Anjanamma - The Lonely Night

I slid into my Eames lounge chair on the balcony of my house, watching the waves hit each other. They seemed particularly incensed today…I looked to the sky instead for direction like Nathan had taught me. But the sky seemed empty too; the darkness of the new moon engulfed me. 48 and single. The loneliness hit me. Was it the emptiness of my palatial home or the silence of the otherwise busy Mumbai city? I wasn't sure. On most days, the excitement of new ideas, making decisions, and managing my company was enough; being the owner and MD of the world's largest Human Robotic Company was no easy feat. Yet tonight, it didn't seem enough. The trouble has been brewing for quite some time. I had no regrets. I had done what it took to build my company and bring pride to my family and village…but becoming number one needed all my time and energy. I had lost touch with many friends and family, work had become a priority, and everything else had to be pushed to the back burner. However, my Lamborghini or the four Forbes Woman of the year awards that adorned my home could not replace their warmth and laughter.

I was missing something. When Nathan, my best friend, had suggested marriage, it didn't seem relevant but rather a mere hindrance to our passion. Who could truly understand my drive, the need for a village urchin to become the world's most successful entrepreneur? What I had built had not come easy, and how could I let other aspirations come in the way of what we had set out to create? Yet now that I had it all, I seemed stuck, much like a snake confined in its pit, waiting for the charmer to pull it out for a passionate dance. It had not been easy. Those hungry nights as a child in Kasapuram near Guntakal; waiting for the Gods to send rain to water the small patch of land on which my parents, Anjanappa and Anjanamma, grew coriander. The rain Gods often forgot us, and we struggled to meet ends. As we made the long walks to the small handpump each day to fetch water, we would pray no relatives would visit. Then our home and the water we stored in the small drum at the doorway would fall short. Four in a hut our size was a tight fit as it is. Our buffalo would give enough milk to sell to the townsfolk of Guntakal, whom we were catering to, but when she ran dry each year, we were forced to sell her at a measly price. Giving her up would break Amma's (mother) heart, but how could we manage her feed? Had artificial insemination been available to us back then, Amma would not have had to live with the guilt, and we could have the money required to manage expenses. But that was not to be.

Guntakal being a railway junction, most people in the town worked for the railways, and we villagers from Kasapuram would take care of their needs – milk, vegetables, and other supplies. Most people preferred personal deliveries even after milk bottles/packets came into vogue. Perhaps it was a time of transition wherein the older generation questioned every element of modernness. The town was small, but for my tiny feet, it seemed large back then. Nanna (father) would till the farm, while Amma would go home to home to distribute milk. Many days, the buffalo deceived us, but Nanna would not bat an eyelid as he mixed water into the milk. Nanna would ensure Amma would have enough to pour to the families she catered to. He had a special knack for mixing water for different families on different days. We were immune to getting shouted at once or twice a month for the watered-down milk, but rarely would anyone take away from the monthly payments due to us. Amma would simply make sure that the next day was a good milk day for those families. Lord Anjaneya was the God of our temple village, Kasapuram. Folklore had it that the idol of Lord Hanuman had grown over time, and people believed that visiting the temple could cure any mental disease. You would often see many mentally ill people in and around the temple, and people from nearby towns visited Kasapuram regularly, more so on Saturdays. The historical relevance of the temple traces back to the Vijayanagar Empire. Our parents were named after the deity, and we, too, my brother and I, shared their names – Anjanappa and Anjanamma. Everyone but Nathan called me Anjanamma then. He was the only one who called me Anju. Nathan was one of Krishna Rao's sons. I used to go to their home with Amma to deliver milk. Like the others, Krishna Rao worked in the railways but was also a homeopathy doctor. People flocked to his home for any ailment, including scorpion bites which were quite common in our area. I don't, however, remember him charging a fee. Their home was warm, and their family large – the doctor's uncle and aunty, his parents, and their three children, Ramu, Seetha, and the youngest, Nathan. Nathan was two years my senior and studied in the same school. While I was in the Telugu medium, he and the others were in the English medium. Suddenly I heard Nathan call. Lost in my thoughts on the balcony, I had not realized it was already 11 pm. I looked at Nathan – the same young face, his moustache still dense and drooping, his hair just as thick and dark. His broad forehead that I kissed often reflected the lights of the room. Nathan had picked the pink lights for the night and had already prepared my bed. Nathan used to call me Padmini Kolhapure, a famous cine actress. At 5'4, he said we were the same height, the long dark hair, and deep black eyes. "A shade lighter, and you would look exactly like her," he used to say. Nathan loved my long hair. But if he would ever see me pulling out lice on the college grounds, he would get so mad. Back then, my long hair took most of my Saturdays and Sundays to fix. Now my hair wasn't as long, nor did my face have the charm of youth. My hair was grey, my eyes wrinkled, and adorned with dark circles. Nathan, too was indifferent, acting only in my direction. As I stepped into the room, Nathan asked me, "Would you like me to help you change?" "I'll change on my own," I responded. I got into the bathroom and stood under the shower. As the water hit my naked body, I called Nathan. "Nathan, can you please come in here." He came in immediately. "Please lather me with soap." Nathan picked up his plastic robe from the corner, wore his rubber gloves, and slowly rubbed the soap against my skin. The whiff of lavender hit me, and as he rubbed along my body line, I felt an unusual sensation. It was not the usual excitement; I could feel a difference. Excited, then overwhelmed with sadness, I felt a hot flush. What was happening? Unsure, I stepped out, quickly draped in a nightgown, and lay down. I reduced the temperature of the AC, but it didn't help. The hot flushes made me sweat, but I began to shake immediately after. It was freezing. I pulled the blankets on, but I was still shaking. I switched off the AC, hoping it would help. I was alright for a few minutes, but the hot flush returned vehemently. Nathan asked me if I needed any assistance. I told him to return to his place. He did as was told and walked into his charging pod. That's the thing about robots. They do exactly as they are asked. His name was Romona, but I preferred calling him Nathan, a lingering memory from my past. I tried to sleep. But tonight, sleep evaded me. 

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