bower bird

So what is my bower bird bringing for me today? Thinks Sandhya fondly as the door bell rings.
And sure enough, in a non descript plastic bag, atul has got her a set of three green scrub pads. Made in China, frowns Sandhya but nonetheless with utter mindfulness, places it on the shelf. ‘got them real cheap in the subway, thought you would need them’ he says gently. Last week it was city map with bus routes and what not and during his other recent outing, atul had bought home the most luscious avocados ever. When she asks how much he paid for them, he simply says ‘ for building up your good cholesterol’.

Not that he was always this way. In the beginning of their marriage, he had no clue. She was an unknown commodity, a typical female with brimming eyes and mood swings. He a down to earth, linear thinking fellow, who knew little more than office, two pairs of smelly socks with holes and a few bachelor friends. No one demanded to be pleased or pampered.
It is her birthday, just 3 months after their marriage. Sandhya has struggled to make a sweet for him as anticipatory response to the gift he is going to bring her. Her day has been happy with calls from her parents and siblings. She is missed and it makes her feel good. And when the bell rings and she opens the door in trepidation, in the new sari gifted by her in laws, Atul hardly notices. He changes, turns on the radio and settles down comfortably with the unread columns of the day’s newspaper. The sweet is untouched. Sandhya is enraged, disappointed, hurt….the situation is new to her. The only male she has known till her marriage, her father, would never have done this. She has always been made to feel like a little princess until her marriage. When Sandhya does not come out of her room, nor the dinner, Atul realizes that something is amiss. And when she splutters out her heartbreak, he is aghast…at himself, at her, at the torture called marriage. He brings her a gaudy looking handbag the next day by way of compensation. She will not open the newspaper wrap. Nor thank him. Atul runs to his close friend who is in splits over the story. ‘you deserve it’ he says most helpfully. Atul must fend for himself.
By the first wedding anniversary, Atul knows the small ‘a’ of conjugal life. Tread carefully as soon as you enter home; measure your words, take minimal risks emotionally. He laboriously writes in his dairy, in capitals that he should get Sandhya something. He can’t think much, is on tenterhooks, so decides to pick up a bouquet from the nearest florist. And just fills the small tag with ‘love, Atul’. Looks at her anxiously as she takes it from him. Is she perhaps a little disappointed? No clue. ‘wish females were easier to fathom’ sighs Atul. He dare not take a peek into the future, stuck as he is with poor imagination, averages means and nil ambition.
Sandhya, on the other hand, is all expectation. Her college friends, married some time soon after her, boast no end in their letters. The latest to marry, just a month back, brags that her husband is president of a local club. That she was invited to a welcome party there soon after marriage. Sandhya wishes she never kept up with her friends. They trouble her already waverly mind. With her typical temper, only recently discovered, she wishes to run away from this man who may never make her feel like a loved wife, leave alone a club president’s wife and of course not a queen-no way! She is homesick, then morning sick and before she has grappled with the issue, is issued a new status in life.
And so on…from newness to more newness, between hurts small and big, clumsinesses galore Atul and Sandhya pull along. No, she does not run away from him; she gets busy with motherhood. He with promotions. If there are still unresolved matters between them, they are conveniently forgotten under the living room carpet.
And now, umm…he has suddenly turned bower bird. Sandhya had read about this bird in the National Geographic and had graphic visions of it.‘The most notable characteristic of bowerbirds is their extraordinarily complex courtship and mating behaviour, where males build a bower to attract mates. There are two main types of bowers. bowers that are constructed by placing sticks around a sapling, in some species these bowers have a hut-like roof. The other major bower building bird builds an avenue type bower made of two walls of vertically placed sticks. In and around the bower the male places a variety of brightly colored objects he has collected. These objects — usually different among each species — may include hundreds of shells, leaves, flowers, feathers, stones, berries, and even discarded plastic items, coins, nails, rifle shells, or pieces of glass. The males spend hours arranging this collection. Several studies of different species have shown that colors of decorations males use on their bowers match the preferences of females.’ Sandhya had shared the excitement of this information with Atul during their honeymoon; he hardly seemed impressed.
