitting astride. She was learning on him and talking. Are they married? Perhaps not. That is the reason why they have so much to talk. If married the wives sit away from the man with a brown on their faces.  In the early days of our marriage, did I and Latha ride the bike like this? There was no bike then. I brought it later. Latha looked down with contempt on me that I did not possess even a bike during the early days of our marriage. She used to talk as though she stood for ideals and married me. When I went to her mother’s place. I called her to the terrace with the idea of talking to her to spend time in a pleasant gossip, sipping coffee. She brought coffee and looked at me askance, “Let us spend some time chit-chating”, I said.  “By the by, how much do you draw as salary?” asked suddenly.  “Why?” I asked her.  “What do you mean by asking? ‘why?’ I want to know how much amount would be cut in the salary if we take a car loan. We have to adjust our budget. That is why” she replied.  “Why should we worry about the car now?”  “All my people have cars. We too should have one. If we do not possess a car I feel very little before them. My cousin bought a car a few days ago and she has been showing it off. What do we lack? You are an engineer. Let us buy a car. What do you say?”  “Let us see, “I replied, not knowing what to say.  She went down stairs saying she had much work to do after a drank coffee. Latha is fond of leading a luxurious life. She compares me with her people for every thing and treats me as an incompetent person. She jeers and mocks, derides and jokes. She is cross and neglects me. While things were in this order, a son was born. His name is Naveen. All of the sudden  she complaints that I have no love for her. She wonders whether I did anything for her at all. She throws a challenge at me saying that if I have love for her I should buy a car. Her relatives behave and feel as though Latha who has no car faces all problems, as if I am responsible for all her difficulties.  The bus stopped at the Erragadda stage. A beautiful girl boarded the bus. She looked very pretty in the Punjabi dress she wore. I should have loved such a girl and married her. Her hair-do was also very attractive. She got off the bus at the next stop. I felt agonized as if the girl whom I loved left me without looking at me. A number of people got it. One of them was a stout woman. She had great difficulty in boarding the bus. I wondered why she did not make attempts to reduce her bulk. I remembered Latha again.  By a slip of the tongue I said to Latha one day why she should not slim down a little. Latha is a little plump. That day was a day of punishment for me. “I know you have no love for me now. That is why you say I am stout thought I a m not stout. I have a child now. Any women would put on after a baby is born. No body stays slim like a girl after a child. Once I was thinking like a tendril. Perhaps I have put on a little…” she did not leave it at that. Keeping my suggestion in her mind, whenever an opportunity arises, she drawls to her friends. “I am not attractive enough for my husband as I am a little fat” goes to the extent of cursing the gentleman who arranged her marriage with me. She cries saying that she never dreamt that her life would be so horrible.  On such occasions I do not know what I should do I curse myself every minute why I uttered such an expression. War clouds gathered everyday for nearly a week. Whatever I said or did not say was considered a terrible crime. “What sort of a man he is … like a stone statue, neither word or action…” she grumbles.  The bus was in motion. In a shop at a distance T.V. sets. All the sets were switched on simultaneously. A hindi serial was being screened. Before marriage a number of ideals and aims. Children should be brought forth. They should be educated and made into ideal citizens. They should grow into great persons. Some yearning of that kind in the mind of parents.  The very thought of shaping our children as the future citizens of India has become meaningless in these days. The other day we went to a birthday party to a friends house. The girl was pretty. An elderly lady asked the girl that what she wanted to become when she grew up. “Miss India” the girl replied. We were all surprised at her answer. Glamour, not education was important.  In olden days young boys and girls wanted to serve the country or protect the nation as soldiers. Now it is a run to America or to become a cinema stars. Ambition and selfishness are behind these days. ‘I’ and ‘mine’ are foremost in the minds of narrow minded youth today.  The guests asked our boy too. He is hardly six years old. “I want to become Bin Laden” said my son. We were shocked. “Why?” an elderly person asked him. “Because he creates havoc in such a rich and powerful country”.  Should we wonder at his knowledge or feel proud that our country has progressed? Everyone laughed at his reply. But I saw in my minds eye forests turning into ashes without fire.  We feel that education makes our children knowledgeable. We goad them to read more and more being ourselves in a delusion. Bonds, love, relationships, do not exist. Everyone has the enestions.  “What will you give me? What will you do for me?”  The bus stopped. The lady conductor said to me “please get off. This is Kukatpally stop. Last stage”

నా ఆలోచనలు -3

వర్షం ముందుగా మబ్బుల ఘర్షణ
మనసున ముసిరెనే
ఇది ప్రణయమా ప్రళయమా
ఇది ఒక పాటలోని పల్లవి(యువ కవి శ్రీ మణి)  రాసింది

ఈ రోజెందుకో గాని ఎన్నో రోజులుగా ఒక సంఘటన నాలోనే నిద్రపోతున్నట్లు నటిస్తూ
ఈపాటతో నిద్రలేచి జ్జాపకాన్ని తవ్విపోసింది.

