It was 3 pm on a hot summer day when I received a call from Divya. “Anita, come quickly to the multispeciality hospital near our house. Your mother has fallen down the stairs, and it looks like a femur bone fracture.”

I knew my in-laws would be taking their afternoon nap. I had no choice but to wake them. Exasperated, I knocked at the door of my in-laws’ room.

“What is it?” My mother-in-law snapped. “Can’t I have a peaceful siesta? Everything was so calm and serene when you were away at school. At least I only had to interact with you after 5.30 pm. These cursed summer vacations! What is your problem?”

My father-in-law muttered some curses from behind his wife. He seemed irritated to have been woken up from his sleep.

I stood there, my eyes misty with tears. Why was I allowing them to spit venom at me like this? I had no answer, and at that moment, I hated myself like I had done several times before in this house.

It had reached a point where my in-laws and my husband took me for granted. They had all the liberty in the world to make spiteful statements on my face, and why would they not do so? My impulsiveness has been their trump card.

If only I had learned to retaliate on the first day when my husband, Vijay, spoke demeaning words about my teaching profession while he held his job in high esteem. I cannot deny that his income was almost double what I earned, but did that give him the liberty to degrade me or my profession?

An agonizing childhood due to an ailing father was what probably made me resign to fate. Again, for no mistake of mine. Watching my mother struggling to make ends meet made the little girl in me cringe with insecurity. She hardly had any time to spend with me. 

I knew my mother loved me from the depth of her heart and was herself reeling under the guilt of not having given me enough time during my growing years. She had been juggling between her office, home and innumerable visits to the hospital. Since my mother worked with the telephone exchange as an operator, many times she had night duty. Those nights I spent were sleepless ones for my father sometimes would groan and wriggle.

And today that lady with an iron grit had been admitted with a fractured bone.

“My mother has been admitted to the hospital. I need to go.” I mustered the necessary courage to let my mother-in-law know the gravity of the situation.

“Where is your father? Lying on the bed, struggling to breathe as usual? Why do you need to go?” She yawned.

How could she speak so contemptuously, that too about a person who had been fighting a lung ailment?

Though I did not wish to divulge the reason behind my mother’s hospitalization, right then, I had no other option. “My mother has fallen down the stairways and fractured herself. I need to go.” I blurted, my voice almost reaching the point of wailing. 

My mother-in-law hit her forehead with her palm, “Perennial problems. This is why I said we should have found a girl with siblings. Like fools, not only did we make the mistake of finding a girl, a sole progeny to her parents, but we also did not know that she was the daughter of a sick man draining his poor coffers on treatment.” Her rude unsolicited remark made no sense then, but I could not cross bows with her.

I heaved a sigh of respite as she indicated with a wave of her hand that I could leave.

Without wasting a moment, I hopped into a rickshaw lest my mother-in-law changed her mind. She had instructed me to inform Vijay, but I knew talking to him now would mean more obstacles. I made up my mind to tell him later that my phone was out of charge.

My heart beat fast as I approached the hospital. Divya, our next-door neighbour, informed me that the mishap happened minutes after my father entered the house and complained of chest pain. In her hurry to summon help, my mother tripped over the doormat and fell down several stairs.

Though Divya told me that my father felt much better after having some medicine prescribed by our physician, my mind was in turmoil. If my mother became bedridden even for a while, how was my father going to get proper nursing?

My parents cannot afford to hire help under any circumstance. It was with much difficulty that my mother wedded me, exhausting all her savings. Her income from the telephone department was decent, and my father was the supervisor in a medical unit until the company requested him to accept a voluntary retirement with five years’ service still left, due to his deteriorating health. The compensation was not laudable; most was spent on his frequent hospitalizations. 

Marriage was never in my mind after witnessing my mother struggling to run the house and also care for my father’s health. I had always wanted to be with them and help them in every possible way. I vehemently retaliated to the marriage proposal, brought by a relative, but my poor mother thought I would live a happy life away from these adversities. Would she have anticipated her daughter going from frying pan to fire?

I had not kept Vijay in the dark about the situation in my house. I had also hinted that I would need to help my parents off and on. He nodded in full affirmation. I later realized that nodding is a gratuitous act; anyone and everyone can do it without contemplating.

After my wedding, I could do very little to help my mother. My in-laws were strictly against me lending financial help to my parents. Vijay, too, cut short the conversation during which I reiterated my wish to give some amount to my mother from my salary every month.

