Is Love an Alibi .....Chapter Three
The Water Chemistry
Diya's foster mother, Sheena, passed away 35 years ago in the year 2049. Diya keeps a high place for her in her memories like no other. However, it is George whom she held higher in regards for reasons she never understood. Sheena did all that her biological mother might not have. Her eyes often swell, reliving the moments with Sheena. Since George brought her from the orphanage, she took over complete control of Diya; control may be an insult to that great soul who never made her feel that she was being controlled. She gave her vocabulary for all words needed for the business of everyday life- eating, drinking, working, putting on clothes, going up or down the stairs, riding in vehicles, gardening, cooking and the like. Then her character grammar had two rather outstanding peculiarities - interchangeability and regularity. She could interchange subject, object, and action effortlessly. She was a zero-inertia person. She had a knack of substitution to carry the day. And she was so profoundly regular to such an extent even the sun could shy away. Subject to a few exceptions, all inflexions followed the same rule. The relaxation was only on account of relatives of George. Diya owes it all to her, adapting to her every single bit.
Sheena and George had a son in middle school. She did not conceive for the last ten years ever since, even though they did all that to have another child. Sheena was thrilled to see a 2year old girl in the house at her door with George. Though he had broached the subject with her before taking the action, and she had expressed only reservations.
Sheena gave Diya an identity, the identity of a pious object, an object with a cotton wick in oil that burns oil in the earthen pot to give light just like a candle. She saw in her neighborhood, lined up ceremoniously during festivities, this object had fascinated her immensely. A thousand candles in their own space would illuminate the world; she would say, even swiping the darkness underneath its own. A vernacular verse she was fond of and would often recite and ask her to sing along,
"Man tu jyot swrup hai apna mool pahchan"
Translation: Oh, Mind, understand thyself, live like a light of a lamp.
She must have heard it somewhere, and words appealed to her. During the pandemic period, Diya was the new light. She wished the world moved away from living in fear, in homes, isolated; the darkness was drowning, she was doing her little bit. Challenge of physical distance and contagion virus was running roost to keep people away from rituals they had been performing in Churches, temples, only few motivational messages remained to stay positive amongst negativity that snowballed every passing day due to uncontrolled deaths. Notwithstanding obedience and humility, the virtues she lived with following her belief, doubt on belief surfaced. Sheena had read that the word Diya has a holy place in many homes across the globe. It signifies purity, goodness, good luck and power, oil is negativity that burns, cotton in earthen pot is self or soul, and the light is knowledge and empowerment and elimination of all forms of sadness. Sheena explained to her very often as she grew up to the meaning of her name. She took her to be the precursor of light, Diya fulfilled aspirations to the best she could.
George and Sheena brought her up like their own child. They did not take away her right to decide for herself what faith she would pursue, righteousness which was not even available to their own son. They did not adopt her. They were not shy of demanding lifelong commitment and enforceable legal rights, or they had an eye on financial support from the state for childcare. They exposed themselves to monthly inspections by agencies that worked for the care and protection of children against abuse and exploitation.
They took her along to church whenever they went, and she followed all rituals like everyone else. Her earliest memories were when she was eight years old, and George was asked about her baptism. She was to be admitted to a school with a fuller name with religion, why did they ask, she never understood. "She would carry the religion she was born in till she grows up herself to decide what faith she would pursue. Diya is a lovely name; no prefix or suffix, just for the sake of purity, let the name reverberate every time she is called", George had said. She did not understand then that she was being groomed for a new reality.
She recalled the last days of Sheena.
Diya's brother parked the car at the entrance, as she alighted from the vehicle, from the window adjoining the doorway, she saw George praying in front of God's table.
"Be careful", Diya's brother cautioned, holding back her arm as they were to enter the room. Diya looked back reassuringly. With controlled steps, Diya approached her father. He looked at her. She hugged him.
"How is she," George asked with a blank face.
"No more", Diya whispered.
George turned back to the Gods table and prayed again. After a while, he murmured, "It is good she found peace. "Where is the body."
"In morgue at hospital", She replied and escorted her father to a nearby chair. She also sat by the side.
Diya came four days ago to learn Sheena was hospitalized. In her early seventies, she looked aged beyond her biological age. She had hypochloremia that probably had led to congestive heart failure when she died. Before pronouncing her dead, Doctors wanted to keep her on ventilator support for some more time. Her brother disagreed. However, she had wished her to continue life support; maybe she would revive, she had thought.
"These are unscrupulous tactics to make money," her brother had said.
The electrolyte imbalance in the body was the reason for her ailment, which might get right in time. Was it the money on her treatment, the reason? doubt had cropped up in her mind. She could not say anything.
George was lonely after Sheena's death.
George and Sheena had lived together for more than four decades, a long period where their relationship matured with time. Diya and her brother were staying away, Diya was around 1000miles, and her brother was in a foreign country with a time difference of 12 hours. George had no financial worries; he had put in 40 years of service to a company he joined after graduation; George and Sheena were virtually dancing to infinity in rhythm like the composition of the world's greatest composer, Ludwig van Beethoven's Symphony 9 -Ode to Joy.
Diya switched through her saved music files and played Symphony 9 again. As she listened, tears of joy rolled down her eyes. Played on a single string of a violin, oscillating on the scale in varied tempo with time endlessly, Diya wondered for a moment how a deaf composer could perceive and how closely it resonated living in the togetherness, George and Sheena personified a bliss two souls in harmony may achieve. Born alone, die alone, but stay together for life with one object!