And, while her friend’s husband has now become regional chief of god knows what and what, Sandhya is content to be a bower bird’s mate.‘A tad late in the day’ Sandhya smiles to herself thinking that he does not need to imitate a bird any more-they have had their hearty share of the procreative business without hassles or regrets. Not flamboyantly, passionately but yes…it has been fun! But strangely his instinct to bring her things has become more pronounced with the passage of time. The other day, he got home 3 red roses, dew fresh for a change, unlike the first anniversary fiasco! A 1 foot tall, dyed-in-blue paper mache Krishna entered their home one day, all smiling. Sandhya, the non-believer, took a deep breath, before placing him carefully in the puja room. A decade ago she would have thrown a tantrum and thrown the statue. She has suspended the ‘why’s and the ‘when’s’ from her life. She may never own a Solitaire pendant in her life…it’s ok. She has somewhat mastered the easy level sudoku puzzles from the second hand book he bought her from a pavement vendor. And she has mastered overlooking or analyzing his choices and his motivation. She does not look at the ghastly flowers in the sari that came one evening with him-just like that. She simply accepted it. She accepts him just as simply. He is incapable of higher thinking. He will never be the intellectual companion she had longed for once upon a time. She will never have philosophical discussions with him like with her father. He will not unravel the mysteries of afterlife for her. Why, he may not even take her to Paris some day…Never mind. He is kind. He is gentle. For his part, from plumping into the sofa and turning on the TV, Atul has come some way-comes to the kitchen where Sandhya is making his evening tea; he asks her how her day has been. And yes he genuinely appreciates her creative bursts- overlooking the creative busts-in the oven, the microwave and the tandoor.
It is their 38th wedding anniversary. Atul the baldie, with a lone comic tuft of white hair, a paunch and a spot of arthritis. Sandhya, salt and pepper, real teeth, mind fresh as ever. Atul has got her a gold covering necklace with (artificial) red stones. Could have been ruby or garnet, sigh…but still, it looks pretty on her filled up figure. The ghastly floral saris are gone and she is wearing a figure hugging black cotton sari. ‘Quite fetching really’ says Atul as he plants a kiss on her cheek. She has made a simple kheer-the years of culinary experimentations are over. They settle down on the sofa, side by side. Talk things, talk shop, talk children, talk grandchildren.
Sandhya is in pain. Writhing, blinding, searing pain. 3 weeks to live is what she overheard the doctor say. 3 weeeeeeks? What will I do? How will I bear it? Tears flow pitter, patter. She is in knots. She is lost. In the midst of the tsunami she hears a gentle voice- Instead of dreading Death for oneself and for the loved ones, why not be in preparedness for it? Along with a will for children, why not make a will for oneself, putting things in order, clearing emotional dues, vacuum-cleaning the mind and soul, not leaving behind stifled, dependent, unhappy souls... Death is like a Test, much like what we faced as school kids. Sometimes it is a Surprise Test, when a life ends-just like that, like a movie. No follow-ups, no repeats! At other times, it is an elaborate Final Exam- a deposed leader awaiting the hangman’s noose next Monday, a cancer patient with three months to live…how terrible! Or is it?? Doesn’t it give one a chance to better prepare for the Exam, recapitulate the known, critically examine it and weed out what Life has proved wrong? This is a Test which no one can write with borrowed wisdom and memory!’
Atul the mediocre thinker had said these words when she had been intimidated by the thought of Death. She had barely smiled, caught as she was in the fear of losing her father. She had not fathomed the depth of the words till today. From getting her cheap things of fancy, her bower bird had taken a great flight of wisdom, when, how? This piece of enlightenment was his last offering to her. Suddenly she understood. Looks like he practiced what he had preached; his mind was vacuum cleaned at all times, his offerings to her were an atonement for all that he could not give her. Bower bird…had he, in fact, been mimicking the bower bird, just because she had a fancy for its ways? His personal will was made that day he ran to his friend in distress. With every gift he had got her, he was more and more at peace. No wonder, when the Surprise Test came a year ago, he passed in flying colours!!

‘The smart selfish bugger! What of me now?’ wails Sandhya. But in all fairness, he had shown her the way. Three weeks? That’s ALL I have to tie up loose ends, to wind up, to unwind, to make peace, to ….look beneath the living room carpet!