“Your earnings should be in this house’s kitty. Your parents should learn to survive. If your father squanders all his savings on treatment, that is not my headache,” Vijay uttered harshly. Given the circumstances in my house, I knew that my mother was finding it difficult to make ends meet. She had taken loans for my wedding. I could contribute little toward the wedding expenses as I had just started my teaching career, then, four years ago.

Though with an albatross on my neck, I preferred not to let my mother know about my sad status in my in-law’s house. It would only make her more unhappy. 

I reached the hospital and was more than disheartened to see my mother writhing in pain. 

“Sorry, Anita. I could do little to avert this disaster. Your mother fell from the stairs before I could approach her. The doctor says the femur bone is broken, and surgery is the only solution. The estimated cost is two lakhs.” Divya’s words fell into my years like molten lava. 

I did have the money, but how would I withdraw it without my husband’s knowledge? It was not possible. My earnings were in fixed deposits in our names, and his endorsement was indispensable. I could have managed smaller amounts from my savings account, but two lakhs was substantial. I had to contact Vijay. 

“Vijay, I had to rush to the hospital as my mother fell from the stairs and fractured her femur bone. The surgery……..,” Before I could complete, he intervened, “So you will not come home today?”

I ignored the jibe and continued, “The surgery cost is estimated to be two lakhs. I need to help my parents with the finances.”

“Of course, why not? Please take from the heap of treasure that you have piled up with your vast income.” Sarcasm reeked in his tone. He had always belittled my teaching profession. 

“I have the money,” I said hesitantly. “You know it is in our joint names as fixed deposits. I need your signatures on the receipts, too.” 

The pause at that moment expressed the kind of shock that Vijay might have experienced. It had slipped his mind that I had amassed the money gradually, saving from my monthly income.

“Come home; we will decide,” the uncertainty in his tone killed me. 

How was I supposed to interpret him? Was he serious? There was very little time to think. I withdrew the maximum amount possible using my debit card and paid the deposit. “I shall pay the remaining by cheque tomorrow,” I assured the receptionist.

Something in me said Vijay’s words were a premonition, so I had to think of a backup plan. Yes, I did have one. 

The receptionist accepted the deposit and asked a ward boy to wheel my mother into the room. 

I tried contacting my father, though I knew he would be of little help. However, he had switched off his phone. Requesting that Divya be in the hospital, I returned to fetch a pair of clothes and make arrangements for the money. I was unsure how long it would take before my mother would be discharged from the hospital. I would have to juggle between the hospital and home to take care of my mother and my father.

When I reached home, Vijay was already there. He was seated with his parents in the drawing hall, and their expressions spoke of their resentment. Without a word, I opened the cupboard and removed the necessary papers. I stuffed a pair of clothes into a bag. 

“Here, please sign,” I said, putting the fixed deposit receipts before Vijay. He refused to budge. It looked like a premeditated move choreographed by the trio.

I took a deep breath and returned to the cupboard. The three looked on in awe as I removed my jewellery bag from the safety locker. 

“What do you think you are doing?” Vijay’s father tried to snatch the bag from my hand.

I held it tight. My action only elicited a disgusting look on the mother-son duo. They made a menacing advance towards me. 

“One more step forward, and all of you will be arrested. You have only seen a quiet and docile Anita all this while; if I scream now, the neighbours will be here.” I brandished my pointer. The three cringed at my new avatar but were tough nuts to crack.

“If you have decided to pay the hospital bills by selling your ornaments, you can stay back in that house.” Jeered my in-laws. Vijay threw all my clothes from the cupboard on the floor. “Here he said, take them and don’t bother to come here again.”

I had had enough in this house, where my freedom was curbed, where I was always looked down on, a place that was never mine and I knew would never be mine.

I had been following the principle that you can’t change the world but can change yourself to adjust. However, I painfully realized that clinging to such ethics would only harm me. It pushed my self-morale further down a dark abyss. 

With determination writ large in my eyes, I confronted the trio.

“Put these clothes back. I will return in a few days to clear my cupboard,” I said, walking away as the three stared at my receding figure. I turned back on reaching the foyer and spoke to my husband in a resolute tone, “It would be graceful on your part to sign on those fixed deposit receipts. Your conscience knows that the money is all earned by me, and that we have made a joint fixed deposit just for safety. If you refuse to sign, I know how to get it done from you.”

He stood there transfixed.

Author: Sudha Viswanath