23 June 1925

Last night I could not sleep at all. The excitement to visit my auntie’s house to meet Nalini is beyond my control. I have not had a chance to tell Aaditya about my trip. But I sure he must already know. I should ask him if he wants me to ask Nalini something on his behalf.
Today I looked through my trunk for fancy clothes and took out a few of the saris that I thought would be good to take with me. But mother came in the room and rejected all of them. She said the blouses must be smaller for me now. But I tried a few of them on after mother left and found that most of them fitted me perfectly. I will try to sneak in a few of the saris, particularly the pale pink sari, which is my favorite. The last time I wore that somebody said that the sari was of the same color as my skin. I don’t think mother liked that comment even a bit because she gave me the same upward nod without a smile. I know that I must not meet her approval because I am not even half as beautiful as my mother. She must be so disappointed although she doesn’t say much I can tell. To me my mother is a goddess. I sometime wonder about the softness of her skin, which is paler than mine. If only my skin was not that pinkish I could have matched my mother’s skin tone. Her nose is so pointed and dainty. I find it so funny when during winters her nose remains red while her whole face stays whiter than ever. But the best part of my mother’s face is her narrow forehead. I have never seen it without a big red vermillion bindi. I love to watch my mother on days she washes her hair and lets them open to dry. Usually she keeps her head covered but on those days when she washes her hair you could see how thick really is her hair. The way the soft curls of her drying hair start to frame her face she seems so vulnerable then and so delicate that I almost get tempted to go and sit in her lap. It takes hours for her to dry her hair and even in winter afternoons when everybody likes to sit in the sun she sits in the shade watching others. Actually, she cannot sit in the sun because her skin burns easily. The problem is that she doesn’t allow me to sit in the sun either. I remember how she was angry at a woman servant who was calling me to sit in the sun. What do you think you are trying to do to her, asking to her to come and sit in the sun? she had said. I have to get the girl married one day don’t burn her skin as it is she is darker than most in the family.
I wonder what my mother thinks of my father though because he is definitely darker than all of us. But he is a very handsome man. On days he wears his white Nehru coat he looks very dashing. I love his nose it is not small like my mother’s nose. It is straight and big and pointed like a parrot’s beak. My father is a very authoritative person when he talks, people listen. But when mother talks he listens. I think he respects her a lot. Because I have witnessed how he handles business. I will write about this particular incident because it is a fond memory of mine. Only a month ago when I was on the terrace I heard voices coming from the courtyard, which separates our main house from father’s bungalow where he meets the white men. Bhola Yadav, the big burly servant, was standing holding another man, by his upper arm. It was obvious that the man was in some sort of trouble. I was so curious to know what this man had done. I was not able to see my father from the terrace but knew that he must be sitting on the big chair that was in the verandah of our main house. I want to see how stately my father must look sitting in that big chair with faces of lions on the edge of its arm rests.
My father’s firm voice echoed in the empty courtyard. What is this Mania? This is the third month that you have not paid the taxes. What should I tell the British sarkar?
I don’t know them, you are everything to me, said Mania in a trembling voice.
But I shall have to give them an explanation. You know that I have to report the tax collected from my area.
I know that babu but you know how the herd of blue bulls ruined so many of our crops. I have had practically no yield. I don’t know how will manage my daughter’s wedding, which is approaching. I had so many hopes with this year’s crop babu.
It was evident from the voice that the man was in tears.
Do you know about this Bhola?
Yes, said Bhola.
When is the wedding?
In a fortnight babu.
Bhola ask Pandey to come out.
Yes babu ji.
Pandey, give Mania five hundred rupees for his daughter’s wedding. Will that be enough?
Yes babu. When do I have to return it?
You don’t.
My father is a kind man and that incident has made him my hero. I think he and Aaditya are the perfect men that God made and my mother must be the perfect woman.
But today I am rather upset with my mother. Apart from telling not to take my favorite sari for my journey she also said that I cannot Raamkali, this is rather absurd because I was expecting that she would be the one insisting me to take Raamkali with me. Mother surprises me sometimes. But I would love one surprise from her and that is when, like Raamkali’s mother, she would come and cuddle me in her arms and kiss my forehead and face.
Let’s see what the sari saleswoman brings home tomorrow. I will try to get another pale pink sari and if mother does not let me have one I shall steal the one I already have in my travel trunk.