Four walls my world

For walls, my world...

I'm going to share a story written by me years ago during my visit to my village. Please do share your view if you can resonate.

A cool breeze was playing with me, messing with my hair. The bus entered the boundaries, and a rusty brown board with a faded name on it caught my attention. Welcome to Champaran! Reading these faded words, my soul was overjoyed. After all, it had been seven years since I had been to my village, my hometown. Although it was no longer like a village now, people had built their concrete houses; no more old roofs with the shade of the pipal tree. That Indian almond tree, with its red almond fruit and the memories it held with us all day, making our lips and tongues pink... I was missing that old fragrance of my village. But this time many new things were waiting for me, and it was giving me the zeal to walk with my heavy luggage.

The bus dropped me at the small station on the outskirts of the village. With my heavy luggage in both hands, a bundle of memories in my brain, and lots of love in my heart, I walked at a quicker pace. Imagine how old my cousins must have grown, how different they might look, what the dimensions of the new homes would be, how beautiful they might be, and whatnot... Also, the joy of meeting every family member had crossed all boundaries.

Walking for about fifteen minutes with that luggage was a bit difficult, but the desire to meet them all added fuel to the fire. Finally, I reached; the tall gate in front of me, painted with brown alkyd paint, stopped my feet. I dropped my luggage and gazed for a second, unable to believe how much everything had changed... Lifting it back, I opened the gate. It felt as if the gate was welcoming me with a welcome song or needed a meal to help with its heavyweight, which was difficult to push.

The frontage of the house seemed like a parking lot with more than five lavish cars; everything had changed. The place where I used to dwell, that frontage, porch, and especially the terrace where I used to rest and chat with the breeze... The house was bustling with kids running and playing everywhere, older people chatting with each other, and middle-aged groups busy playing cards... I dropped my luggage, freshened up, and received a warm welcome from everyone.

But my eyes were searching for someone else. I met everyone and went into the backyard in search of the missing ones... In the backyard, a long lane led to the section where a gas fire was made, with the ladies of the house cooking their food for everyone. It shocked me that everything was new; they even had gas stoves available, so why didn't they use them?!

The place was filled with smoke, and their lungs might be too. But what else could they do, as the male members of the family believed that food cooked on the wood fire had a sweetness they wouldn't get from food cooked on the gas? Their eyes were filled with smoke, seeming teary and red...

"We have been cooking for four hours; everyone is busy enjoying their deeds and getting sucked into this smoke," said one of them.

The food was being served to more than fifty people. It took half of their day to cook two meals. Almost lunch ended by four... Evening time was for a nap. Both of them went for a rest; working day and night for such a huge crowd is never easy, especially in the village.

As I reflected on my thoughts, I felt that everything had changed, but only one thing remained the same: the lives of the ladies in their kitchens. Yes, the same life, waking up at four, cleaning the veranda, preparing breakfast for guests, doing more household chores, and then back to the kitchen for lunch. Taking a nap for half an hour would be difficult for them; they would wake up, and the kitchen along with beloved tea and tea lovers was waiting for them.

Sprinkling some water on her face and waking up, she went back to the kitchen. Pouring milk into the huge cauldron, adding sugar and tea with those tired and dry hands, she prepared evening tea. The head of her house, her mother-in-law, followed suit and ordered her to milk the cow. “It's time for milking; go to the byre and milk the cows,” ordered her mother-in-law...

I was sitting in the same place and got bored, so I decided to join them in the byre. On the way, when she opened up her heart, it truly pierced me. Their eyes got wet, and a tremor began in her voice. “It's been more than twenty-five years; we have been in the same place, working like laborers day and night. Our mornings begin in the kitchen preparing tea, continue with preparing lunch, cleaning vessels, milking and taking care of animals, and going back after an hour of milking more than fifteen animals... Sometimes we feel like leaving everything and going back to our home, where we are at least treated as humans... Their domestics are taken more care of than ours..

Sometimes we feel like leaving everything and running away... Sometimes we even feel like skipping our dinner, but we have to continue with chores. Many times we don’t get time to bathe, and on top of that, we have to look after the guests and these big blocks they have built for us to clean and sweep... Life amidst these four walls feels like a curse to us... No one understands us; even festival days are the same for us... Life is getting miserable between these four walls of the kitchen... We have been here for years, but this is how we live, keeping our mouths shut beneath these fake smiles...”

These words still ring in my ears; indeed, their lives have been becoming miserable, with no one to understand or hear them. Many times they cry in the byre...

No festival to be enjoyed,

No moments to rejoice...

Not a single day in life .

To sit and smile,

Just work and grudge,

Not a big deal for one who never does...

Less like life,

More like a curse...

From morning

Till night, playing

With emotions boiling

In the cauldron...

Less like life,

More like a curse...

Our world dwells

Within these four walls...

Indeed, villages have changed, but the lives of housewives who live there have not. These might be the tales of many women... that remain untold. I hope these conditions may change at a quicker pace, as concrete roads and houses have. May the souls dwelling there look after everyone, and everything may be noticed and cared for in the same way... And they may find a better world within their world among these four walls...

– Nidhi ♥♥