The change shocks at a late stage in life like no other; his mind habituated to hearing or expecting a complementary response on expected lines to all his physical and emotional needs. There was enough of melancholy clear on his face after Sheena’s death. Every time Diya visited him, he seemed like he was aspiring for an exit for himself. She arranged two house cleaners for daily chores in the house, to take care of food and cleaning. Attachment and desires of habitation have no replacement. George had packed his daily routine; he would go to church, read the newspaper, do gardening, play cards with his friends; the vacancy of Sheena remained unfilled. Three years down the line, she got the news of his death, gone silently without a ado.
Diya looked at the portrait of George on the wall, a serene face, disarming smile and communicating eyes as if he was prepared to listen even now.
Diya shared her mind yet again gleaming with pride on face, "Papa you know I shall carry on… the unfinished task…. task to educate millions of young ones. I can use this opportunity for lasting imprints of peace, happiness and a life meaningful, not dying every day in conscious or subconscious…... I wish I make a final exit like you did, your light is still alive in me, I would carry the baton as long as I can…... bless me Papa ". Her hands were folded, and head bent.
Riya appeared on the telescreen on the video call; Diya attention shifted by the illumination.
"Hi, Mom what’s up". She was cheerful.
"I have been nominated to a committee on education for five nation integration." Diya broke the news.
"That is great and wonderful news, congratulations Ma",
Riya liked it, "they cannot find a person better than you for the job".
"Oh, stop that it is always a team that delivers. You tell how it is this morning in your county, the woman only," she had sarcasm hidden.
"Ma you guys have lived most part of life with history, pedagogy bloomed on history. Please see that young minds are not burdened with such baggage of past. Young minds shall be trained on cooperation and sustainability for insuring a safe future ". She gave her mind.
"So, you believe there are no lessons to be learnt from the past," she quizzed.
"Absolutely, if it was otherwise, the world would have been a heaven long back. There is so much said but little translation in positivity, only negative bias snowballs. No two events in time are same, exactly same and who would swear the veracity of event that happened in the past and its completeness in description and perspective…. if it was true as true as really happened?" she gave logic.
"Family values, what do think are coming from. They come from the churning of years in the lives of humans in civilized society; that Laxman Rekha foretells a line one should not cross. My goodness I forgot…. for you family way is no way. You believe you can live without a male or thought of him whole of rest of your life as single,” Diya tries to deflect the subject.
"For sure Ma, what is there in it. I am occupied with so many things, and my life is cool."
"And marriage," Diya spit out the thought which was troubling her.
"Last thing on my radar," Riya cut her short, "stop taking tension on that. I am happy as such plus there are so many on-goings in hand, more meaningful".
"You know not what you are missing", Diya tried to convince, "security in the arms of a man and a camaraderie to live through thick and thin, when I am gone who would you rely on, everybody needs someone to confide."
"Please Ma don't preach" Riya was a bit rude, the freedom she knew she could take. "You know I am living with two other girls in the apartment, we are good company. My privacy intact, I sleep well, don't you worry". She hung up, rolling on the juggernaut.
Who can take care of her other than her mother? If she misses this age, she might not find a good match ever; all sorts of thoughts were crowding Diya’s mind. Maybe she should park this subject for now.
History and inheritance are probably the key causes of conflict in humans. Urge to maneuver ooze out unrestraint. Individual privacy and the right to follow one’s dreams and aspirations are brazenly subsumed in search of an imagined reality. Love or aggression are tactical and strategic tools willfully used or misused who knows? What would be the correct tool for future discourse with Riya, Diya is not able to decide. She is out of her apartment, but the juggernaut is still on.
It is evening time, mild cool breeze is sweeping her thoughts as she walks along the peripheral walkway of the building. Life grows in the womb with fantasies of the world around. The security of womb slides to security of family, living with not so hostile builds confidence in the creature, also creates attachment to inheritance. Extreme pleasure for a child may be to live with a concept; mom, dad, and me in a nuclear family. Two to tango bring a natural affinity possessiveness is natural between any two in this trio. Suddenly an analogy from Chemistry struck her. Mom and dad each as hydrogen ions; standalone each one is reactive, together they are explosive as hydrogen molecule but linked to a child as the oxygen a compound molecule commonly known as water molecule, a substance precursor of life originates. without which there would be no life. A smile ran through Diya, she felt elated to have such an idea
There are many behavioral similarities. Diya wanted to keep the thought line, it was extending itself. Water is sustainable, elementary and pure formation. A nuclear family with pure relationship amongst three entities has similar chemistry. Assuming oxygen is transitory, a child grows transforms to adulthood be reactive hydrogen (a contradiction to science) , bonding with parent hydrogen weakens, or shears naturally engages with another hydrogen, be a male or female? The water model is working, she wondered. Water got contaminated and scarce over time by humans thanks to their nefarious inferences, threatening the world's sustainability and race. Despite its history, naturally pure water is scarce and so is a family in modern times. The thought of extended family was a manipulation on numerous counts gender, race and growth, the relationships altered, trust that was a hall mark of nuclear family, lost gradually. Inheritance issues clouded the space as the population grew manifold—development and growth polluted ecosystem with toxic waste. Diya’s imagination was creating a web of analogies through history and science.
Things reversed when pandemics and calamities struck humankind in the early phase of her life. Family support produced happiness from the trust she received from unknown people. The light she imbibes must grow on faith to produce more love. She must face the new emerging challenge, breaking of water, segregation of hydrogen from water for survival, breaking of institution of marriage. Then a contra thought generated duality… No, I have to move with time; I’m not going to be the history she was repeating which implies she should not expect blind enthusiastic acceptance from Riya.
Suddenly, she heard chimes on her wristwatch as it charged to light with a firework. Special effects display she has completed the target of 10000steps for the day.
