As Amma scurried through her daily chores, she found an old can while dusting the window sill. The window had been locked for years and with it was locked any suggestion of the outside world. She kept the windows closed always, else the dust would travel inside the house and get comfortable on the furniture; and in old age, with just her in the house, it would be a task to fight the dust. So she simply avoided the ordeal.
That day she noticed the window and stood gazing at the tiny particles that seemed playful in the flowing sunlight. The can stood there behind the curtain in the dust that had accumulated on the ledge, mildly basking in the afternoon sunlight. Amma looked at it with her longing and weighty eyes. Her eyes were always a little watery especially after dada left the world before her. 'He travelled towards a far away place from his hospital bed,' she thought. She was always a little angry with him for leaving her alone like this. She didn't know how to pass her time without anyone to cook for, to clean for or to argue with. The pretense of spending another day, rather the pretense of living was becoming too much for her.
She picked up the small cylindrical can with her rough sturdy hands and felt the rustic surface. It had been lying there for a very long time unnoticed and she didn't like that. She never liked things just staying put and rotting (although her whole life was spent staying put in that house). She knew every corner of that house and everything in that house was useful. There was not a broken bucket or a torn gunny sack in that house that was without purpose. They all were used somehow - to either hold plants or as a spread on the shelf. So the presence of this can disturbed her a bit. She knew what it contained.
In it were locked many childhoods with their memories. The can with its contents had changed many hands through Amma's lifetime and it also contained some of Amma in itself. In its glassy contents many dreams had formed, many universes had been imagined and many colours lived. Amma held the can close to her. She let her mind wander a bit. She thought of the time when the house was young. When her sons would return from the school, she would be full of excitement. It would give her something to do. She would keep food ready for them. They would rush into her arms. The younger one would tell her how much he missed her in school and that would make her happy. But she would explain to him the importance of going to school as a mother should, although she knew in her heart that she'd like nothing more than spending time with her sons. She thought of time and its ability to take you by surprise. She thought of everything that was her yesterday and everything that was a part of it and then she thought how far away those things were in the now. She found herself caught in the fluidity of time, with her trying to catch up on her yesterday and her now catching on with her. Her wrinkles formed many shadows on her face and in each shadow there were many moments locked away forever that had been disintegrating with time. Her sagging face made her feel heavy.
Her sons were away now. She often wondered how it happened. What could have altered the course for 'the now' to be different. She did everything how it is suppose to be. She educated them, married them in time, even played with her grandchildren in the courtyard. Yet the distance between them grew once they left the house to start their own lives. Her grandchildren had moved even further away. Some were married too and had kids.
'But this is what we expect of life,' she thought to herself. 'Everyone gets settled in their own ways. That was the task - to build a good family.' Although she hadn't imagined that it would involve her being alone at some point in her life. Just as Amma was beginning to feel the sluggishness of her thoughts, someone called out for her from outside. She hoped it was her granddaughter. She loved surprising her every now and then. Theirs was a bond she cherished. Her granddaughter too, lived away from home but often returned, and whenever she did, made sure to pay Amma a visit. It would lighten her up to see her and her mellow and deep eyes would become softer. But even she had stopped coming after her grandfather's death. Amma stepped out to answer and saw the neighbour's little girl standing in the courtyard.
"Amma ji what are you doing today evening?"
"Nothing, just cleaning the house," Amma replied.
"Mama said to sit here and finish homework."
"Ok do it. I will be out in a bit. Just let me finish wiping off that dust."
"Ammaji, what is in your hand?"
Amma looked at her hand and the rusted can that she had been holding since. "It's nothing. Just something that all the kids in this house use to play with."
"Ammaji ammaji, may I play with it too?"
Ammaji refused. "You mother asked you to finish your homework na? Just do that."
She went indoors again to place the can back into the spot it had been hiding in for years. She saw that the can had left a circle on the ledge that was clean, around which little particles of dust had settled and gave the ledge a brownish tinge. Whereas the part where the can was, was still fully white. She just knew it belonged there because it had left a mark. It had belonged there for years after her youngest of the grandkids had moved to the city leaving the can and her behind.
She put the can back and continued with the mundane. She stepped out into the courtyard and found the little girl sitting there with her books spread out on the floor in front of her.
'What do they teach you in schools these days?' Amma inquired of the little girl.
'Mathematics tables', responded the girl, barely being able to pronounce mathematics.
'Which table?'
'2, 3, and 4 tables. I can't get them right for some reason,' the little girl sighed.
Amma picked up her Maths notebook and looked at it. There was little chance that she would get it right. There were remarks in red on almost all the pages.
'What other subjects do they teach you?' Amma asked her.
The little girl turned around to glance at her bag and Amma saw it lying behind her. It seemed bloated and was definitely heavy for her.
'Can you even carry so many books?' Amma seemed skeptical, after looking at the size of the bag.
'Ya, I can,' the little girl responded without looking up from her notebook.
The little girl would come over almost every evening to spend some time with Amma and Baba ji. She called Dada Baba ji. She was smaller than now when Babaji passed away. When his body was brought to the village house, the entire village had gathered to pay homage. The entire family was present too. The little girl remembered seeing him wrapped up in a white cloth and taken to his room. She didn't understand much but she knew that Babaji would not talk to her again. She felt sad at the thought.
Amma noticed the little girl struggling with her notebook. She saw the same look on her face that she had seen on her grandchildren when they were told to do something they didn't like. She never liked to see them so.
Amma got up and left. She returned with the can.
'Do you want to play?' she asked the little girl.
The little girl's face lit up with a smile. Amma smiled back and the shadows on her face seemed to vanish slowly. She picked up the girl's books and put them aside. Then she pulled out a small mat lying under a chair in the courtyard and spread it out in front of them. Her strong hands struggled for a bit with the rusted can but eventually the lid popped open. A whiff of rust and yesterday emerged from it. Amma's eyes brightened. The little girl observed Amma's eyes and noticed a smile in them. Then she leaned forward to peep inside the can and retracted with a smile. As Amma emptied the contents of the can on to the mat, they glistened in the rays of the setting sun and popped over one another like solidified dew drops that carried little galaxies in them. The little girl thought it was magic. She felt the little galaxies with her hand. They were warm. Amma picked up one of them. She remembered it felt different the last time she had touched them. It was because of her hands; they had changed texture over the years. Amma pulled a marble close to her eyes and tried hard to look at it. Her eyesight seemed to challenge her. But then came that moment when joined by a string of similarities a series of memories attain completion. Amma's eyes watered. The little girl looked at Amma and noticed that her eyes shone just like the marbles in the sun. In them was the hollowness of space created by many subdued stories and a sense of longing. As she looked closer at Amma, she noticed the glisten behind the fog and it seemed to her that Amma's eyes contained the whole of universe in them.
http://novitron.tumblr.com/post/93293992398/play-of-innocence-these-marbles-have-a-history
