The slouched position had turned me numb. I wasn’t sure if it was over or there was more to come. Metharam Uncle hadn’t told me so. My arched back wasn’t arched any more. I was trying to breathe through the pain, although it wasn’t going to be an easy walk from the farthest corner of the room until the drawing room. Since I could not view Uncle’s profile on the wall, I guess he must have left! The room seemed dull and swollen, much like my eyes these days. Lately, after all the screeches, I mustered the strength to breathe!
Dreaded Maths! Whoever thought it was easy for girls to master it. It wasn’t like I hated the subject. It’s just that I wasn’t sure whether this was a science exam or a Maths related life-like example. This summer vacation was a difficult time to pass. Daadi, who preferred to be called “Mumma”, had made up her mind to get my grades better. At least that is what she promised Mom and Dad. She said I was dull at Maths so I needed practice and that my foundation has to be made strong. I never liked her from the beginning. Not because she was my step grandmother; but sometimes you just don’t like a person for no reason at all. Mumma was one such grandmother. Being made one at 42, Mumma preferred to rule around the house in every way she could. It was her way of getting back at my grandfather for betraying her about his first almost-broken marriage.
She also tried every trick in the book to get her way. Since I was an only child born after 4 years of my parent’s marriage;(a fact that was shameful and terribly delayed in those days of consolidating one’s position in a new household, post marriage!) a sibling was the need of the hour for my mother. I am not sure I understood that she was aiming to exclusively have a son; but she would tell me every time I folded my hands in prayer and recite mantras, that I should ask the Almighty for a brother or a sister. She made it avidly clear that she was only asking for another child through my chants. It is another story then that she yearned for a son. So with me under the malicious arm of Mumma, I was sent to Borivali, to learn and practice Maths as my parents practiced the art of creating a family, yet again!
For everyone playing on the road and the building compound, I wondered as we reached Yogi Nagar as to why Mumma had a sullen and stern look about her. On reaching her house, I could smell danger; probably translated as bad vibes today. As I was an obedient child, I did all that she told me to, including making the bed, laying the table, crocheting lace for her daughter’s trousseau and embroidering her half done cushion covers. I noticed that she would get all worked up every time her huge black and bulgy telephone would ring. She would swing across the receiver much like a contestant flexing his biceps at a body building competition; but would plonk it back on finishing her call. She tried to hide her desperation beneath her constant cross expression but with little success.
I wondered what would be going through her enormous and tough mind. She would immediately read my thoughts and give me another household chore. I had a time table I was told to abide by. Mornings were the best times to mug up multiplication tables and I was told to prepare it on a war footing. She made it clear that she could do anything; bash me up for not answering her mental maths questions, dodge me with different multiplication table queries and as a reminder of how strong she was, she would perpetually keep the largest and heaviest wooden ruler by my side.
She was upset one evening when the doorbell rang. On answering the door, her face lit up a bit. She announced to no one at all but mostly to my grandfather that there was a parcel from my father for me; a box of pastries. My foodie grandfather smiled and made another announcement; that he will leave some pieces for me. I wonder why he said that though! Mumma kept flipping at the cover of the box and suddenly she seemed to have a ‘eureka’ moment. Of course there were some kept aside for me but for another reason! The next morning Metharam Uncle stopped by. He used to come often these days. He’d begin with pleasantries and leave swearing under his breath; every time. Mumma would think hard after he had gone and a few nano seconds later she would reprimand me for something that I had never done.
That day was different! Perhaps it was the beginning of a new chapter; or a series of chapters. I was trying to solve the subtraction problems when suddenly she tapped on my shoulder introducing me to Uncle. “And this is my granddaughter. She’s 9 but very efficient! I have told her that she needs to improve her mathematical skills. Perhaps you can make her understand better!” “Pinky, this is Metharam Uncle. He will tell you another method of solving this problem! For every correct answer he will give you an ice cream!” “But I don’t see him get any Mumma”, I observed. “Oh he has them in his briefcase. Answer him correctly and he will give you one at the end of each equation”, she said. I had no idea of what was going on so I merely followed.
I was led to the adjoining room and before I could understand what was happening, I was told to count. I counted and then waited because I was told to. I could not figure why I was blindfolded and what was this new method of learning Maths; perhaps a new method of learning mental Maths! Feeling an enormous pressure on my posterior, I yelled and continued to count. When the counting suddenly stopped, I could feel the backside lighten up. I wasn’t sure why I felt lighter, but I did. By the time I could get up after slouching, I was yelling in pain again. Since I was not told to open my blind fold, I clearly did not; not even out of curiosity. It just kept paining all throughout. My back hurt, and so did the butt; why it did, I could not understand. Despite excruciating pain, I heard the ruffle of large notes. Mumma vehemently counted because her counting was very distinctive. I think she counted 5 large notes; the ruffle of larger notes is mildly dim; or so I had observed over a period of time. I removed the blind fold and tried to walk; clutching both my knees and lifting each leg to walk with the correct posture. The whole lower extremity hurt, but I still didn’t get it. Was this Maths? And what was the talk about an ice cream.
I slugged and purred to Mumma. “My back hurts!” “I don’t know what happened? And I don’t want any ice-cream.” Mumma put down her counting and grinned. “You know you have this advantage of possessing broad and pointed hips. The best part about them is that even if they get sore; no one would ever know,” she gave out a big laugh. “My daughter was not meant to be molested by the eldest son of this house. I was waiting to get back at this cursed family! And then you came along; just like that!” She gave out a venomous roar; akin to her zodiac; Leo. I kept wondering what do to; but mostly as to what had happened! Metharam Uncle would now come on a daily basis and one day he kept his promise; that of an ice cream. It had now become routine. I would be asked to be blindfolded. The door would be shut and after a few seconds I could hear panting sounds. It was during this time that my butt hurt the most. As if someone wanted to push something deep inside. I know for a fact that it was not made of a very rough surface; but it was very hard. Often my hands were tied so I could not even get to move it out.
Today was different. Uncle said that he would keep his promise of an ice cream. I think he did. But it tasted very salty; like the taste of dry ice that I had read in my Science book. I keep wondering why it wasn’t as syrupy as ice creams are! It was a strange cone too. The entire part went like a thud in my throat. I almost vomited twice. But it would come back again. Like a monstrous ice cream cone forcibly asking me to suck it out. The usual waffle covering also felt different. And the salt syrup just could not stop. I think it was not made in the regular environment; the cone I mean. I would be struck with hair like substances often. After a while the cone would be removed from my mouth, almost like the tong the dentist would place in my mouth to draw out the excess saliva while filling up my cavity.
Metharam Uncle seemed very pleased. He did not bargain with Mumma much this time. He said he finally got what he wanted in a long time. And by the time my blindfold was removed; I could see Mumma flipping through several notes; a wad of them in her hand. She mentioned that I was to go back to my house in a day or two and that she had kept aside a few pastries that my father had sent for the extra special sweet taste. The pain today was far lesser, though my mouth hurt a lot with the suction and the counting of numbers that I was told to do simultaneously. I limped and went back to my room; I couldn’t watch Mumma’s victorious look of revenge taken.
I was told to pack. While packing I realized that I could barely sit. The thought kept ringing in my mind. What if Maths wasn’t my most dreaded and weak subject? Would I have been subjected to this “ice cream” incident? What if I was back home and happily speaking to my teddy, would all of this have happened? What was this – the art of mastering Maths? And was this all because I was a girl? What if I were a boy; would I be subjected to this molestation?
