Of finding her voice and balancing the odds

Jyoti Sharma Bharadwaj

Throwing the mound of crisply dried laundry on bed, Ira rushes to the kitchen. The aroma of gajar halwa seething in the wok warms her heart. A blast of steam escapes the vent, searing her index finger as she forces open the cooker. Dismissing the pain, she places the tava on the stove, lights the burner and gets busy rolling one roti after the other. Her blood red bangles jingle noisily as her mind races to see her sweethearts alighting the bus. A sudden shove from behind jolts her out of her brooding. A pair of strong arms draw her into a tight hug. Immobilized, she lets out a deafening shriek. The rolling pin slides off the counter, numbing her little toe. “Calm down! It’s only us,” Rahul whispers as little Rohit hands over the pin, laughing frantically.

“A good deed never goes waste,” Dev’s words had come true. The seeds of love she planted and nurtured for over a year had taken root. Her sons, one 13 and the other eight, had accepted her. She wanted to sing again.

“Dev and I had decided that all four of us would sleep together on our wedding night. Both boys clung to their father like limpets. It really wasn’t their fault. Six years ago, their mother had walked out of their lives, leaving them at the mercy of insensitive relatives and nosy neighbours. Thanks to their jibes and jeers, they loathed women. The only lady they loved and trusted was their grandmother. And now, I,” she exclaimed. 

Her calm demeanour left me spellbound. This homely, elegantly dressed lady had not only succeeded in overcoming the challenges fate had thrown her way but also helped her family fight and win their inner battles. Silencing my thoughts, I interjected, “Is singing your passion?”

“I sing on StarMaker app and have nearly a lakh followers. I am invited to sing at parties and events. I also radio jockey at Dose FM. I was selected for Voice of India in year 2007 but did not pursue it as I got married to Dev,” she added coyly.

“What kind of music do you like?” “I believe sad songs spread gloom. I am not a big fan of modern music either as it relies heavily on instrumentation. The melodies of 70s and 80s are dear to my heart.”

And your favourite song? 

Saaranga teri yaad mein, nain hue bechain
Madhur tumhare milan bina, din katate nahi rain

Her silken voice reverberated throughout the room, opening the floodgates of memories of my deceased husband. Immersed in her singing, she had no clue how I was holding up. “Tomorrow is my 13th wedding anniversary,” she smirked.

Striking a stoic posture, I asked, “How do you keep yourself busy?”  “I am a proud homemaker and believe in maintaining a healthy work-life balance. Apart from conducting cooking classes with Himachali cuisine being the primary focus, I volunteer for a couple of NGOs working for women empowerment, health, hygiene and sanitation. We go to schools, shelter homes and slums to raise awareness and do talk about domestic violence and drugs.”

“What about good and bad touch?” I butted in.

“Sure! I make it a point to spend time with differently abled kids. A visually challenged teenager confided in me that a middle-aged neighbour touched her inappropriately. Then, the father of a physically challenged girl used to molest her when no one else was around. We intervened and they were taken to task as per law.”

“Awesome! You are firing on all cylinders,” I remarked.

“Fighting for women’s rights keeps me charged. I wonder whether someone has talked to my daughter about women safety.” Ira fell silent.

“You mentioned that you have two sons,” I blurted, caught off-guard.

“I have a daughter and a son from my previous marriage. At the time of my divorce, Minni was studying in class three and Mohit in UKG,” she said without batting an eyelid.

I turned the page of my notepad; the interview had just begun. Would she feel comfortable opening up with a relative stranger? Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I waited with baited breath. She stirred. “I was a different person then; shabby and afraid to speak my mind. Married into a conservative family, I was expected to keep my mouth closed but hands busy. To top it all off, my ex had a steamy affair.” Her voice broke. Before I could offer her words of comfort, she said resolutely, “Life is about letting go and moving on. Embrace the love and shun the darkness.” 

“How could you turn your back on your kids?” I asked, half admonishingly. She looked away. Had I shot my mouth off? Heavy silence filled the room. Breaking her icy calmness, she continued, “They are being looked after well and that is my only solace. I am free to contact them whenever.”

“So, she is a mature lady,” I added, making sure not to stir up a hornet’s nest.  “Yes.” Clearly, this lady had made peace with her past.  “I was an emotional wreck during the first year of remarriage. On the one hand, I had chosen to walk out of Minni and Mohit’s lives and on the other, Rahul and Rohit cringed away from me. I would wake up in the dead of the night and cry my heart out. Dev had seen worse and knew how to beat the blues. He remains my guide, my love, my knight in shining armour. It’s our 13th anniversary tomorrow.”

“You mentioned,” I chuckle. “So what are your plans?” 

“I am visiting my parents. I feel having space in a relationship is a good thing,” she giggles. “Meanwhile, I plan to use music to inspire social change and payback to society in my little way.”  She gets busy planning a programme for a community radio humming,

Oh re tal mile nadi ke jal me, nadi mile sagar me
Sagar mile kaun se jal me, koyi janey naa

Water flows because it is willing.

(Names have been changed to protect identity)