Mallika Grows Up: Part 2

“Amma?”  Mallika’s voice had slightly hysterical edge to it, or at least it seemed that way to Subadra’s overwrought imagination.  Possibilities, all dire, raced through her mind.  She had been mugged, dumped by some boy, failed her exams, or….. (Her mind barely touched this one, and retreated hastily from it, unable to bear the thought)….raped.  Why did she let her go to America?  Why had she allowed herself to become so enamored of Ivy League prestige that she could sacrifice her daughter to its powerful pull?  Guilt seared through her as a small voice in her admitted that she had actually enjoyed her freedom from the day-to-day chores of motherhood. 

“Amma!” There was no hysteria now, only impatience. “You’re not listening!”    Subadra took a deep breath to steady her thudding heart.  Mallika’s voice actually sounded……..excited.  “What is it, kutty?” she asked.   “Why aren’t you asleep?  Is everything alright?”  Once again, her imagination raced ahead of her.  Maybe Mallika had found the right man at last and was asking for her blessings? Ooh, that would teach that nosy Mrs. Iyer next door, she hadn’t stopped gloating ever since her daughter had got engaged to that Harvard chap.  Or….
 
“MOM!”  Mallika’s voice had a sharp, accusatory edge to it. The “Mom”, an Americanism she had picked up in her first month there, was calculated to annoy and it succeeded.  Subadra shook herself out of her reveries and paid attention to what her daughter was saying.

Mallika, who had obtained a highly coveted position as a summer research assistant in her University after months of applications and interviews, had spurned this offer and was coming to India, to her home-town instead.  Subadra’s heart did its roller-coaster loop once again as she listened. Mallika continued, speaking fast in her excitement.  She was not going to stay at home even though she would be in her parents’ city.  She, along with five other students from her university, was going to live in a rented house.  It was going to be a sort of artist’s hangout where they would spend their time painting, or singing, or writing, or pursuing whatever creative avenue they wanted to. (Where physics fit into this, Subadra’s reeling mind wondered briefly). They had already found a house; it was dirt cheap so they could easily afford the rent. They would cook and clean and run the house themselves. They also had a vague notion of doing some social work in the neighborhood.  It was going to be the best summer ever! Didn’t Mom think this was going to be amazing?

 There was a short silence after Mallika finished.  Subadra, who prided herself on being a modern, broad-minded mother (she had never even mentioned marriage to her daughter, quite unlike that awful Mrs. Iyer who had made it clear to her daughter right from an early age that there was no question of any fancy education, marriage was the only goal, she could do what she liked after that), struggled with contradictory impulses.  She wanted to sound supportive and enthusiastic, but, truth be told, she was dismayed.  She would have to break the news to her husband, who was so proud and pleased at Mallika’s research job.  Unapologetically pragmatic and down-to-earth, he had followed the straight and narrow corporate path and had no understanding or appreciation of an artist’s life. 

When Mallika had wavered between music and physics, he had firmly pushed her in the latter direction, telling her that there was no financial security in a career in music.  And, Subadra was ashamed to admit it, but the thought did cross her mind about how she would convey this to Mrs. Iyer the neighbor.  She had, goaded into it by Mrs. Iyer’s smug monologues about her Harvard son-in-law to be, countered by giving a slightly (no, let’s be honest here, a highly) inflated version of Mallika’s summer research assistant position (she had made Mallika the Director of Research, and the slack-jawed look on Mrs. Iyer’s face was worth any qualms Subadra might have felt at telling this fib).  Questions raced through her mind.  Who were these other students? What neighborhood was this house in? Did they have any idea of just how difficult it was to set up a home in this town, get the phone, gas, electricity, household help, ration supplies and a hundred other things going?  When were they arriving? Why, oh why, couldn’t she just stay at home, if what she really wanted was to spend the summer here?

Subadra did herself proud. She quelled every one of those questions, and in a voice that shook only slightly, she told her daughter how excited she was for her, that the plan sounded wonderful. As she spoke, she realized that she actually meant what she said.  Weren’t these the best years of Mallika’s life?  It did sound like fun, a group of friends renting a house and living together and pursuing their interests.  And after all, it was only for one summer. They had their whole lives to get serious jobs, to marry, to settle down. Subadra herself had been married off in her final year of college, and while hers had been a happy marriage, there was sometimes, deep inside her, regret for what she had missed out on.   

That evening, when Subadra broke the news to her husband, he was predictably furious and upset.  Subadra tried to calm him down, but had to face his wrath all over again when he realized that she had no information beyond the barest facts. So they called up Mallika, who was sulky and uncommunicative after being woken up at what was an ungodly hour for her.  Her father’s probing questions only made her mood worse, but he managed to extract the information he wanted.  What she told him only made Subadra feel uneasy again.

To be continued...