Rocking chair

Runa grew up in a big joint family.

There were a lot of things she liked about that. For one thing, even though there were about twenty five children in the house (give or take a few since married daughters were always visiting with their brood and the daughters-in-law went off to visit their parents with kids in tow), grandfather's absolute favorite was Runa. Runa was not only top of her class at the local Saraswati school for girls, her voice was soft, her manners were gentle and her back was straight when she walked down the street and people whispered, "look, there goes Mohan babu's granddaughter". Runa was the one who was summoned when Mohan babu's friends came to visit and she was the one chosen to walk decorously beside him when he went off to accept an honor for lifelong service to education and community.

Then there were giggling sessions with sisters and cousins and adventures with her best pals Bapi and Bhaiya, the two boy cousins who were a year older then her. The three were always to be found together and whatever one learned, he or she promptly taught it to the others. For example, one night Runa came home tired from a visit to her other grandmother. She had just finished dinner and settled down under her blanket when her two friends turned up, eyes shining. "Guess what, we learned how to read the newspaper today. Do you want to learn too?"  "Not today," said Runa with a yawn, "I'm too tired." "Oh but you can learn really fast, it's not going to take any time at all." So she gave in and the three heads bent over the newspaper to painstakingly sound out the words in the daily radio program.

The two storey house with the rectangular courtyard in the middle and the family that lived in it were large enough that they were their own little village, theatre group and sports team. Long verandas ran the whole length of the house alongside the courtyard both upstairs and downstairs. The upstairs veranda was the site of many a music and drama performance while sports events took place on the flat, open rooftop above. When there was a competition to hit the pot blindfolded, "good uncle" (that's what the kids called him) would tie the scarf loosely around his son Bapi's eyes. Naturally Bapi won everytime. "I could see everything", Bapi would tell Runa later, "but I pretended not to. In fact I was sorely tempted to hit no-grandpa's bald head instead of the pot". That would have been sweet revenge. No-grandpa was one of the single elderly relatives who had appointed themselves guardians of the children and told tales about them to the patriarch Mohan babu all the time.

There was one thing you could never find in this house that was full of so many people and things, that was peace and quiet. No sooner had you settled down on a window seat next to the faded wooden shutters with a book of poems or a novel than some aunt would spot you and send you off to the kitchen to roll out rutis for the cook. Or another aunt would come by, snatch the book from your hands, and throw down a piece of fabric and some embroidery thread in its stead. "Learn to do something useful instead of reading all the time", she would say, "any day now we are going to have to look for a groom for you." If all the aunts were occupied elsewhere, it would be children screaming or a cousin crying and Runa would have to put down her book to go and mediate.

Some days, even amidst all that commotion, Runa would sit on the window seat next to the faded wooden shutters, book forgotten, staring out into the distance, lost in daydreams. She would picture herself walking by a river or sitting under a large shady tree or up on the roof on a moonlit starry night. And in all those places the quiet would be so deep you could touch it and wrap it around yourself and never be afraid that a sudden shriek would rip it apart. In those places, under the shady tree or up on the moonlit roof, Runa always pictured herself sitting in a rocking chair, swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

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It's been many years now since we left Runa dreaming on the window seat next to the faded wooden shutters.

Where is she now? Did they find a bridegroom for her? Did he take her away to a house with a garden and a large shade tree? Or maybe there is a small brook running past the backyard with a patch of hard ground next to it, just big enough to put a rocking chair on? Or if the house is in the city, surely there is a roof she can climb up to after the chores of the day are done?

It's a lovely, clear spring sky tonight, the breeze is gentle and every word is a soft murmur. It's the perfect day to go looking for Runa. The perfect time to find the girl in her lair, far away from all the commotion, settled in her rocking chair, swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

The moonlight seeps in through the ornamental grille of Runa's house and lights up not one, not two, but a whole row of rocking chairs, two narrow, gleaming wooden ones without arms, an upholstered arm chair and a wicker one with embroidered cushions....

...but Runa is not in any one of them. She is hidden in the shadows in a corner of the veranda. The house is dark, there are no voices - maybe her husband is working late, if we hadn't heard a sudden sob we would have missed her. She is clinging to the window grille with all her might as if she might drown, and crying her heart out for the house with the courtyard, that cauldron of commotion with the annoying no-grandpa, the shrieking children and aunts bearing embroidery thread. All she had wanted was a shimmering pool of serenity to set daintily beside the all-consuming noise. Never had she imagined that some malicious god would grant her wish for peace a thousandfold with this tornado of silence that was now rushing in from all directions and threatening to sweep her away.