ఒక సారి రైల్లో కలిసిన అమె ఎవరో తెలియదు, గంట పరిచయం మాత్రమే.
అయినా తన మనసులో మాటలని గబగబా చేప్పేసుకుంది
చిన్నప్పుడే భర్తని పోగోట్టుకుని పిల్లల్ని కంటికి రెప్పలా చూసుకుని వాళ్ల ఆనందంలో తనని వెతుకున్న ఆమెకి వంటిమీద వచ్చిన చిన్న ఎలర్జీకి/   ఎవరితో తిరిగితే వచ్చాయో అలాంటీ ఎలర్జీలు/కోడలు అన్న మాటలకి
శ్రావణ శుక్రవారం పేరంటాలకి రమ్మని బలవంతం చేసి నలుగురిలో పసుపు కుంకుమ ఇస్తే్,వాటికే పెద్ద అనర్ధం జరిగిపోతుందన్నట్లుగా భావించే స్త్రీలముందు,సంప్రదాయలముందు.

ఓడిపోతు తనని తాను నిలబెట్టుకుంటూ జీవన ప్రయాణంలో ఏం మిగిలిందని ప్రశ్నించుకుంటు ఒంటరిగా గంభీరంగా నిలబడుతూ ధైర్యంగానే ఉంది.

కాని ఎక్కడో గాయం వర్షానికి ముందుండే మబ్బులా, నా పరిచయం పిల్ల గాలిలా తాకింది
అంతే కన్నీటి జలపాతాలు చీరకోంగులో దాక్కుని తడితడి గా మిగిలిపోయాయి.

ఎన్నాళిలా ఒంటరిపోరాటం? ఎవరికోసం దేనికోసం నన్ను నేను హింసించుకుంటున్నాను.
అమె ప్రశ్నించింది సమాధనం అడగలేదు/మనసులో మాట చెప్పేసింది/తను దిగవలసి స్టేషను రాగనే దిగి వెళ్లి పోయింది
సమాధానం కోసం నేను  వెతుకున్నాను.
 అప్పుడు
"గంటి భానుమతి"గారు  రాసిన కధ గుర్తుకొచ్చింది.
భానుమతి గారు రాసిన కధలో
దేవుడు ఎన్నో వారాలు ఇచ్చి అమెని ప్రత్యేకంగా తయారు చేస్తాడు.
 వెనక వచ్చేప్రమాదాలని కూడా చూడడాని వెన్నక్కి కూడ కళ్లు పెట్టీ,ఎన్నో చేతులు పెట్టీ ఎన్నిపనులైనా సునాయాసంగా చేయడానికి ,యాసిడ్ పోసిన కాలని చర్మంతో ఇంక ఆ స్త్రీకి
దేనివల్ల ఆపదలు రాకుండా చేస్తాడు.అయినాచెంపల దగ్గర తడి.
పొరాపాటేక్కడని మధన పడతాడు/గుండె దగరవున్న చెరువుందని మరచిపోతాడు దానిని గనక గడ్డకట్టించి వుంటే? స్త్రీల దగ్గర ప్రశ్నలు ఉండవనిపించింది.
ఎంత కొత్తగా పుట్టించి ఏమిటి లాభం?  నీటి చెమ్మా మిగిలుందిగా రాళ్ళను కరిగించడానికి.....
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ఒంటరిగా ధైర్యపు గాలిపటాలెగరేస్తూ సమూహలలో తన నిర్మాణాల పునాదులను గట్టి పరచుకున్నాసరే  తిరస్కారాల తుఫానులో చిక్కుకుంటూనేవుంటుంది /అప్పుడే వర్షముందర మబ్బులా గాలికి కదిలి జలపాతమై  కురుస్తుంది/ఎక్కడో చిన్న విత్తు కోత్తగా మొలిచి ఇలా అనుకుంటుంది...